Spotlight – Josephine Bakers Last Dance by Sherry Jones @sherryjones #HistoricalBiography


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

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 MedinaFour SistersAll QueensThe 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.comTwitter:






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2 thoughts on “Spotlight – Josephine Bakers Last Dance by Sherry Jones @sherryjones #HistoricalBiography

  1. I’ve heard of this amazing woman before. She really did to so many wonderful things. I should read this book.

    We’re leaving on our yacht club cruise this morning so I won’t be around until Monday.

    Have a fabulous day and weekend, Jody. Love you bunches. ♥