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'The Color of Music' is a story of separately raised identical twins who come to discover their musical heritage through their growing years. Self-published author Claire Gordon shares Chapter Two with readers at Downright Fiction.
Claire began her career with the jazz industry as a secretary for Duke Ellington and even went on to bring together Nat King Cole and her songwriter husband Irving Gordon to record the song "Unforgettable" that Gordon wrote for her.
Claire began her career with the jazz industry as a secretary for Duke Ellington and even went on to bring together Nat King Cole and her songwriter husband Irving Gordon to record the song "Unforgettable" that Gordon wrote for her.
The subject of twins always intrigued Claire because she was raised with another child her own age; creating a feeling of being a twin.
The Color Of Music
A novel by Claire P. Gordon
If you missed out on Chapter One. find it here.
Chapter Two
Paris December 14, 1970
Dr. Charonne squeezed his new gray Renault into a small parking space on the Rue Blanc, whistling a snatch of music from his Tchaikovsky tape. He crossed the narrow street to the Genesse flat and rang the bell— a strange woman answered the door.
“I am here to see Babette Genesse. Is she in?” he asked, wondering who this woman could be.
“No, monsieur,” the woman responded, “those people moved. We rented here a week ago.”
The doctor’s mouth fell open in surprise, and he had trouble finding words. He planted his foot in the open doorway.
“Wait a minute, please” he said when he could speak again. ”Where is Mme. Genesse? Do you have the new address?”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. I have no idea,” the woman answered and shut the door, giving him a split second to move his foot out of the way. He felt his insides go weak.
Where was Babette, and more important, where was baby Eddie? How could he find them? Bewildered, he stood on the doorstep for a minute biting his lip and thinking. He was responsible for this child and knew he had to do something. He decided he must ask the police for help.
The gendarme at the station desk heard the words “missing persons” and led Dr. Charonne into Captain Arnett’s office. The tall, middle-aged captain with a fat mustache and receding dark hair stood up to greet him.
“Bon jour Doctor,” the captain said shaking hands. “Do you want to hang up your coat while we talk?” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and covered his mouth when he coughed.
Charonne sniffed— this windowless room reeked of smoke. He hung his coat and hat on a wood rack, and smoothed the wrinkled front of his white smock.
With an outstretched arm Captain Arnett indicated the straight-back chair on the far side of his desk, and sat down in his chair facing the doctor. From the breast pocket of his khaki uniform the captain pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Dr. Charonne.
“Merci,” the doctor said, “I don’t smoke.”
“Doctor,” the captain lit up and took a deep drag, ”I understand you came to report a missing person,” and he blew a cloud of smoke into the room. “Tell me all the facts please. Who is missing?”
”Puis, they aren’t exactly missing,” Charonne said, waving a hand back and forth to clear the air. “Mme Genesse has moved. I must find her and the baby.”
“Are they ill? Do you fear for their safety?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just that the baby doesn’t belong to Mme. Genesse and I must soon return him to his mother.”
“Excuse me. I’m not following, doctor.”
“I’ll explain. I was called to the Hotel Rousseau because twin babies cried and disturbed the other guests. I was deeply troubled when I saw those emaciated, ten-day old infants. I feared for their lives. The problem was that the woman nursed them but she hadn’t enough milk for two.”
“Why was the mother living in a hotel room?” the captain asked and tapped ash into a full ashtray.
“She’s a tourist, a blond, from someplace north. She came to Paris with her husband— he died suddenly. Before she could leave, she gave birth to these identical twins. I felt sorry for the poor young woman. Bereaved, saddled with two babies she couldn’t feed, next to no money, and far from home.” He sighed.
“As a physician it was my duty to save the babies. I felt sure she had enough milk to nurse one. Fortunately a patient agreed to wet nurses the other.” Charonne squirmed in the uncomfortable chair.
“Now I understand, doctor. You took a baby from the mother to be wet-nursed. Now she wants him returned, but you have lost track of the nurse. Is that it?” The captain blew the smoke out of his nose.
“Yes, exactly. I will be very grateful if you can find Mme. Genesse and the baby for me.”
“Of course we’d like to help you, Dr. Charonne, but unless you think this involves some sort of crime, my hands are tied. We can’t institute a search for people simply because they’ve moved.”
“Oh.” Charonne’s heart sank and he began to worry. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you that this couple would move suddenly from the flat where they’ve lived all these years?”
“Are you implying that they moved for some underhanded reason? Creditors perhaps? Or they are wanted?”
“I’m don’t think I can say that,” Charonne spoke slowly. “She’s been my patient for seven or eight years. She’s just a regular housewife. The husband seemed like a steady type with a good position. I can’t believe—.” He shook his head and left the sentence unfinished.
“In that case surely they’ll let you know where they are, don’t you think?“ the captain asked.
“Yes, but I feel a sense of urgency.” Charonne hoped the captain understood his anxiety. “It would be very embarrassing if Ingrid asks for her child before I know where he is.” Charonne tried to smile.
“I understand your concern.” The captain took another puff. “But you seem quite sure that this doesn’t involve any sort of crime.” The captain crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray. ”I can’t send my men to hunt for people only because they’ve moved.”
“I see. Maybe I’ve left out something important.” Charonne put his hand on his forehead while he tried to think of a reason for the police to hunt for them. ”Babette called the baby Paul instead of his real name, Eddie. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“I can’t see that it makes much difference what she called the child,” the Captain said and shrugged his shoulder.
“Here’s something else,” Charonne became frantic and grasped for any kind of reason. “Mme. Genesse left me a message that she was going out of town for a week. She didn’t mention moving. Does that seem peculiar?”
“Possibly a wonderful flat showed up. They canceled the trip and moved instead. You have to look at all the possibilities. Doctor, I still don’t find a reason to send my gendarmes to look for them. We have too many real crimes keeping them busy.”
“But what shall I do?” Charonne wriggled in his chair. His distress turned his saliva sour. “I am responsible for the baby. I need to know where he is.”
“Yes, but you aren’t a legal guardian or parent,” the captain said. “However, if the mother should come to us and claim that her child is missing, that would trigger a search for the Genesse people.” He pointed to a pad on his desk.
“I have a form to fill out regarding your visit,” he said. “Please write the full name and address of the Genesse people, the foreign mother’s name and address, and leave me your card.” He pushed the pad of paper to Charonne.
“I want to keep this out of the papers,” the doctor said, hoping he had one last chance.
“Not to worry. Unless there’s a crime, this type of case is never of interest to the papers.”
“The father of these twins was an important artist, according to his wife.”
“Is that right? What was his name?” the captain asked and lifted his eyes from the tablet.
“I’m not sure of the first name. The last name was Carby,” Charonne said.
“You don’t mean Vidol Carby, the piano player?”
“Yes I think that’s the right first name. An American.”
“Yes, yes. Didn’t you see the story in the papers? Carby was one of the most important Negro artists who ever came to Paris so his death was on the front page when it happened.”
“What happened?” the doctor asked.
“He was killed in a scuffle with some sailors, right in the nightclub where he worked.”
“That’s terrible.” Charonne was startled. “Ingrid didn’t tell me how he died. But of course she has trouble speaking French. Did I hear you say this Carby was a Negro? Those babies look white to me, Captain. Blue eyes, light skin, brownish hair. Maybe there’s a mistake.”
“No mistake if Vidol Carby was the father. Now I begin to wonder. Did the Genesse couple know the father was a celebrity? Maybe they’re hiding the baby hoping to get a little money out of this?”
“Actually captain, that couldn’t be the case. All I ever told Babette was that the mother was a foreigner and her name was Ingrid.”
“I see. I guess that ends our interview. Thanks for stopping by and best of luck to you, doctor.” The captain stood up, indicating that the conference was over. Doctor Charonne sighed and went to the coat rack.
“I may have to tell Ingrid what’s happened and ask her to come see you.” Dr. Charonne said as he put on his coat and tucked in his muffler.
“Yes that would be wise,” the captain said and shook his hand.
Charonne clapped on his hat and left the police station. He took deep breaths of the clean, cold winter air before getting into his car. Without thinking he turned on the Tchaikovsky tape again.
As he listened he thought, I won’t tell Ingrid her child is missing. First I’ll find out how soon she wants him returned. Maybe there’s plenty of time and, just as the captain says, Babette will call first.
He drove to the Hotel Rousseau, only a few blocks away.
“Mme. Ingrid Carby?” he asked at the desk. “In the same room?”
“No, Doctor, that woman walked out on us a few of weeks ago owing several hundred francs. We’d like to find her,” the manager said and punched his desk top with his fist. “Do you know where she works?”
Charonne stood for a moment bewildered by the turn of events. First the surprise that Babette moved out of that flat where she’d lived for such a long time, and now, Ingrid has left the hotel with baby Teddy, and no forwarding address.
“Where she works? I don’t think so.” The doctor spoke slowly. “It was a dress shop, is all I remember. I’m sure she’ll come by and pay you. Will you ask her to call me please? It’s urgent.”
Charonne walked to his car with mixed emotions. He was still feeling shocked about the death and learning that Carby was a Negro. At the same time, he felt relieved that he didn’t have to face Ingrid. He crossed his fingers that he’d find Eddie in time. And if not, he skipped over a puddle on the sidewalk, the captain promised a search. He felt better and drove away in the Renault.
# # # #
Paris, three weeks earlier
After she nursed the baby and changed him, Ingrid put on all her underwear, one pair of panties on top of the other, her slip on top, tied her old bra around her waist, and covered them with both her dresses. No one could tell how bulky she looked when she wore the big gray coat. She packed all the baby’s clothes and diapers in a bundle, and bound it together with her belt. Ingrid carried the baby over her shoulder and clutched the bundle by the belt while she walked down the stairs to the lobby. She waved at the desk clerk— she knew all the staff; she’d been here almost four months, and now she was leaving. Without carrying a suitcase they couldn’t tell.
While she waited at the corner for the bus she counted the money in her coin purse. Her whole body was in knots with terror. Only three francs and sixty centimes— that was all she had left. Luckily today she would start work. She had to hope Madame the owner would advance her a little money. If not she didn’t know how she’d eat or where she could sleep.
She tried to hold back the tears while she rode on the bus, and told herself she was doing the only thing she could. I must find a home for my baby. For two weeks, she’d read the ads for nursemaids, someone to care for the baby while she worked. Each of the people she phoned wanted so much per day— if she paid that much, she would not have enough left from her small salary for a place to stay and food. Impossible.
What else could she do? The idea of an institution made her feel sick to her stomach—she knew all the horros of such places from movies and books. Such a life wouldn’t do for her Teddy. No, never. She felt convinced was doing what she could to make sure that he went to a family who wanted him; an American family.
She exited the bus at the Champs-Elysées and walked to the American Embassy. Although it was just nine o’clock in the morning, people already milled around in front of the building and more people moved around inside. Ingrid went in and looked at the row of glass windows with a label naming the service offered. Each already had a queue of people waiting. She read them all— none were what she needed. She chose a short queue.
Ingrid patted little Teddy’s back, and tried not to cry before she reached a person on the other side of the glass.
“Your passport please,” the woman asked through the hole in the glass. Ingrid fished in her pocket book and pushed her passport to the serious looking woman whose badge read Doris Longworth.
“Are you applying for a visa?” she asked Ingrid.
“No, is for my baby. He is American like his father. I need to send baby to America.”
“You mean you want to send your child to family members there?”
“I want to send him to his father’s kind of people. That is what his father say he wanted. I bring baby for you to send him to America.”
“My dear Madame,” she peeked at the passport, “Bakken. Is this your married name?”
“I do not have married name.” the words were hard to speak out of her dry mouth, “V die before we do wedding.”
“I’m so sorry, but we can’t send a baby alone, without an address, and no recipient at the other end. And you must arrange for airfare.”
“I have no money for airfare,” Ingrid’s voice broke, and she had trouble remembering words in either French or English. “No money is why I must give him up. I need you to find good people to take care my baby.” Ingrid swallowed and tried very hard not to cry. She must accomplish this.
“Miss Bakken, this is not a service offered by the Embassy. You must contact an adoption agency.”
“Please, I am despair.” Ingrid opened her purse and pulled out a document.
“See, his father is American,” Ingrid said and she pushed a birth certificate toward Doris Longworth
“You have twins?” Doris asked, reading the information.
“Yes, other one in good hands. I no worry for his care. Only for this one I need care.”
“The father is listed here as Vidol Carby.” Doris Longworth read the birth certificate and looked at Ingrid again. “Is this the jazz piano player?” she asked.
“Yes, he is father.”
“Let me see the baby. Oh he’s cute, but he looks white. Wasn’t your fiancée a colored man?”
“Yes, very handsome, tall, and color of caramel.” Ingrid almost smiled but around her mouth the skin was too tight and tears gathered in her eyes.
“I wish I knew of a way to help you my dear, but there’s nothing I can do.” Doris Longworth handed the passport and birth certificate back to Ingrid. “Next.”
Ingrid walked away, her head bent to hide the tears she couldn’t hold back. She was due at the dress shop in ten minutes.
She found the ladies’ room and laid the sleeping baby on a couch. She looked around. No one watched when she locked herself into a stall and took off all the excess clothes. She rolled them up, left the stall, and took the belt off the baby clothes to tie around her own clothes.
She could hardly see herself in the mirror— tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t tell if her blond hair looked neat or not. She felt the braid pinned around her head, wiped her eyes, and took an extra paper towel. Baby Teddy continued to sleep. She laid his clothes beside him and his birth certificate on top.
“I leave you here because some nice American lady going to care for you,” she whispered and kissed him. “I’ll always love you my dear Teddy,” and she tiptoed out.
The dress shop was many blocks away. She couldn’t afford another bus. Ingrid walked as fast as she could and rushed through the open front door.
“You are late, Mademoiselle Ingrid,” the older French woman said from behind the counter. She was thick around the waist and had suspiciously black hair. “Employees use the back door. Bon, you are here. Change into a uniform and get ready to help customers. Ask Jeanne what to do.”
“I’ll show you everything.” Her co-worker came to her side. “I’m Jeanne. Uniforms are in the last dressing room. Come. You look like size 36. “
“Yes I think,” Ingrid said and she looked down at her body that had been so huge while she carried the twins, and now was very thin. “My name Ingrid.”
“Put this one on, Ingrid,” Jeanne said and handed her a black wrapper and a striped neck scarf. “With your blond hair and blue eyes, this will be very becoming.”
“Where I leave clothes?” Ingrid asked.
“In the stock room and what is that?” Jeanne asked pointing to the belt-tied roll.
“Is all my clothes. I leave hotel today.” She felt tears coming to her eyes and her throat hurt when she asked, “Will Madame advance me a few francs to eat and for a room?”
“Not her. She won’t give you the time of day or a sou before pay day.”
In the mirror Ingrid saw her face go rigid with panic.
“Listen, Ingrid,” Jeanne said and touched Ingrid’s shoulder. ”If you are broke I can lend you a little until pay day.”
“Thank you, Jeanne. You very kind.” Tears came to her eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her hand.
“Is that true? You really have no place to stay?” Jeanne asked. “My place is tiny. I have only one small bed. If a blanket and pillow on the rug will do?”
“I take. Is better than street. Now what I do?”
A customer came in.
“Watch me,” Jeanne said,” I’ll show you everything.”
Ingrid should have paid closer attention but her thoughts went back to the baby she had left at the Embassy. She prayed that a good family would be found to look after him across the water, and that some day she would see him again. Her arms felt so empty without him.
Oh, if only she could have her Eddie now, but of course if she couldn’t keep Teddy, she couldn’t take care of Eddie now, either. She tried to feel grateful that the baby was in good hands—that’s what Dr. Ccharonne said.
She plotted. If she began saving with her first paycheck; it couldn’t take too long to have her own place. After that she’d save up more so she could have day care. She knew it would take a while. With the back of her fingers she rubbed away the tears that filled her eyes and tried to find a smile for Jeanne.
Paris December 14, 1970
Dr. Charonne squeezed his new gray Renault into a small parking space on the Rue Blanc, whistling a snatch of music from his Tchaikovsky tape. He crossed the narrow street to the Genesse flat and rang the bell— a strange woman answered the door.
“I am here to see Babette Genesse. Is she in?” he asked, wondering who this woman could be.
“No, monsieur,” the woman responded, “those people moved. We rented here a week ago.”
The doctor’s mouth fell open in surprise, and he had trouble finding words. He planted his foot in the open doorway.
“Wait a minute, please” he said when he could speak again. ”Where is Mme. Genesse? Do you have the new address?”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. I have no idea,” the woman answered and shut the door, giving him a split second to move his foot out of the way. He felt his insides go weak.
Where was Babette, and more important, where was baby Eddie? How could he find them? Bewildered, he stood on the doorstep for a minute biting his lip and thinking. He was responsible for this child and knew he had to do something. He decided he must ask the police for help.
The gendarme at the station desk heard the words “missing persons” and led Dr. Charonne into Captain Arnett’s office. The tall, middle-aged captain with a fat mustache and receding dark hair stood up to greet him.
“Bon jour Doctor,” the captain said shaking hands. “Do you want to hang up your coat while we talk?” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and covered his mouth when he coughed.
Charonne sniffed— this windowless room reeked of smoke. He hung his coat and hat on a wood rack, and smoothed the wrinkled front of his white smock.
With an outstretched arm Captain Arnett indicated the straight-back chair on the far side of his desk, and sat down in his chair facing the doctor. From the breast pocket of his khaki uniform the captain pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Dr. Charonne.
“Merci,” the doctor said, “I don’t smoke.”
“Doctor,” the captain lit up and took a deep drag, ”I understand you came to report a missing person,” and he blew a cloud of smoke into the room. “Tell me all the facts please. Who is missing?”
”Puis, they aren’t exactly missing,” Charonne said, waving a hand back and forth to clear the air. “Mme Genesse has moved. I must find her and the baby.”
“Are they ill? Do you fear for their safety?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just that the baby doesn’t belong to Mme. Genesse and I must soon return him to his mother.”
“Excuse me. I’m not following, doctor.”
“I’ll explain. I was called to the Hotel Rousseau because twin babies cried and disturbed the other guests. I was deeply troubled when I saw those emaciated, ten-day old infants. I feared for their lives. The problem was that the woman nursed them but she hadn’t enough milk for two.”
“Why was the mother living in a hotel room?” the captain asked and tapped ash into a full ashtray.
“She’s a tourist, a blond, from someplace north. She came to Paris with her husband— he died suddenly. Before she could leave, she gave birth to these identical twins. I felt sorry for the poor young woman. Bereaved, saddled with two babies she couldn’t feed, next to no money, and far from home.” He sighed.
“As a physician it was my duty to save the babies. I felt sure she had enough milk to nurse one. Fortunately a patient agreed to wet nurses the other.” Charonne squirmed in the uncomfortable chair.
“Now I understand, doctor. You took a baby from the mother to be wet-nursed. Now she wants him returned, but you have lost track of the nurse. Is that it?” The captain blew the smoke out of his nose.
“Yes, exactly. I will be very grateful if you can find Mme. Genesse and the baby for me.”
“Of course we’d like to help you, Dr. Charonne, but unless you think this involves some sort of crime, my hands are tied. We can’t institute a search for people simply because they’ve moved.”
“Oh.” Charonne’s heart sank and he began to worry. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you that this couple would move suddenly from the flat where they’ve lived all these years?”
“Are you implying that they moved for some underhanded reason? Creditors perhaps? Or they are wanted?”
“I’m don’t think I can say that,” Charonne spoke slowly. “She’s been my patient for seven or eight years. She’s just a regular housewife. The husband seemed like a steady type with a good position. I can’t believe—.” He shook his head and left the sentence unfinished.
“In that case surely they’ll let you know where they are, don’t you think?“ the captain asked.
“Yes, but I feel a sense of urgency.” Charonne hoped the captain understood his anxiety. “It would be very embarrassing if Ingrid asks for her child before I know where he is.” Charonne tried to smile.
“I understand your concern.” The captain took another puff. “But you seem quite sure that this doesn’t involve any sort of crime.” The captain crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray. ”I can’t send my men to hunt for people only because they’ve moved.”
“I see. Maybe I’ve left out something important.” Charonne put his hand on his forehead while he tried to think of a reason for the police to hunt for them. ”Babette called the baby Paul instead of his real name, Eddie. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“I can’t see that it makes much difference what she called the child,” the Captain said and shrugged his shoulder.
“Here’s something else,” Charonne became frantic and grasped for any kind of reason. “Mme. Genesse left me a message that she was going out of town for a week. She didn’t mention moving. Does that seem peculiar?”
“Possibly a wonderful flat showed up. They canceled the trip and moved instead. You have to look at all the possibilities. Doctor, I still don’t find a reason to send my gendarmes to look for them. We have too many real crimes keeping them busy.”
“But what shall I do?” Charonne wriggled in his chair. His distress turned his saliva sour. “I am responsible for the baby. I need to know where he is.”
“Yes, but you aren’t a legal guardian or parent,” the captain said. “However, if the mother should come to us and claim that her child is missing, that would trigger a search for the Genesse people.” He pointed to a pad on his desk.
“I have a form to fill out regarding your visit,” he said. “Please write the full name and address of the Genesse people, the foreign mother’s name and address, and leave me your card.” He pushed the pad of paper to Charonne.
“I want to keep this out of the papers,” the doctor said, hoping he had one last chance.
“Not to worry. Unless there’s a crime, this type of case is never of interest to the papers.”
“The father of these twins was an important artist, according to his wife.”
“Is that right? What was his name?” the captain asked and lifted his eyes from the tablet.
“I’m not sure of the first name. The last name was Carby,” Charonne said.
“You don’t mean Vidol Carby, the piano player?”
“Yes I think that’s the right first name. An American.”
“Yes, yes. Didn’t you see the story in the papers? Carby was one of the most important Negro artists who ever came to Paris so his death was on the front page when it happened.”
“What happened?” the doctor asked.
“He was killed in a scuffle with some sailors, right in the nightclub where he worked.”
“That’s terrible.” Charonne was startled. “Ingrid didn’t tell me how he died. But of course she has trouble speaking French. Did I hear you say this Carby was a Negro? Those babies look white to me, Captain. Blue eyes, light skin, brownish hair. Maybe there’s a mistake.”
“No mistake if Vidol Carby was the father. Now I begin to wonder. Did the Genesse couple know the father was a celebrity? Maybe they’re hiding the baby hoping to get a little money out of this?”
“Actually captain, that couldn’t be the case. All I ever told Babette was that the mother was a foreigner and her name was Ingrid.”
“I see. I guess that ends our interview. Thanks for stopping by and best of luck to you, doctor.” The captain stood up, indicating that the conference was over. Doctor Charonne sighed and went to the coat rack.
“I may have to tell Ingrid what’s happened and ask her to come see you.” Dr. Charonne said as he put on his coat and tucked in his muffler.
“Yes that would be wise,” the captain said and shook his hand.
Charonne clapped on his hat and left the police station. He took deep breaths of the clean, cold winter air before getting into his car. Without thinking he turned on the Tchaikovsky tape again.
As he listened he thought, I won’t tell Ingrid her child is missing. First I’ll find out how soon she wants him returned. Maybe there’s plenty of time and, just as the captain says, Babette will call first.
He drove to the Hotel Rousseau, only a few blocks away.
“Mme. Ingrid Carby?” he asked at the desk. “In the same room?”
“No, Doctor, that woman walked out on us a few of weeks ago owing several hundred francs. We’d like to find her,” the manager said and punched his desk top with his fist. “Do you know where she works?”
Charonne stood for a moment bewildered by the turn of events. First the surprise that Babette moved out of that flat where she’d lived for such a long time, and now, Ingrid has left the hotel with baby Teddy, and no forwarding address.
“Where she works? I don’t think so.” The doctor spoke slowly. “It was a dress shop, is all I remember. I’m sure she’ll come by and pay you. Will you ask her to call me please? It’s urgent.”
Charonne walked to his car with mixed emotions. He was still feeling shocked about the death and learning that Carby was a Negro. At the same time, he felt relieved that he didn’t have to face Ingrid. He crossed his fingers that he’d find Eddie in time. And if not, he skipped over a puddle on the sidewalk, the captain promised a search. He felt better and drove away in the Renault.
# # # #
Paris, three weeks earlier
After she nursed the baby and changed him, Ingrid put on all her underwear, one pair of panties on top of the other, her slip on top, tied her old bra around her waist, and covered them with both her dresses. No one could tell how bulky she looked when she wore the big gray coat. She packed all the baby’s clothes and diapers in a bundle, and bound it together with her belt. Ingrid carried the baby over her shoulder and clutched the bundle by the belt while she walked down the stairs to the lobby. She waved at the desk clerk— she knew all the staff; she’d been here almost four months, and now she was leaving. Without carrying a suitcase they couldn’t tell.
While she waited at the corner for the bus she counted the money in her coin purse. Her whole body was in knots with terror. Only three francs and sixty centimes— that was all she had left. Luckily today she would start work. She had to hope Madame the owner would advance her a little money. If not she didn’t know how she’d eat or where she could sleep.
She tried to hold back the tears while she rode on the bus, and told herself she was doing the only thing she could. I must find a home for my baby. For two weeks, she’d read the ads for nursemaids, someone to care for the baby while she worked. Each of the people she phoned wanted so much per day— if she paid that much, she would not have enough left from her small salary for a place to stay and food. Impossible.
What else could she do? The idea of an institution made her feel sick to her stomach—she knew all the horros of such places from movies and books. Such a life wouldn’t do for her Teddy. No, never. She felt convinced was doing what she could to make sure that he went to a family who wanted him; an American family.
She exited the bus at the Champs-Elysées and walked to the American Embassy. Although it was just nine o’clock in the morning, people already milled around in front of the building and more people moved around inside. Ingrid went in and looked at the row of glass windows with a label naming the service offered. Each already had a queue of people waiting. She read them all— none were what she needed. She chose a short queue.
Ingrid patted little Teddy’s back, and tried not to cry before she reached a person on the other side of the glass.
“Your passport please,” the woman asked through the hole in the glass. Ingrid fished in her pocket book and pushed her passport to the serious looking woman whose badge read Doris Longworth.
“Are you applying for a visa?” she asked Ingrid.
“No, is for my baby. He is American like his father. I need to send baby to America.”
“You mean you want to send your child to family members there?”
“I want to send him to his father’s kind of people. That is what his father say he wanted. I bring baby for you to send him to America.”
“My dear Madame,” she peeked at the passport, “Bakken. Is this your married name?”
“I do not have married name.” the words were hard to speak out of her dry mouth, “V die before we do wedding.”
“I’m so sorry, but we can’t send a baby alone, without an address, and no recipient at the other end. And you must arrange for airfare.”
“I have no money for airfare,” Ingrid’s voice broke, and she had trouble remembering words in either French or English. “No money is why I must give him up. I need you to find good people to take care my baby.” Ingrid swallowed and tried very hard not to cry. She must accomplish this.
“Miss Bakken, this is not a service offered by the Embassy. You must contact an adoption agency.”
“Please, I am despair.” Ingrid opened her purse and pulled out a document.
“See, his father is American,” Ingrid said and she pushed a birth certificate toward Doris Longworth
“You have twins?” Doris asked, reading the information.
“Yes, other one in good hands. I no worry for his care. Only for this one I need care.”
“The father is listed here as Vidol Carby.” Doris Longworth read the birth certificate and looked at Ingrid again. “Is this the jazz piano player?” she asked.
“Yes, he is father.”
“Let me see the baby. Oh he’s cute, but he looks white. Wasn’t your fiancée a colored man?”
“Yes, very handsome, tall, and color of caramel.” Ingrid almost smiled but around her mouth the skin was too tight and tears gathered in her eyes.
“I wish I knew of a way to help you my dear, but there’s nothing I can do.” Doris Longworth handed the passport and birth certificate back to Ingrid. “Next.”
Ingrid walked away, her head bent to hide the tears she couldn’t hold back. She was due at the dress shop in ten minutes.
She found the ladies’ room and laid the sleeping baby on a couch. She looked around. No one watched when she locked herself into a stall and took off all the excess clothes. She rolled them up, left the stall, and took the belt off the baby clothes to tie around her own clothes.
She could hardly see herself in the mirror— tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t tell if her blond hair looked neat or not. She felt the braid pinned around her head, wiped her eyes, and took an extra paper towel. Baby Teddy continued to sleep. She laid his clothes beside him and his birth certificate on top.
“I leave you here because some nice American lady going to care for you,” she whispered and kissed him. “I’ll always love you my dear Teddy,” and she tiptoed out.
The dress shop was many blocks away. She couldn’t afford another bus. Ingrid walked as fast as she could and rushed through the open front door.
“You are late, Mademoiselle Ingrid,” the older French woman said from behind the counter. She was thick around the waist and had suspiciously black hair. “Employees use the back door. Bon, you are here. Change into a uniform and get ready to help customers. Ask Jeanne what to do.”
“I’ll show you everything.” Her co-worker came to her side. “I’m Jeanne. Uniforms are in the last dressing room. Come. You look like size 36. “
“Yes I think,” Ingrid said and she looked down at her body that had been so huge while she carried the twins, and now was very thin. “My name Ingrid.”
“Put this one on, Ingrid,” Jeanne said and handed her a black wrapper and a striped neck scarf. “With your blond hair and blue eyes, this will be very becoming.”
“Where I leave clothes?” Ingrid asked.
“In the stock room and what is that?” Jeanne asked pointing to the belt-tied roll.
“Is all my clothes. I leave hotel today.” She felt tears coming to her eyes and her throat hurt when she asked, “Will Madame advance me a few francs to eat and for a room?”
“Not her. She won’t give you the time of day or a sou before pay day.”
In the mirror Ingrid saw her face go rigid with panic.
“Listen, Ingrid,” Jeanne said and touched Ingrid’s shoulder. ”If you are broke I can lend you a little until pay day.”
“Thank you, Jeanne. You very kind.” Tears came to her eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her hand.
“Is that true? You really have no place to stay?” Jeanne asked. “My place is tiny. I have only one small bed. If a blanket and pillow on the rug will do?”
“I take. Is better than street. Now what I do?”
A customer came in.
“Watch me,” Jeanne said,” I’ll show you everything.”
Ingrid should have paid closer attention but her thoughts went back to the baby she had left at the Embassy. She prayed that a good family would be found to look after him across the water, and that some day she would see him again. Her arms felt so empty without him.
Oh, if only she could have her Eddie now, but of course if she couldn’t keep Teddy, she couldn’t take care of Eddie now, either. She tried to feel grateful that the baby was in good hands—that’s what Dr. Ccharonne said.
She plotted. If she began saving with her first paycheck; it couldn’t take too long to have her own place. After that she’d save up more so she could have day care. She knew it would take a while. With the back of her fingers she rubbed away the tears that filled her eyes and tried to find a smile for Jeanne.
Claire Gordon is the author of My Unforgettable Jazz Friends, Boy Meets Horn and Marshal Royal: Jazz Survivor. The Color of Music is her first novel. You can get in touch with Claire at www.thecolorofmusicnovel.com
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