Anne’s phone woke her with a buzz. She yawned, tired from a late night valeting at the St. Francis. Eyes closed, assuming it was Sergio, she answered, “Ciao, grande uomo.”
“What?”
Anne didn’t want to tell her mom it meant “Hello, big man.” Instead she said, “Hello, in Italian.”
“You are so clever.”
“Hi, Mom.” Anne sat up envisioning her mother in Oscoda, in their yellow Craftsman cottage, sitting at her vanity as she smoothed her auburn hair, a shade lighter than Anne’s own, and applied Lava Love Glimmersticks Lip Liner by Avon.
Her mom constantly experimented with her beauty wares. “I’ve got to be familiar with what I’m selling,” she’d say.
“At a yard sale I bought you that collection of thimbles of women’s heads you admired in the Avon catalog.”
One of the heads reminded Anne of the tall girl in the shoebox photo. “The ones from the ’20s and ’30s? You are the best mom in the whole world.”
“I know! You can get them at the christening. I hear Sergio’s coming.”
“I’m not sure. Is all of Oscoda gossiping about us now?”
“Not me. I can’t wait to meet him. Has he popped the question yet?”
“You’ll be the first person I tell.” Anne rolled her eyes. “If I bring him, promise not to tease me about being an old maid.” Since her thirtieth birthday, her mom and Aunt Tootie brought it up every chance they got. Anne had read in a recent copy of The Sun that the average age of marriage had recently trended upward. Even if a woman reached forty without a husband, she likely would still get married during her lifetime.
“Cross my heart. Okay, I’ve got to get to my next appointment. More than a pretty face.” Her mom practiced one of the Avon sales slogans.
Anne brushed her teeth, put her bountiful hair in a scrunchie, and made coffee. She lit the altar candle, then stood back and studied the shoes on the counter, shining even in the dim morning light. She twisted them from side to side to get the right angle.
Drawing a quick sketch in her journal, she copied it onto her canvas with charcoal. Darn! The proportions weren’t quite right. She dampened a paper towel, wiped off the charcoal, and restarted. This time she worked extra slow, constantly glancing at the shoes. The second try seemed pretty good, and she decided to let it sit before painting it.
She reexamined the photo of the girls, wanting to make a transfer. It was definitely too fragile to put in the scanner. Instead she took a picture of the photo with her cell phone. It was pretty faded, but she texted it to Sergio anyway.
Look what else was in the shoebox!
She e-mailed the photo to her computer, enlarged it as much as possible, and printed it. Too blurry. She pressed a few editing buttons, and a more detailed image appeared. She printed it out on thick watercolor paper.
At her kitchen table, she traced the girls’ outlines with a fine-tip marker. Using a teeny brush, she mixed a bit of red and white together. She held her breath as she daubed pink paint on each of the girls’ lips. The scent of roses wafted in the air. Anne sniffed the paintbrush and the paper but couldn’t smell anything.
To work on more details, she carefully picked up the original photo from the coffee table and started to prop it onto the table, but it slipped from her fingers and flew to the ground facedown. On the back was extremely faded writing she hadn’t noticed before. She picked up the photo and squinted at it.
Clair & Winnie at Rudy’s, 1929.
Wow! Those were the girls’ names, Clair and Winnie, 1929. They must really have been flappers. Where was Rudy’s?
At her computer, Anne googled “Rudy’s” and added “New York.”
A long list of pizza joints and even several Mexican restaurants across the country appeared. Scrolling through the list, she spotted a Rudy’s Bar & Grill located in Hell’s Kitchen. The site even had a dropdown tab that provided details about its history.
Dive into New York’s most famous dive bar, right through the original wood door. Feels like you’ve stepped back in time, doesn’t it? Maybe even as far back as the rumor that this joint was first a speakeasy in 1919, frequented by the likes of Al Capone.
One of their slogans was “Less talkin’ and more drinkin’!” The article included pictures of other famous people besides Capone who’d partied there: Frank Sinatra, Sir Paul McCartney, Julia Roberts, and others. Drew Barrymore had even been kicked out once for being underage. Anne scrolled down further and found a critique by Peter Landau in “New York Nightlife.” He highly recommended it as a Critic’s Pick. It has dirt-cheap booze, red leather booths, and free hot dogs.
Cool! It could be the same Rudy’s where the photo had been taken.
She texted Sergio: What do you think of the photo?
He got right back to her: Yes. Lovely.
Anne: Do you know Rudy’s?
Sergio: Rudy who?
Anne: Rudy’s Bar & Grill in Manhattan.
Sergio: In Hell’s Kitchen? Hell, yes!
Anne: The photo was taken at Rudy’s. Could it be the same one?
Sergio: Sure.
She shook her head in disbelief. Could Clair be the one who owned the pearls and the shoes, or was it Winnie? How wild! This must be a sign Anne really was supposed to move to New York. In order for that to happen, she needed to take Sergio home.
This time, she called him. “Hi. Want to meet me in Michigan in May?”
“Ovviamente. I can’t wait.”
She hoped she’d be ready by then to expose him to her family. “I’m warning you. It will be an experience you’ll never forget.”