“I don’t know where to start,” Ruby said, gazing at the racks of costumes.
David swung his attention toward Ruby and stroked his chin. “ You’re about the same size as Miss Hepburn. I know just what will suit you.”
Niccolò laughed. “David wants to be a fashion designer like Coco Chanel.”
“More like Elsa Schiaparelli,” David said, smirking with glee as he flipped a silver high heel and balanced it on his head like a hat. “Elsa created a shoe chapeau in collaboration with Salvador Dali in 1937. Darling, it was all the rage in the pages of Vogue.”
Ruby giggled. She’d never met anyone quite like David, but he was fun. Another assistant had fitted her costume when she’d reported to work, but David had retied her scarf just so.
He pointed Niccolò toward the rear of the trailer. “Now, off with you while I work with your girlfriend.”
“Oh, no,” Ruby said, feeling herself blush. “I’m not his girlfriend.” Although, as she said the word, she felt flutters in her chest. Ruby had never had a proper boyfriend, but if Niccolò asked her, she would consider being his girlfriend.
David smiled. “The night’s still young, my dear. I’ll be right back.”
Ruby stopped in front of the costumes reserved for Miss Hepburn, whose cotton shirts and full skirts were similar to Ruby’s. But the regal outfits for the Princess Ann character were extraordinary. Hanging before Ruby was a lace dress with full sleeves that looked as sweet and delicate as the spun sugar she’d once had at a fair.
Ruby caught her breath at the ballgown displayed on a dressmaker’s form. The dress was spectacular, which wasn’t a word she’d used much on the farm. The off-the-shoulder gown of silver brocade had a narrow bodice and an impossibly full skirt. Even without accessories, it was regal and awe-inspiring.
“Magical,” she whispered, daring to touch the fabric. Ruby could sew, but she’d never seen such beautiful material. The craftsmanship was exquisite. She inspected tiny stitches rendered as her mother had shown her, though her work would never be that fine. As long as she could sew, she wouldn’t starve in Los Angeles, but neither would she ever have what she craved.
David returned, carrying a sleeveless aquamarine dress with a boatneck neckline and a full skirt. “How about this?”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she replied, although it was a stunning dress. She ran her fingers down the fabric, which was so fine it was almost iridescent. A petticoat filled out the skirt, emphasizing the tiny waist.
“Pure Italian silk, made in Como,” David said. “Try it on. For me.”
Ruby twirled her finger. “Turn around, please.” She unbuttoned her shirt and slid the dress over her head before taking off her skirt. She eased the dress over her slip. “Okay, you can look.”
When David turned around, his mouth opened in surprise. “Oh, mercy me. You’re an absolute star!” He finished zipping the dress. “We’ll add pearls, faux, of course, and flat silver sandals. Mind if I style your hair, my pet? I’ve never seen that exquisite shade before.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Is it natural?”
“Since I was a little girl.” Ruby giggled. “Where are you from?”
“Omaha,” David replied with a drawl.
“You’re funny,” she said. She’d never met anyone like David, who was so fashionable and fun. “Is everyone from Omaha like you?” She had no idea where that was, but it sounded exotic.
“Darling, no one from Omaha is like me. That’s why I high-tailed it to California. Even so, I was nervous about showing my costume portfolio to Miss Head, but she hired me right away after seeing it.”
“Aren’t you nervous that you could be fired for this?” Ruby whispered. Edith Head had designed costumes for all the stars, and she’d won more awards than any other costume designer. She wouldn’t stand for a transgression like this.
“She’s far away in Hollywood. If you ain’t telling, neither am I.” David winked at her. “What drove you to Tinseltown?”
“I love the movies,” Ruby said, smiling at the glittering term for the film industry. “You get to pretend you’re someone else. And get paid for it.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “A lot, if you’re good. My family could sure use the money, so I’m going to learn everything there is to know about acting.”
She caught a glimpse of her transformation in the mirror. The icy blue color contrasted beautifully with her dark red hair.
“Stay right there,” David said. After turning up the dial on a record player in the corner that was spinning a black-and-gold 78-rpm record, he scooped up a hairbrush and a makeup bag. “Mmm, that’s my desire,” he sang along. “Can you believe I found a Louis Armstrong record in a shop here?”
“I’ve heard him on the radio,” Ruby said, excited. Although her father seldom let her tune the dial to anything but country and western stations.
David snapped his fingers to the music. “That’s jazz, baby. Satchmo—that’s his nickname—tours often in Italy, so folks here know his music.” David’s eyes brightened. “He made a film right here in Rome, Botta e Risposta, which means, ‘I’m in the revue.’ It’s a screwball comedy, and this song is from that. It’s called You’re My Desire. And you should hear the Italian jazz. Wow.” He fanned his face.
Ruby laughed, but soon she was tapping her toe to the music. As she stood still, David brushed her hair from her face and secured it with a pair of rhinestone combs. Using a fine cosmetic brush, he dabbed red lipstick on her lips, and then he stepped back, admiring his work.
“I need to record this for my portfolio,” he said. “Hold still.”
David angled a bright light toward her, which threw a long shadow. He adjusted the lens on a complicated looking camera. “Don’t smile,” he said. “Look just over my shoulder.”
As she did, Niccolò sauntered out, snapping his fingers to the music. He wore a dark, slim-cut suit that made him look much older. Her heart quickened, and her lips parted in awe.
“That’s it,” David exclaimed.
A flash popped in her eyes, momentarily blinding her.
Niccolò knelt beside her and clasped her hand. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” His voice was thick with emotion.
“And you, too,” Ruby managed to say.
“Dress-up time is over,” David said, clapping his hands. “Bring these clothes back by tomorrow afternoon. Four o’clock sharp. No earlier. I have a date with a hangover.”
Ruby and Niccolò raced out the door, laughing and hugging each other.
On the way, Niccolò bought a snack from a street vendor of arancini, delicious little fried balls of rice, cheese, and peas that Ruby ate with care so as not to smudge her lipstick. As they sat in a square with napkins draped over their finery, the setting sun cast its gossamer glow over them. So far, the evening had been magical. One that Ruby knew she would hold tight and remember.
Afterward, they took a taxi past the Pantheon, the Roman Forum, and the Colosseum. Niccolò pointed out his favorite places. He’d lived here in Rome with his family, but he also spoke of Lago di Como in the north where his mother’s family lived.