Code name butterfly, p.7
Code Name Butterfly, page 7
“Elodie?” At ease, he made his way over to the doors as though he had been the one residing here for the past few months.
Slowly, Elly stepped around the grocery bag on the floor and followed Grant outside onto the terrace. She crossed the small space, placing her hands on the railing while he closed the doors behind them. She shivered as a cool breeze wafted in her direction. The sleeves on her dress weren’t enough to stand up against the wind. “How did you figure out where I lived?”
“You told Danny. Danny told me.”
Fingers tapping against the metal beneath her hands, Elly asked, “Is he also a …?”
“Danny knows things, yes.”
Seemingly unbothered by the cold, Grant moved to stand inches away from her. He leaned down, looking out over the railing and at the people walking below. In the distance, through the leafless trees, you could see the Eiffel Tower. “This is a very nice area. Most colored people live in Montmartre,” he said, naming a neighborhood. “No wonder we didn’t come across each other earlier.”
Inching away from him, Elly asked, “Is there a reason why you’re here?” She didn’t think that she was in any danger from him. He had to know that she was very unlikely to run to the Germans or even the Italians regarding the events of last night. Although, she supposed she could accidentally say something to the wrong person. She shifted another inch further away from him.
“Josephine would like for you to come by the house. She wants to talk to you.”
“No, thanks.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that.” It wasn’t as if Ms. Baker wanted to meet for lunch because she was so taken with their two-minute conversation from yesterday. “You tell her my lips are sealed. I won’t tell a soul.”
Grant looked unimpressed. “Josephine aside, we’re supposed to take your word just like that?”
“You sure didn’t seem to have a problem with me yesterday. Now, you’re worried?” She rolled her eyes and made sure he saw it.
“Well, you seem like a young lady who is concerned about her fellow man and unlikely to cause any problems.” The words were said lightly, but she heard an underlying threat. And she lost any and all trepidation.
Elly raised a finger. “You know what? Don’t. I’m gonna keep my mouth shut. And you had better leave me alone.”
“It wasn’t personal—”
Looking back toward the apartment to make sure Madame and Claire weren’t close by, Elly whispered, “You brought up Harriet Tubman. You made it personal. You don’t know me. You don’t get to say things like that to me.”
“I was trying—”
“I know what you were trying to do! I even know why you did it!” Elly took a step toward him, waving her finger under his nose. “Let me tell you something, I recognize that you’ve lived in this country for a number of years and so you must have forgotten but there are two words in the English language that are more effective than insults and—” she nearly said seduction “—tricks and they are ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’” Inches away from him now, she continued, “And how dare you come here, possibly endangering a young girl and her grandmother!”
Grant captured her finger and leaned down toward her. She got a whiff of soap and cologne. Someone had just gotten out of the shower. The thought was random and unwanted. She pushed it aside and pulled her hand away from his. “Am I allowed to speak now?”
“No,” she said, simply because he’d asked. “What you can do is grab your coat and leave. Give my regards to Miss Josephine. She’s got a tough road ahead of her.” Elly folded her arms over her chest, proud of the way her words exited her mouth so smoothly.
But Grant didn’t leave. Instead, he side-eyed her for a second before taking a step forward and gripping the balcony railing. “First off, no one is in any danger just because I’m here. Secondly, when it comes to fighting a war, I won’t apologize for the things I need to do to win it, especially if it saves lives in the long run. Now, you’re a very smart woman and you did a fantastic job last night. I’m asking you to put aside your personal feelings and meet with Ms. Baker.”
“What does she want?” Elly asked, suddenly very concerned that Josephine wanted her to continue her role as her body double.
“She doesn’t want you to pretend to be her, so wipe that expression off your face. But I do believe she wants to ask for your help.”
“Are you a citizen?”
“Of this country? No.”
“Then why?”
“Because they treat me better than my own. And honestly, there’s no way America stays out of this. I look at it as sort of preemptive work. Much is accomplished within the shadow war.”
The shadow war. It was a good name for those who played spy games.
“I’m leaving for America on the first ship I can.”
“I’m not asking you to stay. I’m asking you to speak with Josephine. It’s not a hard thing.”
“Going to the show yesterday wasn’t supposed to be a hard thing.”
“Are you always this argumentative?”
“When I’m angry, I’m Joe Louis in the ring.”
Grant lifted his eyes to the sky. “What do I have to do or say to guarantee that this meeting will require nothing of you except to listen? What does it take for you to go out of your way to spend a few minutes with the most famous woman in the world?” He said it in such a way that it would make her sound incredibly childish for refusing.
“You’re very annoying.”
“So are you, actually.”
She inhaled. Exhaled. It was just a conversation with Josephine Baker. She glanced at Grant. Unless he was trying to convince her to leave the house so he could murder her and dump her body somewhere it wouldn’t be found.
Grant’s gaze was steely. “You helped us out yesterday but you are not Mata Hari.” The famous spy who had been executed before a firing squad. Elly nearly shuddered at the thought. “Erase whatever fantasies you’re conjuring in your mind, please.”
It was just a talk. She turned to the doors. “I’ll get my coat.”
Grant led Elly to a car. Josephine’s car, he explained as they approached the black and white Delage.
“I couldn’t afford this even in my dreams,” he told her as he opened the passenger door for her.
“Me either,” she said as she slid in. Elly ran her hands over the seats. “This is …?”
“Snakeskin.”
“Whoa.” He closed the door, walked around to the driver’s seat, and climbed inside. There was no cranking for this fancy car. “How long have you known Miss Baker?”
“About thirteen years. Pretty much the whole time I’ve lived in France.”
“You came over here at a separate time than her?”
“Yes. We aren’t inseparable. I’m only with Josephine when she’s in Paris. As you know, she travels all over.”
“And where are we going now?”
“To her house. To Le Beau Chêne. It’s just outside Paris.”
“It has a name?”
“All of her houses have names.”
Elly said no more as she looked out the window. Any other day and this would be the most exciting moment of her life. Here she was riding in luxury on her way to the fancy home of the most famous woman in the world. As it was, her stomach was jumping a bit—not because of fear—but because she did not know what was going to happen next.
And it didn’t help that Grant was silent as he expertly navigated the streets of Paris and then the neighborhood of Le Vésinet.
“There it is,” he said, his voice a bit hushed as they pulled up to a large three-story home built possibly in the Victorian era. It was all points and angles and reminiscent of a mini-castle. All of this space for one woman. But maybe that wasn’t right. “Isn’t she married?”
“In the middle of a divorce.”
“No children?”
“Not if you don’t count her pets.”
“She has more?”
“Than the ones she keeps at the Casino?” he asked, knowing exactly what she was talking about. “Oh, loads more. I believe there’s a few dogs, a turkey, a couple of monkeys, mice, and let’s not forget the ducks.”
“Mice?”
“When she lived in hotels, she used to keep guppies in the bidet. If it’s living and breathing, she wants it.” The car came to a stop. “She told me to tell you she’d be in the gardens, just over there. I’m not going to sit in on your meeting so feel free to talk about me behind my back.”
“Oh, I will,” Elly promised as she climbed out of the Delage. Ignoring his laughter, she closed the car door shut and carefully walked across the gravel path in the direction that Grant had indicated only moments before. The house was even larger up close. Eyeing the building next to her, she had a change of mind. Perhaps it wasn’t Victorian. It was probably built before that era with its sharp spindly look.
Elly caught sight of hedges and a pond and then there was Josephine. It could only be her in the long, dingy pants and somewhat tattered coat. Her hair was covered by a handkerchief and she was tossing small rocks into the water. All the stress and anxiety that had been roiling inside Elly melted away. Less than ten feet away from her was Josephine Baker. And she’d wanted to speak to Elly. She’d invited her to her house; she was welcoming her into her personal space. And it wasn’t as if it was Josephine who was responsible for what had happened yesterday.
“Hello?” Elly called out, gently announcing her presence.
“My twin!” Josephine dropped the rocks in hand and waved enthusiastically. “Come on over! I’m so happy to see you!”
CHAPTER 8
They sat on a bench tucked in the corner of the garden. Elly sat on one side and Josephine on the other. Josephine had a small dog in her lap and another one making circles around her feet.
“Do you like animals?” Josephine asked as the dog resting on her legs licked her fingers. She laughed contentedly, patting his head.
“I … um,” Elly began, trying to be polite, but then decided to go with honesty. “No.”
“No?” Josephine raised her eyebrows and sent Elly a furtive glance as though she’d learned something particularly deep about Elly. Maybe she had.
Feeling the need to explain, Elly said gently, “Where I grew up, there was no such thing as pets. Animals were either useful or food.” Her parents had barely been able to feed the four of them let alone a dog or a cat. Or a monkey.
“I also grew up poor. But I found animals to be my friends, my source of comfort. Sometimes I find them more reliable than people.”
Well. That was what she’d got for being honest. But for no reason Elly could name, she wanted to be nothing less than herself with this woman. And now things were a bit awkward. Elly glanced around the garden, taking in the staid but empty trees and the few, daring flowers. Ducks trotted around the small pool of water, honking gently. It was a very rural picture and not at all what Elly would have thought Josephine would enjoy. But enjoy it, she clearly did.
“I love this country,” the woman said as she quietly stroked the dog in her arms. “Sometimes I think I’m more French than American.” This was unsurprising. France was treating Josephine very kindly. God bless America, but it would never give Josephine all the love and acclaim that she was finding here. “There’s nothing I want more than to give back to these people all that they have given me. And,” she said with a sigh as she rubbed her dog’s belly, “I’ll do anything to stop the Germans. People like that—” she shook her head “—they cannot prosper.” Josephine looked up. “Thank you for stepping in yesterday.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Grant said you’re a very quick study.”
“Is that what he said?”
Josephine grinned even as she reached down to pat the other dog at her feet. “Grant is the kindest, warmest person you’ll ever meet except in times of danger.” Josephine shook her head. “Then, you better watch out. But I didn’t ask you here to talk about Grant. I asked you here to talk about you.”
Was Grant those things? Elly thought about that coldness she’d seen in his eyes the night before. He’d seemed light-hearted and friendly enough this morning but she didn’t trust it. She wondered if Josephine really knew this man she spoke so highly of. But Josephine had paused, waiting for a response. Elly nodded.
“Why are you here in France? You could have studied anywhere if you simply wanted to leave the States.”
Why France? Elly supposed that she could mention that it was the one foreign language offered at her high school. She’d done well enough in her classes and enjoyed learning it so she’d continued studying French in college. It just made sense that if she was going to study abroad, she would go to France. She could say that she’d heard that the French didn’t care about skin color and it was safe for her kind. She could bring up her heritage. She could not trace her African roots. That part of her had been lost in the slave trade, leaving only a gaping wound in its place. France was the only other country she had. Instead, what came out surprised even her. “I wanted to live.”
The words were silly and inane and Elly felt ridiculous having said them. And yet, she also felt on the verge of tears. Because it was true. She’d come to France to live. If only for a moment. Next to her, Josephine Baker shifted and stared at her, the dog in her lap forgotten. She leaned in Elly’s direction, her eyes lit up with expectancy. “And have you? Lived?”
It all came down to what you thought living was. Whatever that answer might be, Elly had spent the past few months wandering around Paris, stumbling across beautiful sights, and keeping only herself company. None of that was very different from what she did back home. It was a depressing thing to realize.
Perhaps she took too long to answer or perhaps Josephine read her answer in her face because she spoke again. “I started performing at a young age, which meant that I have had the pleasure of traveling all across America. You name it, I’ve probably been there. And during that time, I tried to sing like Ma Rainey, dance like Bill Robinson, or act like Hattie McDaniel. And it was never enough. I was good. But I wasn’t good enough. And then the show I was in received an invitation to perform in France so I came here. And I learned something. They liked me here. Just the way I am. That’s not to say that I didn’t have some learning to do but for the first time in my life, I didn’t have to try and be anybody else. I could just be little ole me.” Josephine pressed a hand to her chest. “I could simply live. It’s not easy to find that space where you don’t have to be anyone but yourself and you are valued for it. If you ever do, you should protect it at all costs.”
It was a credit to Josephine that she would acknowledge how kind France had been to her, but it wasn’t that simple. “I have a cousin in Chicago who is an editor of a newspaper. That paper paid for me to come here with the understanding that I write about two things: life and education in France and the war. I’m very familiar with what’s currently happening in Czechoslovakia and Poland.” Elly hesitated. “I think there’s a chance that things could get very bad in France. And we’re colored, Miss Baker. I have great doubts that the Germans will look too kindly on us despite us being American.”
“Oh, there’s danger. Make no mistake about that but there is also great reward. How can you not want to be a part of it? What is life if we only put ourselves first?” They were dancing around the question that Josephine had not asked.
“I understand why you would help where you can. I do not understand why you would go down with this ship.”
Josephine exhaled, her hands digging into her pet’s fur. “You don’t think the Maginot Line will hold?”
“No. France seems unaware that this war isn’t being fought like the last one. Things are going to get worse before they get better.” That was Elly’s professional opinion as a wartime correspondent.
Josephine hummed. “You know, I returned to America in … 1935. I was not the same small potato that I was when I left.”
“I remember.”
“I arrived in New York and went to the hotel where my assistant had made my reservation and you know what they told me? They didn’t have any room. None. Drove all around that city and there was no room at the inn for me. I ended up having to spend the night in a friend’s apartment.”
She said the words lightly, but Elly read the tautness in her body, saw the way that Josephine seemed to be clinging to the dog in her arms. “You know why there was no room, don’t you?”
Elly squinted at Josephine for a second. Had the woman really believed that America would forget that she was colored just because she had money and fame? But Elly kept her words few. “Money does not change skin color.”
Josephine released a humorless laugh. “No, it doesn’t. I was colored the day I was born and if I die a queen, I’ll be colored when they put me in the grave.” Suddenly turning toward her, Josephine asked, “But wouldn’t it be nice if we didn’t live in a world where everyone was separated by these small, trivial divisions? Wouldn’t it be nice if we were kind just for the sake of being kind? If we didn’t consider race or religion or sex?”
Elly looked away. Generally speaking, optimistic people irritated her. Naive optimistic people gave her headaches. The world had never been what Josephine was describing and it never would be. Even homogenous societies found ways to erect barriers. “That would be nice,” Elly conceded. This was Josephine Baker, after all. She was allowed her delusions. “But that’s not the world we live in.”
“The world we live in will never change if we just accept the way things are,” Josephine said emphatically. To which Elly nodded because it was a valid point. “I want to use my life to be a part of that change. In any way that I can. And I’m asking you to look past yourself and to consider others.”
“Help out of the goodness and kindness of my heart, you mean?” Because that was what it boiled down to, wasn’t it?
“Well, there’s—”
“Will I be getting paid?”
“No,” Josephine said after a moment. The expression on her face was one of sharp annoyance. She was not pleased with Elly. A part of Elly winced but another part of her—the part that was calculating the risks—refused to be anything less than direct.
