AUTHOR'S CONFESSION:
Writing is hard! I thought this chapter would be easy. Now I'll stay warm this winter burning the pages that ended up in the wastebasket.
Raymond O'Katz
CHAPTER 102: BY THE BEAUTIFUL SEA
Immediately after
The Playroom
Maison de Bennett
I hope he won't be disappointed, thought Bates as he watched Thomas' excitement build. Brouette had promised, on the strict Q.T., a cheerful room and a gramophone, but Bates had given him little time to prepare beyond that.
The door opened a mere crack. "Password?" demanded a gruff voice.
Bates hesitated, but Thomas readily accepted this new bit of whimsy. "Heebie-jeebies."
"Enter!" The door flung open to reveal Brouette in a bed sheet toga and opera hat.
Thomas gave the toga a playful tug. "Brouette, I thought this was a pyjama party. What kind of pyjama is this?"
"A sheet's used for sleeping, isn't it? Am I not entitled to artistic license?"
The two butlers joked while Bates took stock of the premises. The large room was cheerful, as promised, but there was not a toy in sight. The far right corner was defined by a linoleum floor and bounded by a counter and stools. A refrigerator, sink, hob, and cupboard were stationed against the wall. The near right corner was carpeted and strewn with cushy pillows, low sofas, and several occasional tables. The entire left side of the room sported a handsome wood floor inlaid with musical notes, just the thing for dancing. A piano and gramophone sat to the side, and two ukuleles hung on the wall, all begging to be played. The end wall displayed a delightfully nonsensical mural. "What kind of a playroom is this?"
"Everyone asks that," acknowledged Brouette. "The eldest great-grandchild was an adult when the house was built and several were catching up to her. Lady Bennett called this the playroom as a jest, but the name stuck."
Bates was drawn to the mural. He had seen a painting with the same dreamlike quality in an art magazine. It made him yearn for something that eluded him. Chagall. Marc Chagall. "Brouette, that wall ... don't tell me it was painted by ..."
"That's right," replied Brouette. He adjusted his toga and cocked his hat. "Gentlemen, I'm your host for the night. Please allow me to make introductions."
There was not another soul in the room, but Bates was learning to take Brouette at his word.
Brouette stepped into the empty corridor. "Merrymakers, present yourselves!"
Two men entered, one unusually small and the other terribly thin. The small man was lugging a wood panel that had been painted bright yellow on one side, and the thin man carried a nondescript bundle. Both were wearing summer union suits that ended at the knee, black socks and garters, and bowlers that seemed too large for their heads. They tipped their hats in unison, and that was all Bates needed to recognize Ella and Nora. He was embarrassed by the pair's immodest outfits, no matter how charming. Nonsense, he told himself. These are modern times. It's a hot night, and they're wearing as much as women wear at the beach every day.
"John, it's Ella!" exclaimed Thomas. "And who's this?" he asked as he approached Nora to shake her hand.
"I'm Nora Lang. Mr Bates and I met earlier today, and he invited me to lunch."
Thomas glanced sideways at Bates. "I'm certain Mr Bates will tell me all about it."
"I'm certain I'll have to," murmured Bates.
"This woman," continued Nora, "whose sanity I doubted ... sorry, Ella, but I did ... showed up at my doorstep and claimed to be a friend of Mr Bates. She gave me directions to this house and asked me to arrive at the servants' entrance at midnight with this." She held up the bundle and gestured to the panel. "I didn't know what to think, but she gave me cab fare and promised me supper, and that cinched it. Mr Brouette provided the clothes," she added.
"And you cut quite the handsome figure in them!" jollied Thomas. "I'm all aflutter."
Nora bowed deeply. "I'm aflattered that you're aflutter. Who is this creature, Mr Bates?"
"This creature would be my brother, Thomas Barrow."
"Brother? But your names ..."
"Half-brother."
"Enough of etiquette!" complained Ella. "This is a party, and we're to address each other by our given names. Brouette, what the blazes is your given name."
"Maximilien."
"Max it is!" Ella declared as she dragged the panel across the carpet to the kitchen. "Max, we'll need some old newspapers for the linoleum. And I almost forgot ... Nora and I were followed up the stairs."
Thomas lit up. "More guests?"
"Perhaps." Brouette returned to the corridor and demanded the presence of more revellers.
In strode a grim-faced bald man, about Bates' age, wearing an old-fashioned nightshirt complete with cap. By appearance, Bates guessed him to be Japanese.
Brouette gestured to the new guest. "This is our eminent chef, Gaston Ojima. Gaston, we're on a first name basis tonight. Ella's orders."
Thomas hesitated only a moment before extending his hand to the forbidding man. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Gaston. I'm Thomas, and this is my brother, John. You must be the chef who kept me fed when I couldn't chew."
Gaston broke into a wide grin that shattered his former menacing presence. He caught Bates by surprise when he spoke with the same native accent as the French housemaids. "If to meet me is ze pleazhure, zen look at zees."
A cheery woman, closer to Thomas' age, stepped through the door on cue. She was wearing harem-style lounging pyjamas, the kind worn by daring women a dozen or more years earlier. Silk tassels hung above her feet, intended, no doubt, to draw attention to her exposed ankles. A sash was wound twice about her small waist and a matching band contained her short hennaed hair.
"This lovely lady is our housekeeper, Imogene Lees."
"Call me Jenny." Judging from Imogene's accent, she was an Englishwoman to the core. "You must be the young man who came to Paris to keep Lady Grantham entertained."
"Guilty," replied Thomas. "I'm Thomas, and this is my brother, John."
"I've been warned about the dangerous man with the cane. You don't seem terrifying to me, John."
Thomas harrumphed, but Bates offered his hand and bowed gallantly. "I'm pleased to meet you, Jenny. I'm afraid I wasn't myself when I first arrived in your city. The circumstances. You understand."
"I understand that this is a party, and I don't hear music," Imogene answered brightly. She took each brother by an arm. "You must help me choose something gay, or Gaston will have us listening to Stravinsky or some such noise. The Rite of Spring frightened me to death when I first heard it!"
"Yet here you are," noted Thomas.
Imogene paused for a confused moment, then roared with laughter. "Bravo, my boy!"
Imogene and her new best friends pored over the records stored under the gramophone while Nora and Gaston set out a cold supper of charcuterie, olives, melon slices, and bread that had been hidden in the playroom's kitchen. Nora held a piece of buttered bread in her mouth while she filled her plate.
"The great-grandchildren must be fond of American jazz," observed Thomas as he rifled through the music.
"Who isn't?" Imogene wound the gramophone and played her selection. "Fascinating Rhythm. That's Fred and Adele Astaire singing. My sister and I saw them last year in London." She closed her eyes and seemed transported.
Bates found himself tapping the syncopated rhythm with Old Ram. "The song's well-named."
Thomas nudged Bates and nodded towards the kitchen counter where Nora was perched on a stool happily gorging herself. "Your little friend must be starving," he whispered under the music.
"She is starving, a starving artist. Lives in a garret, the whole works."
Brouette, who had dashed out for Ella's newspapers, returned in the company of yet another female. "Attention, please. A straggler has arrived."
Bates looked up to see a striking woman wearing a peach step-in combination and carrying a steaming platter of spaghetti. She wore a gold turban, gold hoop earrings, and gold heels. A sparkling blue strawberry brooch was pinned to the turban above a large spit curl. Again Bates was disconcerted by the woman's show of skin. Still, he allowed himself to wonder how Anna might look in a modern undergarment and if she could be convinced to wear one.
Thomas grabbed Bates' wrist. "John, it's Josephine Baker!"
"Spaghetti!" shouted Nora.
"Spaghetti Bolognese!" Baker shouted back. She joined Nora at the counter where the two gave themselves ample servings.
Bates studied Thomas who seemed frozen to the spot. "Aren't you going to introduce me? You know her, don't you?"
"That's right." The two men approached Baker, whose fork was keeping pace with Nora's. "Mademoiselle Baker ...?" Thomas began.
"Josephine," she corrected. "Forgive my manners. I'm always famished after a show."
"Josephine, do you remember me ... Thomas Barrow from Yorkshire?"
"Remember you? Aren't you the farmer who broke our date to dance at my club?"
"No, well, yes, but ..."
Baker dropped her fork and gave Thomas a hug. "Of course I remember you, you silly goose. Why do you think I'm here?"
Bates heard Thomas let out his breath.
"And is this the brother with the beloved wife?"
"That's right," answered Bates offering his hand. "John's the name."
"Won't you have some spaghetti, John?"
"It's tempting, but we finished dinner only an hour ago. Later perhaps, if I can wait that long."
"It'll be cold. I adore cold spaghetti, don't you?"
Nora slammed the table. "Amen to that!"
Baker put her arm about Nora's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "I knew I liked you. And you, Thomas, don't forget you owe me a Charleston. I intend to collect."
"I always honour my debts, Josephine ... especially those not involving money."
Brouette opened the refrigerator and pulled out several chilled bottles. "We have champagne for those who indulge and Vitmo for those who don't," he announced.
"Champagne?" asked Nora. "May I have a glass? I've never had champagne."
"Certainly," replied Brouette, opening a bottle.
Bates stepped behind the counter and held his hand over the glass. "Just a moment, please. Nora, is this going to be your first taste of alcohol?"
Nora held up her right hand. "Absotively!"
"Are there heavy drinkers in your family?"
Nora thought for a moment. "I can't remember. I was ten when prohibition was passed."
The others laughed, but Bates persisted. "And are there scofflaws in your family?"
"No one's ever mentioned it."
Bates smiled. "All right, Max." He leaned close to Nora. "Don't overdo the first time; see how it affects you."
Nora nodded and took a sip.
"Well?" asked Thomas. "What's the verdict?"
"I like the bubbles, but I'd rather have spaghetti."
"I'm glad to hear it." Bates opened a bottle of Vitmo and poured himself a glass.
Baker looked about. "What's happened to Ella?"
"I'm down here!" called Ella from the kitchen floor.
Baker propped herself up on the stool footrest and peeked over the counter. "What on earth are you doing down there?"
"Looking for artistic inspiration."
"On the floor? What have you got there?"
Bates was curious too. Ella had covered the floor with newspaper and laid the panel on top, yellow side up. "I was about to leave home for dinner here when Max gave me a ring about the party. I grabbed this on my way out and some tempera and pastels and what-not. I had only painted the background, and I thought it might be fun to create something as a group. I'll try to sell it as an abstract. Wouldn't that be a riot?"
"Hot dog!" whooped Baker. "Me first! I know exactly what to do." Baker plopped herself on the newspaper, threw off her heels, and applied green paint to the bottoms of her feet. She placed one foot on the canvas and shifted her weight. "Give me a hand, Ella." Ella helped her balance, and she moved across the length of the canvas so that each step landed at a different angle. When she reached the opposite end, she hopped onto the newspaper. "Max, do you have something I can use to wash my feet?"
"There must be something in here." Brouette opened the cupboard. "Here's a punch bowl. That should do the trick." He filled the large bowl with hot water from the tap.
Thomas took Baker's hand. "Josephine, I humbly beseech you to grant me the privilege of washing your feet," he reeled off with a lofty flourish and a bow.
Bates interrupted. "Thomas, have you forgotten your cast? I'm sorry, Josephine. My brother is chivalrous to a fault, but the plaster mustn't get wet."
Max placed the filled bowl on the newspaper. "You may always rely on a Frenchman to rescue a demoiselle en détresse. I'd be pleased to serve as Thomas' second, Josephine."
"You're a gracious darling, Max, but when a man is unable to fulfil his duties, he must deputize his brother. John, it's up to you to perform the honours."
"Forgive me, Josephine, but I couldn't possibly."
"John, what are you doing?" Thomas hissed into Bates' ear.
Before Bates could explain himself, Baker took hold of Ella's arm. "Ella, il refuse à cause de ma couleur," she accused.
"Non, ma chérie, ce n'est pas possible! John, you must tell us why you are refusing my dear friend's request."
"Of course." Bates could not imagine what he had done to cause such a ruckus. A few moments ago, Josephine was perfectly content to wash her own feet. He could feel his cheeks redden. "Josephine, I hope you won't think ill of me, but please understand that I'm a married man. I don't believe my wife would appreciate my washing feet that are attached to such ... excuse me for saying it, dear lady, but you must know that your legs are famous for their ability to mesmerize men."
"Ella, est-ce qu'il dit la vérité?"
"Oui."
Baker turned to Bates contritely. "John, please forgive me for making a fuss. I jumped to an unfortunate conclusion."
"Who am I to forgive? I've been known to make a few unsound leaps myself."
Baker smiled. "Tell me, John, are you happily married?"
"I am and a proud papa to boot."
"And I'm a proud uncle." Thomas put his hands on Bates' shoulders. "John, there's a simple solution to your leg problem."
"It's not my problem," protested Bates. "It's Anna's problem."
"Nevertheless, I have the answer. Cover Josephine's legs with my robe."
Baker gazed at Bates intently. "Would that satisfy you?"
"The question is, would it satisfy my wife."
"And?"
"I believe it would, as long as Thomas agrees to testify on my behalf should it become necessary."
"Agreed," promised Thomas.
"Then there's only one small problem, but I believe I can solve it myself."
"And what's that?"
"My cane isn't for decoration, dear lady. If I were to sit on the floor, it would take all the King's men to put me right again."
"That's true," confirmed Thomas. "And we wouldn't want to bother the King's men at this hour."
"Certainly not," agreed Baker. "What's your solution?"
Bates patted the countertop. "Would you mind sitting up here?"
Baker turned her back to the counter and boosted herself up.
"Nicely done." Bates averted his eyes from the pair of knees that were staring back at him. "Thomas, the robe!"
Thomas removed his robe and tucked it securely about Baker's legs with his good hand. He whispered something at length into Baker's ear that made her giggle.
"Max, would you kindly bring me the piano bench." Brouette obliged, and Bates turned the bench perpendicular to the counter. He straddled the end, and Brouette placed the bowl and the soap on the bench in front of him. A pitcher of rinse water sat on the counter ready for swift deployment, and Thomas stood attendant with towels. Bates tested the water and gently eased Baker's left foot into the bowl without the loss of one shred of his dignity.
"Mmm. Warm."
"Not too warm, I hope."
"Just warm enough," answered Baker, leaning back on her elbows.
"Thomas, I'm relying on you to keep that robe in place. Do you understand, little brother?"
"Oh, I understand all right." Thomas began to sing.
"By the sea, by the sea,
by the beautiful sea!
You and me, you and me,
oh how happy we'll be!"
Bates massaged the soap's lather into Baker's foot until the last trace of paint was expelled. Thomas poured the rinse water with his good hand, still singing.
"When each wave comes a-rolling in
We will duck or swim,
And we'll float and fool around the water."
Bates wrapped the clean foot in a towel and kneaded the precious flesh through the terry cloth as it dried.
"You do that rather well, John," purred Baker. "How is that?"
"Yes, John, how is that?" echoed Thomas.
"Thomas, you know very well that before I joined the army I was a footman."
The party continued as parties do, with music, meaningless chatter, and heartfelt confessions. Brouette kept the party moving from one bit of nonsense to the next. Bates felt he was too old for such foolishness, but when he saw the fun Thomas was having, he knew he had no choice but to embrace the frivolity.
Brouette held up a matchbox and slid out the box from its cover. "Here's a game to break the ice. We pass the cover from nose to nose," he instructed, "and the first to drop it must suffer the consequences. Remember, no hands!"
The cover was passed to Bates by Baker, who tried to make him laugh by crossing her large eyes. He passed the cover to Imogene, who was every bit as attractive as Baker, if less exciting. Are there no disagreeable women living in Paris? Bates wondered to himself.
It was Gaston who was the first to drop the cover. "Gaston, you must spin ten times, then drink champagne from the wrong side of the glass," sentenced Brouette.
How childish, thought Bates, but he could not help laughing when Gaston sputtered.
The others paired off for dancing, and Bates posted himself at the gramophone to ensure a steady stream of ditties. The gang demonstrated for Nora the ragtime animal dances that were all the rage before the war, from the duck waddle to the kangaroo hop. Nora reciprocated by teaching her new acquaintances the latest dance craze from the states. Soon the floor was bouncing with flea hoppers.
When the exhausted dancers flung themselves across the pillows for a breather, Brouette assigned the next game to Bates. Bates flipped through the dictionary that Brouette had stashed in the cupboard before the party. When he was ready, he slammed the book shut to get everyone's attention. "Class is in session. The word is simoom."
"Simoom," repeated Brouette. "Does anyone know it?"
"What eez zees game?" Gaston asked Ella.
"It's simple, Gaston. John chooses a word from the dictionary, and Max confirms that no one here knows it. John gives us three definitions, but only one is correct. It's up to us to guess the right one."
Gaston chuckled. "I like zees English games. Très amusants."
Brouette gave the go-ahead, and Bates began:
"Si-MOOM.
S-i-m-o-o-m.
One. A type of bootleg gin made from chrysanthemums.
Two. A hot, suffocating wind blowing in the desert, especially in Arabia.
Three. A quick-climbing monkey, native to South Africa, with six digits on each hand and foot."
A passionate debate began over the meaning of the word. In the end, Baker and Imogene voted for the monkey definition, Baker because she loved animals and Imogene because simoom and six began with the same two letters. The others, all except Nora, voted for the bootleg definition.
Nora defended her position. "I would have heard a word that had anything to do with prohibition. I'm from Chicago!"
The gang clamoured for Bates to divulge the answer.
"The wind definition is correct," revealed Bates. "You're the only one who guessed it, Nora. How did you know?"
"Because it sounds like what it is," reasoned Nora. "Simoooooom," she moaned.
Imogene shivered. "Nora, don't. You're giving me the willies."
"Simoooooooooooom, simoooooooooooooooooom," teased Nora as Thomas crept up behind Imogene and lightly brushed his fingers over her ear.
Imogene let out a shriek that made everyone laugh, and no one laughed louder than Imogene.
"Back to business," ordered Brouette. "John couldn't fool you, Nora. What say you?"
"Forfeit!" Nora replied, and the others voiced their approval.
Brouette took one of the ukuleles from the wall. "John, do you know the chorus of Daisy Bell?"
"Bicycle Built for Two? I know it." Brouette was letting him off easy.
"Do you know the tune of Bye Bye Blackbird?" Brouette played a bit of the chorus and Nora sang along.
Bates was confused. "Yes, I've heard it."
"John Bates, I command you to sing Daisy Bell to the tune of Bye Bye Blackbird." Brouette played an introduction and nodded to Bates.
"Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer, do!"
"Wrong tune, John!" Brouette began the introduction again.
Bates started and stopped and started and stopped. The third time Brouette played the introduction, Bates was laughing so hard he could not squeeze out another note. The others joined in his mirth, and Baker and Ella tried to help him by loudly humming the required melody.
Nora stood and pointed an accusing finger at Bates. "Interference! I demand a penalty Charleston."
A silence fell over the gang, and Bates caught the exchange of embarrassed glances.
"Oh, John! I'm sorry, I forgot!"
Bates picked up Old Ram. "No need for alarm, Nora. I can give you a Charleston."
"John, no!" objected Thomas.
Bates held a finger to his lips. He hobbled onto the dance floor with Old Ram as though he were a feeble old man. He turned to the gang and planted his good leg firmly on the floor. "Brouette, if you please."
Brouette's brow furrowed as he began to play Sweet Georgia Brown. Bates waited a moment to let the tension build and then executed the basic step, kicking back with his bad leg and using Old Ram as a leg for the forward kicks. His good leg never budged from the floor. His clever solution caught the gang by surprise, and they cheered and whistled. Nora joined Bates on the floor, dropped to her knees, and danced a wild Charleston with her arms.
More dancing, more games, more forfeits, more food. At one point, Bates found himself sitting at the counter eating cold spaghetti with Imogene. He was surprised to learn that the harem pyjamas she wore were not a discard from Lady Bennett but a remnant of Imogene's own youth. She was the daughter of a viscount who had fallen on hard times before the war. Gaston, she disclosed, had the opposite upbringing. He knew nothing of his family and grew up in a French orphanage where he was taunted by the other children for his Asian appearance. Early on, he cultivated a frightening exterior to protect his gentle interior.
Throughout the night, one guest after another would steal away to Ella's panel and make a contribution. Bates sat on the piano bench and painted with his chest resting on his knees. He created a simple pair of eyes that were looking away from the footprints. Gaston added brows that gave the eyes an air of confusion. Ella placed the eyes in a large champagne glass so that they appeared to be floating. Nora used the pastels to position a tempting sandwich in front of the eyes. Brouette also used pastels to produce the silhouette of a flapper balancing on one of the footprints. Imogene painted a woodpecker nibbling at the sandwich because, as she told Bates, she liked to paint birds. Bates wondered what Thomas would add. He claimed to have no artistic ability whatsoever. But Thomas was not discouraged. He picked up a pastel, applied it to his mouth as though it were lipstick, and kissed the edge of an eyebrow.
When the energy in the room dwindled, Gaston served savarin and Neapolitan ice cream. Bates smiled as he watched Thomas, tucked between Baker and Imogene on a mound of pillows, enjoying his cake and listening to the women's lively gossip.
Baker set down her dish. "Thomas, it's time you paid your debt."
"But, Josephine, we've been dancing together all night."
"That was the principal. Now you must pay the interest." Baker took Thomas' dish and set it next to hers. "You and me alone on the floor. You choose the music."
Thomas made his selection. "This one's for you, John," he called before placing the needle. "Irish Black Bottom."
Baker did not simply dance; her body bantered with the music, improvising moves to keep up her end of the conversation. Thomas, who always forgot himself on the dance floor, quickly joined the repartee. When the music ended, the gang went wild and insisted the couple dance again. Bates felt his chest swell. Only his little brother could keep pace with Baker's nimble limbs.
The pair danced again, and again the gang demanded more. Bates could see that Thomas had run out of steam. He eased his brother towards the door. "I hate to be the one to break up this soirée, but Thomas and I have to catch a plane this morning, and we haven't finished packing."
Ella, Nora, and Baker followed them into the corridor to say their goodbyes.
"So, John, will you tell your wife that you washed my feet?" queried Baker as she removed her turban.
"My wife? Dear lady, I'm going to tell anyone who'll listen that I washed the feet of Josephine Baker, and what a glorious pair of feet they were!"
The women laughed and bade farewell to the two men. Ella promised to keep her eye on Nora, and Nora rolled her eyes as she promised to listen to Ella's advice.
Baker pressed something into Thomas' good hand. "I believe you overpaid the interest, Thomas. This should make up the difference."
Thomas turned over his hand to find the strawberry brooch. He stood stunned for a moment. "Josephine ... I can't. It's too much."
"Help me out here, Ella. Tell him it's all right."
Ella closed Thomas hand over the brooch. "Usually, I would agree with you, Thomas, but I know Josephine. If you don't take it, it will end up lost behind some piece of furniture."
"It's for you to give your sister-in-law," added Baker.
Thomas gave Bates a questioning look. Bates never did understand this strawberry business between his wife and Thomas, but he smiled and gave a nod of approval.
Baker kissed Thomas' cheek and whispered something in his ear.
Thomas Barrow's Bedroom
Maison de Bennett
An hour later
"By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea ..."
"Are you going to sing that all the way back to London?"
"Perhaps. You and me, you and me, oh how happy we'll be!"
"Pooh, I know it's not my business ..."
"What?"
"What did Josephine whisper to you before we left the party? If it's not too personal ..."
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
Silence.
"That's all right. Goodnight, Pooh."
"She said the brooch was for the man whose screams were finally heard."
