“I’m Teodora Angelini and this is my partner, Valentine Roncalli,” Gram says. “She’s also my granddaughter.”
I hide my delight at Gram’s announcement that I’m her partner (this is the first time she has ever said it!) by thrusting my hand toward Rhedd as if I’m handing her a flier for a sofa sale at Big Al’s in the East Village.
“I love a family business. And when a young woman takes up the mantle, it thrills me. The best designers inherit the skill set. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“Your secret is safe with us,” I tell her.
“And here’s another one. When it comes to craftsmanship, there’s nothing like the Italians.”
“We agree,” Gram says.
“Tell me about your business.” Rhedd leans against her desk, crosses her arms, and stands before us like a professor posing a challenge to her class.
“I’m an old-fashioned cobbler, Miss Lewis. I trust the old ways. I learned how to make shoes from my husband, who learned the trade from his father. I’ve been making wedding shoes for over fifty years.”
“How would you describe your line?”
“Elegant simplicity. I was born in December 1928, and my work is influenced by the times I grew up in. In the world of design, I like traditional trendsetters. I’m a fan of Claire McCardell. I admire the whimsy of Jacques Fath. When I was a girl in the city, my mother took me to the salons of designers like Hattie Carnegie and Nettie Rosenstein. It was a thrill to actually meet them. I didn’t end up making hats or dresses, but what I observed became important when I set out to make shoes. Line, proportion, comfort, all these things matter when you’re an artist making clothes.”
“I agree,” Rhedd says, listening intently. “Who do you like now?”
Gram nods. “In the shoe business, you can’t beat the Ferragamo family. They get it right every time.”
“And your inspiration?” Rhedd smooths the necklace around her neck.
“Oh, I’d say-my girls.” Gram smiles.
“And who would they be?”
“Let’s see. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Audrey Hepburn, and Grace Kelly.”
“Simplicity and style,” Rhedd agrees.
“Exactly,” Gram says.
Whenever Gram makes cultural references, she refers to her holy trinity of style for women of a certain age: the First Lady, the movie star, and the princess. Born around the same time as Gram, their lives, while they didn’t mirror her own, gave a context to her work. Jacqueline Onassis was all about cut and line, built from the finest fabrics; Audrey Hepburn was a waif, her style influenced by dance, then exalted in theatrical evening wear that was embroidered and beaded; Grace Kelly had the cool classicism of the debutante turned working girl, gloves, hats, A-line dresses, tweed coats.
Gram points out that her muses wore the fashions, the fashions didn’t wear them. Gram believes a woman should invest wisely and prudently in her wardrobe. Her philosophy is that you should own one gorgeous coat, one great pair of evening shoes, one good pair for day. She can’t understand why women my age power-shop, as she, Gram, believes in quality over quantity. However, in other ways, my generation is a lot more like hers than she knows.
Gram’s peers were born at the end of the Jazz Age. They had a certain inborn confidence in their abilities that my mother’s generation had to struggle to find. Even though my mom’s generation of women were rowdy feminists, Gram’s group really blazed the path for them in the workplace; of course they would say that they had to. Gram’s group included the young women who went to work in mills, factories, and shops when the men went off to fight in World War II. The jobs they held during the war went back to the men when they returned. Gram says that’s how women ended up back in the kitchen in the 1950s. She went back to the kitchen, too, but it was up a flight of stairs after a full day of work in the shoe shop. Gram was a working mother before that was a label. In her day, she said, she “helped her husband,” but in fact, we know the truth-she was his full partner.
Rhedd circles around her desk, sits down, and leans forward. She adjusts the Tiffany clock and the ceramic pencil cup before her. Her computer screen is recessed into the wall next to her desk. Her screen saver is a black and white 1950s photo of the great model Lisa Fonssagrives, smoking a cigarette in a New Look gown at the intersection where Gram and I got out of the cab a few minutes ago.
“Ladies, my good friend Debra McGuire told me about you. Debra has a great eye. She brought me the shoes you gave her for the movie. I was very impressed.”
“Thank you,” Gram and I say at once.
“And it gave me an idea.” Rhedd gets up and goes to a tea cart under the windows. She pours herself a glass of water, and then two more, one for me and one for Gram. As she serves us, she says, “We work about a year in advance on our holiday windows. And when I saw the shoe you made, it gave me an idea for the 2008 windows. I want to do brides. And a Russian theme.”
“Okay.” Gram thinks. “Cut velvet, boots, calfskin, fleece.”
“Maybe. I’m looking for a one-of-a kind fantasy shoe, something that would be shown exclusively in my windows.”
“Interesting,” Gram says, but I can hear the skepticism in her voice. “But you should know that we work from our company designs-”
“Gram, every pair of shoes we make is custom,” I interrupt and look at Rhedd. “We’ve done fantasy styles for weddings. We did a pair of riding boots in white calfskin and black patent leather for a bride and groom who were married on a horse farm in Virginia.”
“That’s true,” Gram admits. “And we did a pair of mules in fire engine red satinet for a bride who was married to a fireman on the Lower East Side.”
“And there was the bride who married a Frenchman and we did a Madame Pompadour pump with oversize silk bows.”
“To be perfectly honest,” Rhedd says, “I haven’t had much luck with small shops like yours. Small companies, exclusive custom shoemakers, stay small for a reason. Usually, they know what they know and they’re uncomfortable in a bigger venue. They lack a worldview, a vision.”
“We have a vision,” I assure her. I don’t look at Gram as I make my point. The salesman in me comes out. “We know we have to grow our brand, and we are taking a hard look at how we can do that in today’s marketplace. We approach every customer as an opportunity to reinvent our designs. However, and you should know this, we are proud of our legacy. Our shoes are the finest made in the world. We believe that.”
Rhedd looks off toward the closed door behind us as though she’s expecting some big idea to walk into the room, but lucky for me, I think she heard it already. “That’s why I want to give you a chance.”
“And we appreciate it,” I tell her.
“A chance for you and for other shoe designers to give me what I need.”
“There are others?” Gram leans back in her chair.
“It’s a competition. I’m meeting with several other designers, a custom shop from France, and a few well-known names who manufacture on a grand scale.”
“We’re up against the big guys?” I take a sip of my water.
“The biggest. But if you’re as good as you say”-her eyes narrow-“you’ll prove you have the talent and execution to pull this off.
“My creative director is going to come up with some sketches for the backdrop of the windows, the settings, if you will. I will select the wedding gowns for the tableaux, and from that group, we will choose one gown to send to you and the other designers. You will each design and build a pair of shoes for that gown. And then I will choose my favorite, and that designer will be brought on to do the shoes for all the gowns in the windows.”
My heart sinks a little. I was hoping that whatever she was going to offer us would be real, and timely. She’s not an idiot, and she senses my disappointment.