Title: JOSEPHINE BAKER’S LAST DANCE
Author: Sherry Jones
Publisher: Gallery Books
Pages: 304
Genre: Biography/Historical
Author: Sherry Jones
Publisher: Gallery Books
Pages: 304
Genre: Biography/Historical
From the author of The Jewel of Medina, a moving and insightful novel
based on the life of legendary performer and activist Josephine Baker,
perfect for fans of The Paris Wife and Hidden Figures.
Discover the fascinating and singular life story of Josephine Baker—actress, singer, dancer, Civil Rights activist, member of the French Resistance during WWII, and a woman dedicated to erasing prejudice and creating a more equitable world—in Josephine Baker’s Last Dance.
In this illuminating biographical novel, Sherry Jones brings to life Josephine’s early years in servitude and poverty in America, her rise to fame as a showgirl in her famous banana skirt, her activism against discrimination, and her many loves and losses. From 1920s Paris to 1960s Washington, to her final, triumphant performance, one of the most extraordinary lives of the twentieth century comes to stunning life on the page.
With intimate prose and comprehensive research, Sherry Jones brings this remarkable and compelling public figure into focus for the first time in a joyous celebration of a life lived in technicolor, a powerful woman who continues to inspire today.
Purchase Josephine Baker’s Last Dance in paperback, ebook, and audiobook formats on Simon and Schuster’s website (available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, BooksAMillion, Indiebound, Kobo, and other sites). Learn more about Sherry’s books at www.authorsherryjones.com
Discover the fascinating and singular life story of Josephine Baker—actress, singer, dancer, Civil Rights activist, member of the French Resistance during WWII, and a woman dedicated to erasing prejudice and creating a more equitable world—in Josephine Baker’s Last Dance.
In this illuminating biographical novel, Sherry Jones brings to life Josephine’s early years in servitude and poverty in America, her rise to fame as a showgirl in her famous banana skirt, her activism against discrimination, and her many loves and losses. From 1920s Paris to 1960s Washington, to her final, triumphant performance, one of the most extraordinary lives of the twentieth century comes to stunning life on the page.
With intimate prose and comprehensive research, Sherry Jones brings this remarkable and compelling public figure into focus for the first time in a joyous celebration of a life lived in technicolor, a powerful woman who continues to inspire today.
Purchase Josephine Baker’s Last Dance in paperback, ebook, and audiobook formats on Simon and Schuster’s website (available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, BooksAMillion, Indiebound, Kobo, and other sites). Learn more about Sherry’s books at www.authorsherryjones.com
Just before she entered the
stage door, a drop of rain hit her on the head. No, that was not a bad omen,
only a reminder to do her best, to shine like the star she was, or would be.
Wilsie came running up—Mr. Sissle was there, but Mr. Blake had yet to
arrive. “You’ll knock ’em dead, Tumpy. Just do your dancing and forget the
rest.” Josephine didn’t need to be told that. She was ready.
She flexed and stretched
her arms as she walked with Wilsie across the stage, past the musicians
gathering, trumpets and saxophones and drums and a clarinet, down into the
auditorium, where a slender man spoke to a white-haired man at his side. He
turned his head very slightly and looked her up and down from the corners of
his shrewd, hard eyes. His mouth pursed.
“How old are you?” he’d
said before Wilsie had even introduced them. The stage door opened, and a
very dark-skinned man with a bald head hurried in, talking about “the damned
rain,” scampering down the steps, striding up the aisle, shaking water from his
clothes.
“Eubie Blake,” he said,
smiling, holding out his hand to her.
“This is Tumpy, Mr. Blake,
the one I told you about,” Wilsie said. “She’s here to audition for Clara’s
spot in the chorus.”
The man with Mr. Sissle—the
stage manager—motioned to her and she followed him up the stage steps. Did she
know the songs? Could she dance to “I’m Just Wild about Harry”? Josephine
wanted to jump for joy. She pretended to watch as Wilsie showed her the steps,
which she already knew as if she’d made them up herself. Josephine stripped
down to her dingy leotard, tossed her clothes on a chair, then ran and leaped
to the center of the stage. This was it. She bent over to grasp her ankles,
stretching her legs, then stood and pulled her arms over her head.
“Ready?” Mr. Sissle barked.
The music started, and she began the dance, so simple she could have done it in
her sleep. Practicing in the Standard, she’d gotten bored with it and had made
up her own steps, throwing in a little Black Bottom, wiggling her ass and
kicking her legs twice as high as they wanted to go, taken by the music, played
by it, the instruments’ instrument, flapping her hands, step and kick and spin
and spin and squat and jump and down in a split, up and jump and kick and
spin—oops, the steps, she didn’t need no damn steps, she had better ones—and kick
and jump and wiggle and spin. She looked out into the auditorium—a big mistake:
Mr. Blake’s mouth was open and Mr. Sissle’s eyes had narrowed to slits. Don’t
be nervous, just dance. Only the music remained now, her feet and the stage.
When she’d finished,
panting, and pulled on her dress and shoes, Wilsie came running over, her eyes
shining. “You made their heads spin, you better believe it,” she whispered, but
when they went down into the aisle Josephine heard Mr. Sissle muttering.
“Too young, too dark, too
ugly,” he said. The world stopped turning, then, the sun frozen in its arc,
every clock still, every breath caught in every throat. Mr. Blake turned
to her, smiling as if everything were normal, and congratulated her on “a
remarkable dance.”
“I can see that you are
well qualified for our chorus, Tumpy,” he said, and on his lips, the name
sounded like a little child’s.
“You have real talent, and
spark, besides. How did you learn to do that at such a young age? You are—how
old?”
“Fifteen,” she said.
Mr. Sissle snorted, and cut
Wilsie a look. “Wasting my time,” he said. Mr. Blake looked at her as if she’d
just wandered in from the orphanage.
“I’m very sorry, there’s
been a mix-up,” he said. “You must be sixteen to dance professionally in New
York State.”
“I’ll be sixteen in June,”
Josephine said. Her voice sounded plaintive and faraway.
“We need someone now.” Mr.
Sissle folded his arms as if she were underage on purpose. Mr. Blake led her
toward the stage door, an apologetic Wilsie saying she hadn’t known. Mr. Sissle
followed, talking to Mr. Blake about adding some steps to “I’m Just Wild
about Harry,” saying they should put in some kicks, that he’d been thinking
about it for a while. Uh-huh.
“Come and see us in New
York after your birthday, doll,” Mr. Blake said.
“You never know when we might have an opening.” He opened the door and let the
rain pour in before shutting it again. He looked at Josephine’s thin,
optimistic dress. Where was her umbrella? She hung her head. He stepped over to
retrieve a black umbrella propped against the wall and handed it to her. She
took it without even knowing, her thoughts colliding like too many birds in a
cage. She would have to stay in Philadelphia, she
had failed—too young, too dark, too ugly—she should have lied about her age,
what had gotten into her? Showing off, that was what.
And now Mr. Sissle disliked
her, and she would never get into their show; it didn’t matter how many times
she went back. As she stepped out into the rain with that big umbrella in her
hands unopened and felt the rain pour down her face; she was glad, for now they
would think it was water instead of tears, but when she looked back, Wilsie was
crying, too, in the open doorway.
Seeing the men watching
from a window, she stopped. They wouldn’t forget her; she’d make them remember.
She walked slowly, her silk dress dripping, while Mr. Sissle gesticulated with
excitement as he stole her ideas—authentic Negro dancing were the last
words she’d heard—and Mr. Blake looking as if he wanted to run out there, scoop
her up, and carry her back inside.
( Continued… )
© 2018 All rights reserved.
Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Sherry Jones. Do not
reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is
used for promotional purposes only.
Author and journalist Sherry Jones is best known for her international bestseller The Jewel of Medina. She is also the author of The Sword of Medina, Four Sisters, All Queens, The Sharp Hook of Love, and the novella White Heart. Sherry lives
in Spokane, WA, where, like Josephine Baker, she enjoys dancing,
singing, eating, advocating for equality, and drinking champagne.
Her latest novel is Josephine Baker’s Last Dance.
Website: http://authorsherryjones.com
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Her latest novel is Josephine Baker’s Last Dance.
Website: http://authorsherryjones.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/sherryjones
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/sherryjones
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/sherry-jones
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sherryjonesfanpage
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/josephinebakerslastdance
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/cybersecuritytechnologywriter
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1219600.Sherry_Jones
