“I won’t say no,” he says, grinning. From behind his back, Roman produces two more bouquets of flowers. He gives one to Gram and the other to June. “For the babes of Angelini shoes.” They fall all over him in gratitude. Then Roman notices Gram’s hair. “Teodora, I like your hair.”
“Thank you.” She waves the bouquet at Roman. “You really shouldn’t have!”
“Valentine’s Day isn’t for another month.” June inhales her bouquet.
“Every day is Valentine’s Day for me.” Roman looks at me in the process. “Now, how many of your boyfriends have used that line?”
“All of them,” I tell him.
In the powder room, I fill two pressed-glass vases with water and deliver one to Gram and one to June. I find a third vase and fill it with water for my bouquet.
Gram arranges her roses in the vase. “It’s gratifying to see that there are still men out there who know what pleases a lady.”
“In all ways.” June winks at me.
Gram places June’s flowers in the other vase as the shop falls into deadly silence save for the rustle of the pattern paper as June cuts it. Roman, good sport that he is, spins the brushes on the buffing machine, waiting for someone to say something that isn’t related to his/mine/our sex life.
“And you haven’t even had my cooking yet,” Roman says to June.
“I can’t wait,” June growls.
“Now, June,” I warn her. It’s one thing for June to take us on a jazz tour of her love life when it’s just us girls, but it’s another thing entirely for her to paint the frisky picture of The Good Old Lays in front of Roman.
The front door pushes open.
“Good morning, ladies,” Bret calls out from the vestibule. Bret enters the shop in a navy Armani suit, with a splashy yellow tie on a crisp, white shirt. He wears polished black Dior Homme loafers with tassels.
Bret extends his hand to Roman. “Bret Fitzpatrick.”
“Roman Falconi,” he says, giving Bret a firm handshake.
“I take it you’re here for wedding shoes?” Bret jokes.
“What do you got in a thirteen?” Roman looks to Gram, June, and then me.
And here it is, my past and my future in a head-on collision. As I size them up, it’s obvious to me that I like tall and employed. I am also my mother’s daughter, and therefore, critical. Roman’s clogs look like giant clown shoes next to Bret’s sleek loafers. Given a choice, I would have preferred serious shoes on my boyfriend in this moment.
“Bret’s an old friend of ours,” Gram says.
“He’s helping us with some new business opportunities here at the shop,” I explain.
Roman looks at Bret and nods. “Well, I won’t keep you. I’ve got to shove off. Faicco’s has some amazing veal shanks from an organic farm in Woodstock. Osso bucco is our special tonight.” Roman kisses me good-bye.
“Thank you for the flowers,” Gram says and smiles.
“Mine, too,” June says.
“See you later, girls.” Roman turns to go. “Nice to meet you,” he says to Bret.
“You, too,” Bret says as Roman goes.
“That wasn’t awkward at all,” June says as she holds a straight pin between her pursed lips. “Something old meets something new.”
“That’s your new boyfriend?” Bret looks off at the door.
“He’s a chef,” Gram brags.
“Ca’ d’Oro, on Mott Street,” I answer before Bret even asks. When we were a couple, our communication resembled a good game of Jeopardy!, and to be honest, sometimes I miss that connection.
“I’ve heard of it. It’s supposed to be very good,” Bret says agreeably.
It’s nice to know my old boyfriend isn’t one bit jealous of my new one. Though maybe I wish he were. Just a little. “I highly recommend the risotto.”
Bret sits down and opens his briefcase. He pulls out a file marked ANGELINI SHOES. “I wanted to run something by you. Have you ladies had a chance to discuss expanding your brand?”
“Valentine mentioned a couple of things-” Gram begins.
“Gram, your hair is different. What did you do?”
“It’s a new cut.”
“And a dip in Mother Dye,” June laughs. “And I know, because I dip myself.”
“Well, you look great, Gram,” Bret says. I’m impressed with Bret’s ability to soften up a resistant client. He must kill at the hedge fund. “June, is it all right with you if we discuss business?”
“Pretend I’m not even here.”
“Valentine was telling me about the concept of branding. Now, you know, we’ve been in business for over a hundred years, so our brand is known and tested. It is what it is. Here’s what I don’t understand.” Gram smooths her new bangs off to the side. “We make wedding shoes from our historical designs. Our catalog, if you will. We make them by hand. We can’t make them any faster. How would we serve a larger clientele than we already have?”
“Valentine?” Bret tosses me the question.
“We wouldn’t, Gram. Not with our core designs. We couldn’t. No, we’d have to design a new shoe, one that could be mass-produced in a factory. We would introduce a more affordable, secondary line.”
“Cheaper shoes?”
“In price, yes, but not in quality.”
“I’ll be honest. I don’t know how to do that,” Gram says.
“Investors like to know that the product they finance has the potential for wide distribution, therefore a higher profit margin. The way you do that is to come up with something that’s both fashionable and affordable and doable for the designer and manufacturer,” Bret says and hands Gram a report that says: BRANDING, GROWTH, AND PROFIT FOR THE SMALL BUSINESS. “Now, if you follow my logic, I think we can put a fund together that will buy you the time and materials to develop the business in new directions.”
“That makes sense,” I say encouragingly, but when I look at Gram, she seems unconvinced.
“So, investors are looking for you, a venerable institution, with quality brand identification, to come up with something that can be mass-produced.” Bret continues, “Here’s the beauty. It doesn’t have to be a wedding shoe.”
“I see.” Gram looks at me.
“I’m thinking about creating something new that is part of our brand, but doesn’t forsake the custom work in the shop,” I explain. “This would be an outside product, created here, developed here, but manufactured elsewhere.”
“China?” Gram asks.
“Probably. Or Spain. Or Brazil. Indonesia. Maybe Italy,” I tell her.
“Are there any American companies that factory-make shoes?”
“A few.”
“Could we use one of those?”
“Gram, I’m checking into that now.” I don’t want this conversation to get stuck in the Made in America argument Gram has with anyone who will listen. I have to keep her mind on the bigger picture, and our operation.
“Let’s not worry about that aspect of production right now,” Bret says, backing me up. “Let’s focus on the work ahead.”
“Gram, I have to create this shoe first. I’m thinking a casual shoe, but hip. And maybe even accessories. Maybe we’ll eventually expand to include those.”
“Oh, God, no. Not belts!” June interrupts. “I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to be the hear no evil monkey over here, but sometimes, a girl has to speak up. We tried accessories. What a disaster. Mike made belts and sold them to Saks, and they were returned, remember?”
Gram nods.
“He used a soft leather, a gorgeous calfskin that stretched like Bazooka gum after a couple of wearings. The customers were peeved and Saks was outraged. Every belt was returned.” June shakes her head. “Every single one.”
“And Mike said ‘never again.’ He said we have to stick to what we know.”
“Well, Gram, we don’t have that luxury. We have to take a chance, because if we don’t, if we don’t come up with something that can revitalize our business and take it to the next level, we won’t be here in a year.”