“I have to eat this in accounting. Harold bungled the Chicago shipment again,” Mr. Russo complained.
“Good luck, dear,” his wife said, although it was Lewis he glanced at on his way out. She put the corset pieces on the table and smoothed them with her fingers.
“He acts like a baby,” she said, shrugging, apologetic. “Maybe because we have no babies of our own. When I first got married, I thought we’d have half a dozen by now.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t. Instead, she fiddled with a thimble that was too small for her meaty thumb. “What about you? Do you plan on settling down and becoming a father?”
He didn’t want to admit that the question had never occurred to him. He still felt worlds away from marrying, never mind having a child. Not that he wasn’t old enough. There were plenty of fellas his age who already had children — he saw them every time he walked though Wooster Square. Fathers trying to untangle themselves from gaggles of small, cherub-cheeked children. It was a sight Lewis couldn’t relate to. He’d been an only child, and he couldn’t remember ever clinging to his father. Quite the opposite; he’d only ever wanted to be with his mother. Fed you from the tit until you were five! his father had said once. It was unnatural! Lewis shuddered, trying to push the memory back into whatever dark recess it had crawled out of.
“Are you feeling well, Lewis? You’ve gone pale. I hope I didn’t upset you.”
“Everything’s fine,” he assured her. Briefly, he patted her plump fingers, savoring their warmth.
She sighed and held up the corset, which was now loosely fitted together, and shook her head. “It always shocks me how busy these things are. When they’re finished, you’d never know how much is inside of them: the busk, bones, grommets, channels, casings, and lining. When all’s said and done, you don’t see any of that — only the silhouette.”
“It’s the art of disguise,” he said.
She nodded. “That’s right. In more ways than one.”
A week later, Cecilia walked into his workroom. In contrast to the brazen entrances Antonia made, Cecilia’s meekness was refreshing. She tapped on the door first, opened it an inch, and whispered, “May I come in?”
Mr. Russo was on his way out. He’d come to request a couple changes to the New York Times ad. “I want a blonde, not a brunette,” he’d said. “And can you make her face younger? For Pete’s sake, that old mug reminds me of my grandmother.” He took his hand off Lewis’s shoulder, where it had been resting for quite some time, and waved off the girl as she attempted to greet him. “Get it to me by quitting time,” he said to Lewis, shutting the door behind him. Lewis could hear the beat of his glossy black shoes as he walked down the corridor.
Head bent, Cecilia moved behind the partition. Lewis put down his pencil and stretched. He was stiff from sitting so long. Nervous too. Strangely, Cecilia made him even more uncomfortable than her sister did. She was always punctual and polite, and didn’t prattle on about her personal life. She struck him as a decent girl. A good girl.
When she reemerged, she avoided his eyes. The corset was cut modestly, generous and straight at the top, covering most of her bosom. It wasn’t very fancy, with minimal flourishes and decoration. Lewis was grateful. He didn’t want her to feel any more self-conscious than she already was.
“Hold your hands behind your back loosely, please, and stare off into the distance — as if you’re admiring a sunset,” he told her.
She did as instructed.
“Raise your chin a little and tilt your head to the side. That’s it.”
She stood motionless for a few minutes as Lewis sketched her in broad strokes.
“I’ve been reading that we might get involved in the war,” she said, still staring toward an imaginary sun. “Do you think so, Mr. O’Connor?”
He flicked his pencil back and forth, then began to narrow one of her thighs. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I think we will. I think we have to. It’s terrible that we’ve abandoned Great Britain like this. And now the Soviets are joining the fight too.” When he didn’t reply, she went on: “I know others would disagree. They say we have to focus on ourselves — and fix the problems here in America. But I say, you should never abandon a friend in need.”
Lewis decided he would use Cecilia’s eyes in the drawing. He liked how wide and frank they looked. As long as he distorted the other features, he could keep them. “Sometimes it’s better not to have friends,” he said.
“What a strange thing to say.”
He shrugged. “It’s hard to know who to trust.”
“Well, I know we can’t trust those Nazis. And besides, isolation hasn’t worked so far. The economy is still terrible. In my family, my sister and I are the only ones who have jobs. And I’m counting aunts, uncles, and cousins. The whole kit and caboodle.”
“I prefer to be an outsider,” he maintained. “You can see everything better from a distance. It’s when you get too close that things go wrong.”
“I never looked at it that way.”
A silence ensued, but not an uncomfortable one. Both Lewis and Cecilia were lost in their own thoughts. He continued to sketch, shading and filling in detail.
“I like talking with you,” she said suddenly. “You don’t waste words. Have you noticed that most people do? Waste words, I mean.”
Again, he didn’t answer. She began to blush.
This is why Mr. Russo hired me, Lewis thought. He knows I’ll never take advantage of my position. He knows there’s something in me — something strange — that doesn’t want to.
“I was w-wondering,” she stammered, “if you’d like to take a walk with me after work sometime?”
He had to admit that she looked pretty, her pink cheeks a lovely contrast to her pale skin. He wondered if, just once, he ought to take a chance. Do something a normal man would do in a heartbeat. He wondered if maybe he ought to give Mrs. Russo’s question more thought. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t lonely — that he didn’t want companionship. It was hard — and exhausting — to be so different, to want things he couldn’t even mention.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous. Maybe you have someone... or maybe you’re not interested. Oh God. I’ve never done this before. My mother would be horrified.”
“I’d like to take a walk with you,” he said finally. “How about today?”
“Today?”
“Yes. After work. Let’s walk to the green.”
“But all the grass is dead there — it’s been so hot.”
“We don’t have to look at the grass.”
She smiled bashfully. “Okay, Mr. O’Connor.”
“You can call me Lewis.”
“Okay, Lewis.”
They didn’t talk much at first. He was preoccupied with his limp. He hoped she wouldn’t notice it, or if she did, that she wouldn’t mention it. It seemed to him that she was as nervous as he was. She kept playing with her hair and smoothing the skirt of her polka-dot dress, which rustled in the warm breeze.
“At least it’s not as humid as yesterday,” she said.
He nodded. They were walking close, but not too close. A lot of people worked at Strouse Adler — he didn’t want to give them something to gossip about.
“Lewis, have you noticed that this summer feels different?”
“What do you mean?”
“Summer is usually such a happy time. All the children are running outside. The men are playing bocce. There are parties and dancing and gelato...”