by Nicole Kelby
“Shouldn’t we take it down?” Patrick asked, but both knew they couldn’t. The streetlight made it shine like a rose-colored moon.
Mrs. Brown from the pub was the first to arrive. She’d brought a dozen or more candles that she lined up outside on the windowsill, a store-bought constellation, which she arranged just so. And then came Mrs. O’Leary, thin as a ruler, whom Patrick had once thought of as “Sunday Morning Fatty Bacon.” She’d brought more candles and some plastic flowers that she’d arranged in a glass vase. Father John and his altar boys soon joined them. The priest began to pray, “Our Father…” The snow fell harder.
One by one, people from the neighborhood gathered outside the butcher shop window to pay homage to the suit. Above them there were stars, but they were beyond the reach of those who gathered, and so they had brought their own. Their candles flickered, went out, and were lit again. They would not be denied the light.
When the crowd grew to the point that it spilled off the sidewalk and into Broadway, and then blocked it, Kate and Patrick could no longer see the profound brokenness that had surrounded them for all those months. The rubble of the telephone company had disappeared into the darkness. The only things they could see were the candlelit faces of the people they knew so very well.
They were beautiful in their sorrow.
After a while there was the sound of bagpipes. At first, the notes were confused and leaky, as if the players had tumbled out of the back of a truck, but then a song took hold in the crowd—“Amazing Grace.”
Standing on the other side of the window, in the dark that was once their butcher shop, Patrick and Kate looked out onto a world that would not be theirs much longer. They could not sing along: the song, and the moment, and the loss—tomorrow they were no longer a part of it. Even though they still felt it in their bones.
More than anything, Kate wanted to reach out and touch the suit one last time, as the woman at the park had done, for comfort, for strength. But the suit was no longer hers.
She took Patrick’s hand and kissed it gently and hoped that, in years to come, when people asked, “Whatever happened to that Irish butcher and his wife?” the bad things would not be remembered, nor the tragedy that had changed everything. All that would be remembered would be the suit.
It was a beautiful suit, after all.
Acknowledgments
Of the real Aunt Kate, the real Little Mike once wrote: “Aunt Kate was a seamstress of note, [with] fine fingers like delicate pieces of spun glass. . .”
Mike Naughton, professionally known as “America’s Best Dressed Ringmaster,” grew up to run away with the circus and eventually bought one of his own. While there were three “back-room girls” from Inwood, his aunt Kate did the finish work for the pink suit, and so Mike granted me permission to use his aunt’s real name as a way to honor her.
However, the Kate in this book is a product of my imagination. And while Mrs. Kennedy was, indeed, affectionately known as “the Wife” by many in the fashion industry, The Pink Suit is a novel. It is a work of historical fiction based on facts.
Writing The Pink Suit took me on a worldwide adventure that began at the Piper’s Kilt in Inwood when I sat down at the bar and ordered a cheeseburger, and the man next to me told me that he grew up in the neighborhood. Even though the Yankees and Mets were battling on the televisions overhead, most in the bar soon added their story to his, and a vision of Inwood circa 1960 began to take shape.
Inwood is just that sort of neighborhood.
At the Capitol Restaurant, across the street, they showed me pictures of the old days, plied me with iced tea, and made a few calls to those who still could remember a Broadway lined with Irish flags. The staff of Good Shepherd School, including development director Joseph Smith, schooled me in the fine points of Gaelic football and gave me a tour of the grounds. Even at new places, like the Indian Road Café, I found photos and stories about how life once was. History is a point of great pride in Inwood.
In County Cork, with the help of Rachel Gaffney, who writes the blog Real Ireland, I met professors Claire Connolly and Jools Gilson from University College Cork, and the textile artist Sue Tector-Sands. They are wonderful women who graciously shared both meals and stories with me.
On the great island of Cobh, Peggy Sue Amison of Sirius Arts Centre befriended me and found me a lovely place to stay atop Gilbert’s Restaurant. She also connected me with the force of nature that is Claire Cullinane, who drove me around for hours, telling me tales about the way of life on the island, and even coaxed some of the volunteers at the Fota House to give us a behind-the-scenes tour.
I’m still amazed that so many people helped me with this novel. The staff and management at The Carlyle hotel in New York City verified the accuracy of the scenes that were set there. Stephen Plotkin from the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum answered my endless e-mails with professionalism and kindness. And when I found Mrs. Kennedy’s live model from Chez Ninon, Susan Ullery Stewart, she was more than generous with her time and photos.
Susan gave me amazing insight into the Ladies’ process of design—which really made me love them. I do want to make it clear that when they copied designers in the late 1950s and early 1960s, they were not alone in this process. While our fictional Kate is quite concerned over this practice, it must be remembered that she’s really not a fashion insider. Many in the industry copied French designs and still do. It should also be noted that Chez Ninon often did get a license to copy some garments, especially in the later years, and designed originals, too. And after the pink suit, they copied several more pieces of Chanel, all licensed line-by-lines. However, they, like everyone else, were “inspired” by French fashions. Listening to Susan, and a few others who were familiar with the Ladies, I truly could imagine them at runway shows, sitting in the front and then sketching from memory at cafés and pinning their copies onto a young girl fresh out of modeling school while arguing about politics.
These women were something, that’s for sure. Something wonderful. I hope I rendered their fictional memory with as much affection as I truly feel for them. They were trailblazers, and I thank them for that.
Many thanks also to fellow writers Tim Nolan, Sally Bedell Smith, and Jeff Kluger—they were all kind enough to encourage me in this daunting project, as did my longtime agent Lisa Bankoff of ICM.
Lisa is amazing, and I’m lucky to have her. In addition to her support, keen eye, and friendship, her knowledge of the NYC subway system and Inwood proved indispensable to the writing of this novel, as did the use of her guest bedroom. I could not love her more.
Jon Parrish Peede of the Virginia Quarterly Review saw an early draft of The Pink Suit and published sections of it, which gave me the courage to auction the book. My heartfelt appreciation also goes to publisher Reagan Arthur (Little, Brown), associate publisher Ursula Doyle (Virago Books), and editor Laura Tisdel (Little, Brown), who gave it life. I am also grateful for the support of my colleagues at Bath Spa University. Gerard Woodward and Dr. Tracy Brain provided keen insight and a guiding hand. Steve May, Maggie Gee, and Fay Weldon cheered me on in a rather elegant manner. I thank them all for their understanding and generosity of spirit.
Many thanks also to the unflappable Mr. H, my assistant on this project. I would have been lost without his fashion-industry experience, acumen, and Cole Porter wit.
And, finally, much love to my Steven E. As we all know, novelists are not easy to live with, and he loves me with such a kind heart.
About the author
Nicole Mary Kelby is the critically acclaimed author of White Truffles in Winter, In the Company of Angels, Whale Season, and the Florida Book Award winner A Travel Guide for Reckless Hearts, among other works. She divides her time between St. Paul, Minnesota, Bath, England, and the Great Island of Ireland.
Also by Nicole Mary Kelby
In the Company of Angels
Theater of the Stars
Whale Season
Murder at the Bad Girl’s Bar and Grill
The Constant Art of Being a Writer
White Truffles in Winter
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Nicole Mary Kelby
Newsletters
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2014 by Nicole Mary Kelby
Cover design by Lauren Harms; photography and prop styling by Laura Hanifin; suit by Katie Smith/Cross Stitch Creations; hat by Kim Hutsal/Two Foxes Millinery
Cover copyright © 2014 Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Little, Brown and Company
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First ebook edition: April 2014
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Portions of this book appeared in the Virginia Quarterly Review.
ISBN 978-0-316-23566-2