The entire night at Chez Josephine was like being in a bubbly glass of glamour and glitz, glorious stories, sweeping music, and the beautiful haze that comes from being surrounded by images of iconic Josephine Baker, dear friends, raucous singing around a piano, and a splash of extra champagne.
It was midnight in NYC and I wasn’t tired. I was standing in front of my billboard in Times Square with my sister and dear friends, Maria, Jennifer, and Dolphina. Dolphina suggested Chez Josephine, which she had been telling me about earlier, how it’s based on my iconic hero, Josephine Baker. We walked over through the chaotic detritus of Times Square, and when I spotted the red velvet drapes and 1920’s font, my heart started doing its own banana dance. We skipped across the street.
It lived up to its promise.
Walking through the front door was like entering another world. Red velvet drapes trimmed with golden tassels, brick walls covered with images of Josephine Baker at the height of her dancing, the kind of warm lighting that makes even the most weary of us look beautiful… Josephine peers out from every wall, bananas on her hips, feathers arching above her, body joyfully moving, her pet cheetah with a diamond collar walking beside her, a smile promising mischief… Chez Josephine is everything I love about the 1920’s, divine decadence, giddy and glamorous, an invitation to leave your cares outside and surrender to this one gorgeous moment. It is midnight, and there is only one other table occupied. I open the menu and am swept away with all my favorite French wines and champagnes. I sit down with my co-travelers, Dolphina, Jennifer, and my sister Maria.
A handsome host, Alberto, came over and asked if we’d like a drink. Being the responsible writer I am, I said just one glass of champagne, as I had my big book signing the next day and I was laser-focused.
He said he was having a special on bottles of Veuve.
I replied, “Definitely not. Dolphina and I are just having one glass and my sister and Jennifer don’t even drink.”
“Oh don’t worry about that. I will give you the bottle to take back to your room. I’ll even give you glasses to take with you.”
My laser-focus promptly flew out the window.
(I’m an easy sell when it comes to champagne.)
My sister tells Alberto that this place is perfect for me, that I’m completely obsessed with Josephine Baker and have been since I was twenty years old and saw a black and white postcard of her on a street-stand in Paris. I have carried that postcard around with me for the last thirty years. Something about it makes me feel brave. Perhaps it was the way Josephine rose out of homelessness, poverty, and racism to reach the pinnacle of stardom, survived three divorces, a child marriage, and lost all her money, her home, everything, and then she rose again. Maybe it was her war hero years, or my favorite fact about Josephine: that she adopted twelve children from different countries and called them her Rainbow Tribe, because she wanted to show the world that hate isn’t inherent. The Rainbow Tribe has fascinated me for years, as I adore children and have always dreamed of adopting twelve myself.
Maria tells Alberto that I wrote a mystery novel last year, and the main theft in the book was Josephine Baker’s costumes. I chose Josephine as my subject because I wanted to spend time more time with her legacy, I wanted people to know how magnificent she was, and I wanted to visit her castle as “research,” which I did in 2019.
Alberto said, “Well, her son is here. Do you want to meet him?”
Maria, Jennifer, and Dolphina all turn to stare at me, their mouths open.
“OMG! Her son? Her actual son? One of the Rainbow Tribe?”
He nods and sweeps our menus away as Maria smacks my arm. “Oh my gosh! This is meant to be! I can’t believe it!”
Alberto, returned with a short blonde Frenchman named Jean-Claude, who looked at us suspiciously. My sister started to rave about my love for Josephine.
I nodded and placed a hand over my heart, gushing, “I am so inspired by her!”
He scowled at me and said something like, “My mother is my mother. It is nothing natural, not extraordinary.” When he said this, he karate-chopped the air with his his hands.
But then he sat down, and had a glass of champagne, and then the stories started… he lived in the castle till he was 14. I told him I had visited the castle and he shrugged. I asked him about Monaco and Princess Grace and he told us how Prince Rainier and Grace Kelly invited them swimming, that Grace was a good friend of his mother’s. Grace Kelly!
Jennifer, Dolphina, and my sister asked him heartfelt questions, while I sat quietly, barely able to contain the bubbles running up and down my body like a frothy glass of champagne. I couldn’t believe I was sitting and talking to a member of the Rainbow Tribe.
My sister was delighted. She said, “Look at you! Swimming with Prince Rainer and Grace Kelly!”
He scowled and drank more champagne.
Grace Kelly became friends with Josephine when she was at a nightclub in NYC that refused to serve Josephine because of the color of her skin. Grace, living up to her name, saw the situation and stood up and left with Josephine in protest, and they became friends. When Josephine lost all her home and her money, it was Grace Kelly who offered her a place to live and perform in Monaco.
I pulled up a picture of the Rainbow Tribe on my phone and asked Jean Claude to show me which one was him. He pointed to the only blonde child. He was scowling as a child, the same way he was scowling now.
Eventually, Alfredo came over and turned the empty champagne bottle upside down to make sure there were no more drops.
Jean Claude graciously thanked us, bid us adieu, and left, and that’s when I spotted the grand piano sitting in the middle of the room.
It just so happens that Jennifer was a rock star back in the 80’s. She sat down and her fingers swept over the keys like long lost lovers, her dark hair falling over her face as she entered a meditative state particular to musicians who have found an instrument in an unexpected place. We started to sing, and I apologized to Alberto about our excessive volume, but he just waved a hand and said, “Sing as loud as you want!” At this point, we were the only ones left at Chez Josephine, and we let loose with some off-key glorious singing. I savored the moment, as I looked around at all the large-scale photos of Josephine surrounding me, the piano, the singing, the clinking glasses and the people I love next to me.
I didn’t want to leave the hypnotic restaurant, but I will be back, soaking in the opulent red walls, maybe as a bestselling author, or a broke-ass author. Either way, I’ll inspired by Josephine.
