A few years ago I was fortunate enough to meet a woman in our local antique shop.  She is a master seamstress.  As it were I happen to have a couple of designer dresses I wanted hemmed up a little.  I wouldn’t take them to just any seamstress to do because they were the once in a lifetime (mine anyway) designer dresses my husband insisted on buying me for my birthday a few years ago.

She eagerly accepted my two dresses.  When I took them over to her apartment there was so much of interest to look at.  It seems her mother previously worked in Italy for a famous designer becoming quite a seamstress with an eye and hand for very fine fabrics.  She collected beautiful dresses and handbags saving them for decades.  Her seamstress daughter, Susan, became the benefactor of many gorgeous, one-of-a-kind couture items which she took the best care of and when the stars were aligned perfectly she wore one.

On the day I came to pick up my two now hemmed perfectly dresses (Valentinos the Italian designer who made them) she gushed amply over the fine craftsmanship of their maker. I was delighted with her work.  The two dresses remained true to the original garment in every way.  I found a jewel of a seamstress.  

As I tried on the second one she stood there with a puzzled look on her face and I wondered if I had unintentionally signaled something was wrong.  Finally she smiled and said, “I’ll be right back.”  She disappeared into another room only to return in a flash with a hanger displaying a very simple, beautifully print Jersey dress.  Her eyes sparkled as she looked over the dress she first held closely then out and over to me.  I don’t mind saying I was confused now.

 A beautiful, colorful print Jersey.

“Do you like this dress?”  She then asked me with a half-smile.  (Like who wouldn’t?)

I looked it over. “Yeah I do.  It’s simple and elegant.”

“I knew you would.  Would you like to try it on?  Please.  It’s a Pucci from the sixties.”

Emilio Pucci's name is woven throughout.

“The Italian designer?  Oh, can I?”

“Sure.  You’re the only person I know who would fit into it.  I’ve totally reinforced all of the seams too.  It belonged to Frank Sinatra’s wife, Barbara.”

Eagerly I stripped off my own delicious dress knowing that soon I would be transformed (even if only in my mind) into the Hollywood days most only have dreamed about.  Who knew Barbara Sinatra and I wore the same size?

I slipped the thin Jersey over my head and it glided into place.  It fit like it was made for me.  I had a flash of a moment of remembrance. How strange a few years ago Frank and Barbara lived on the corner near my in-laws?  Now he is gone.  Then it dawned on me we had a cigarette lighter Mr. Sinatra use to give out as a Thank You at home.

 The lighter, a real relic now.

I was most surprised when Susan said, "Please accept this dress as a gift from me.  I know you will appreciate it.  It's important for it to have a good home."

She wrapped the dress up with a loving hand, only giving it to me after the layers of tissue paper covered it completely.

I still have all three dresses, a Valentino red cocktail dress, a black one, and of course the colorful in many ways Pucci. Now I am a couple of pounds heavier, a decade older, much less inclined to wear any of them, but oh the memories.

The Sinatra lighter is about to be given to my brother-in-law. Now a relic from the Sinatra days to my father-in-law days to my husband days and finally back to a family member who can remember when Old Blue Eyes had some class.

 Okay...here I am in it.