The first thing she did when she came to New York was to start adopting the new fashion. However, she did  not adopt the hair, as Aurelia made it her style, a short dark straight bob just before Amaranta wanted to go. But once her sister had the haircut, Amaranta would not be caught dead with that. Mostly to the surprise of their parents. Though not abject horror or disapproval. 

It was one of the few things her parents were good at. Accepting change, without batting an eye. Restituta, her mother had quickly adopted the knee-length fashion the moment she saw it. 

So, she first needed to find the materials. And she had to go to the Lower East Side, mostly on recommendation of a friend of her brother's. And Annibale was learning how to drive a new car, which he somehow convinced Papa was a necessity for a college student. 

Or whatever the arrangement he got with Papa to get him to enroll. Not that she complained, it was always easier to convince Annibale than it was to convince the chauffeur. 

She closed the door when she arrived at a fabric shop. 

"I'm sure it's here. But I should get going." Before Annibale drove off. 

Amaranta opened the door before going in. Fabrics was how she made anything. 

Once she opened the door, she was greeted by a landscape of bright fabrics and a number of people milling around, exploring what the shop had to offer. Closest to her - that is, in front of the door - were a middle-aged woman with a young woman, a mother and daughter. The older woman wore a grey, non-descript dress, while the young woman wore a dark teel dress that came to her knees.

It seemed like they were mother and daughter, since they had the same rounded blue eyes and blazing red hair (although the mother’s hair was now streaked with grey).

The young woman tilted her head curiously as she saw Amaranta enter the shop.

Amaranta glanced at the fabrics, finding all the new materials. Better than what she remembered in Italy, most of them were always lacking. She was so happy, the chance to see a treasure trove of real fabrics. Things that she only saw before the war, where almost everything was nylon and maybe jean. If she wanted cotton or silk, she made them from the existing dresses they had. 

Even with an armistice, their situation barely changed. No wonder they called America the land of enterprise and opportunity.  

“Do you have any lace or velvet?” She asked, maybe they would have. 

The young woman, Malka, blinked and stepped forward. “Yes, they do happen to have some lace and velvet over here.” She pointed to the left side of the store. Then, she paused, sensing that Amaranta was new to the neighborhood - and perhaps, the country. There was something very Old World about her. “I sense that you’re new to the Lower East Side, aren’t you?”

She turned, finding what she desired, a few bundles of cloth, not too expensive. "Yes, I just moved here from Rome."

Malka’s mother, Chana, chimed in. “Ah, that’s very interesting. So how are you finding life here so far? Are you also into the clothing-making business, like we are?” 

Amaranta grabbed a few rolls of cloth thinking of the dresses that she could make with this. "Yes, or at least I hope to venture into it. And to get started, I need materials, not that I brought much over from Italy. I just bought mostly nylon, since cotton and silk were hard to bargain for." 

Malka brightened, curious to learn more about Amaranta’s profession. “So what kind of clothes do you make? It seems like you’re quite the professional.” She smiled warmly, wanting to befriend the newcomer.

"Dresses, skirts, blouses for any occasion," Amaranta said, pausing, her hands fiddling. Thinking whether she should, but they were like her, since they made clothes too. The dream she strove for right now. "I want to have a line in a fashion show one day." 

“That sounds really awesome!” A chipper male voice boomed from behind the three women. Turning around, Amaranta saw that a brown-haired young man in a gaudy pink suit had burst into the store.

“So you’re going to make a fashion store right on the Lower East Side, eh?” He continued, making a beeline towards the three. “That’s what we need - a bit of excitement. Actually, a lot of it. High fashion, right? That sounds like something me and my girl are into.” 

Noticing Malka’s inquisitive glance, he smirked, and quipped, “That’s Lina, dear Malka, not you.”