Don't Sing at the Table by Adriana Trigiani Read Free Book Online Page B

scoured the racks. And almost without looking for it, I came upon a navy blue and white polka dot dress with short sleeves, a square collar, covered buttons, and a matching belt. The skirt portion was fitted around the hips and fell into pleats above the knee. It was the 1980s, so it had shoulder pads. At this point in the book, my friends are laughing as they read this, because they know The Dress; they have pictures of me in it, because I wore that dress absolutely everywhere , from the Benton/Doughan wedding in Wareham, Massachusetts, to a funeral in lower Manhattan, and every other event I was invited to in between.
    I wore it professionally on interviews, and socially to parties, and on days I will never forget, like the autumn day in 1988 when I signed with my first literary agent, the impeccable Wiley Hausam at International Creative Management. Whatever Lucy had wanted to impart to me about sticking with the classics and keeping things simple in the wardrobe department somehow got in. When I wanted to jazz up that dress by day, I wore white gloves with it. And when I wore it at night, I’d drape fake pearls like Coco Chanel. Lucy was right. I never had to worry if the dress was appropriate, because it was, and remains ever so.
    This effortless style is known as sprezzatura. Lucy took it a step further. When you have good taste, and you know what is required, you never need agonize about what to wear. You will hopefully find that one article of clothing that looks good on you, and says who you are, and that’s nice. But the important lesson is that having the right dress in your closet means you don’t have to waste time shopping incessantly for clothes, buying things you will never wear. The navy and white polka dot dress saves time and money, neither of which should ever be wasted. That dress also made me feel pretty, which is the best reason for wearing it, second only to emulating Lucy, who it seemed, had common sense and good taste, the two characteristics that make an otherwise good woman a lady.

Chapter Three
The Factory Life
    Viola at age 14, around the time she began working in the factory.
    M artins Creek, Pennsylvania, is a small village in the green flats of the northeastern Pennsylvania countryside on the way to Easton, which, along with Allentown and Bethlehem, completes a trio of cities known for steel, manufacturing, and university life (Lafayette, Lehigh, and more).
    A few miles down the road from Viola’s house, farther still from Roseto, and only seventy miles from New York City, Martins Creek was the perfect location for my grandparents’ new factory. It was far enough from the bustle of their friendly competition, and yet had an experienced workforce of machine operators who could cut, assemble, and sew fine blouses for the postwar American woman.
    Martins Creek was not unknown to my grandparents. Viola’s baby sister Lavinia lived there with her husband and their family, as well as her sister Edith (Ines), who, with her husband, owned and operated an atmospheric Italian restaurant called the Little Venice. It was there, at the bar, that my grandfather first heard of the availability of the empty factory nearby, resulting in their purchase of the building.
    Located directly behind the restaurant, past a flat grove of pear trees, was a two-story gray sandstone building on a neat green acre of land. The lower floor would host the cutting room, while the upper floor would be used for assembling, finishing, and shipping.
    Garment factories were set in residential neighborhoods in these small manufacturing towns, which was convenient, as women (operators) could walk to work after dropping their children off at school. In the 1940s it was unlikely that a family would have two cars, so the women walked, while their husbands drove to work to the slate quarries, or Bethlehem Steel, or Alpha Cement. The needs of the workforce were considered from the outset by management. Viola knew