I spent the early afternoon in the back garden, sitting on a bench under the broad canopy of a banyan tree, marveling at the dozens of twisted roots that dripped down from the heavy branches, boring into the earth to provide support. As Catherine had suggested, the garden was a wonderful place to contemplate my future. The heady scent of jasmine engulfed my senses, and the mysterious names and vibrant colors of ruby heliconia, magenta amaranth, indigo jacaranda, and wild scarlet ginger seduced me, calming my nerves. An expanse of purple bougainvillea cascaded over a stone wall, encroaching on a nearby mango tree. I longed to be as tenacious and unfettered as this vine, with hidden thorns to protect me. I imagined my future uncoiling like the tightly furled fronds of pale green ferns, pushing up from the damp soil, seeking traces of daylight.
How fortunate I was to have Catherine’s aid. I didn’t have to worry about finding another place to live, as I’d feared, but I still desperately needed a job. Who would hire a girl of eighteen with no experience or skills?
I tried drafting a letter to the Assistance Society in Luang Prabang, asking them to release information on my past. But it proved more difficult than I’d imagined; I struggled to express my desperate need to find the people who had brought me into this world. How could I reach these misguided bureaucrats with their incomprehensible rules and make them understand? Perhaps sending a polite request devoid of emotions would be most effective. If only they would give me my mother’s full name, it might be enough to find her or her family. I jotted down ideas and phrases, yet nothing fit together into a coherent appeal.
When the heat became too oppressive, I returned to the house. Catherine met me in the hallway. “Why don’t you enjoy a nice bath to refresh you for this evening? My guests arrive at six.”
I ducked my head, wondering if I smelled. At the orphanage, we were allotted a ten-minute bath once a week. I could never relax and enjoy the time, knowing the next person was waiting impatiently outside the door.
Mali showed me how to turn on the water heater and run a bath, adding the sweet scent of frangipani oil. I reveled in the luxury of slowly washing my hair and soaking in the hot water until my fingers began to wrinkle.
I stood by the back window in my room, combing my freshly washed hair until it fell smooth and shiny down my back. My only choice for the party was my blue dress, a shapeless drape of voile that fell to the middle of my shins. I slipped on my silver bracelet and studied myself in the mirror. It was the best I could do.
At a quarter to six Catherine knocked on my door. “Are you dressed?” she called.
“Come in.”
Wearing a mid-length lavender crêpe tea dress, she looked as if she’d stepped out of one of her Paris Modes et Travaux magazines. The skirt clung to her slender body, wrapping around the front with a gathered piece that fell in folds down one side, while narrow straps crisscrossed her bare back, holding up the bodice. She’d pinned her hair back with a silver comb on one side and wore pearl drop earrings and a matching necklace.
She studied me for a moment. “You look lovely. I know Maîtresse always strictly forbade makeup at the orphanage, but I don’t think a touch of lipstick will taint you now that you’re eighteen.”
I clasped my hands together. “Oh, thank you.”
We crossed the hall to her room, which was even larger than mine. It was painted a pale blue and had an enormous canopy bed, with a silk cover woven in a Lao pattern of indigo blue and emerald green. Catherine sat me on the bench in front of her vanity. I stared in awe at the collection of jars—creams, powders, rouges, and lipsticks—along with a silver hairbrush, comb, and mirror set, and four crystal perfume atomizers.
Catherine opened a tube of dark pink lipstick. “Put a little on the end of your finger and dab it on your lips.”
I gingerly touched my lips, turning my head to observe the color from different angles in the mirror.
She laughed. “Okay, go like this.” She showed me how to rub my lips together to even out the color. “Perfect! Now we must get downstairs before the guests arrive.”
In the salon two settees covered in faded rose-colored silk, and a collection of wooden and rattan armchairs with flowered print cushions, gave the room an elegant but slightly worn appearance. Everything was ready: the low tables stocked with silver cigarette boxes and lighters next to crystal ashtrays; bottles of champagne, decanters of liquor, an ice bucket, and seltzer water arranged on a teak drink trolley; feathery ferns sprawled over giant Chinese pots in the front corners of the room; and an extravagant arrangement of orange canna and red hibiscus filled a vase next to the Victrola on the sideboard. Dozens of candles and the electric wall sconces filled the room with soft light, as two punkah fans, hanging from the high ceiling, waved back and forth like palm fronds to create the impression of a breeze.
Catherine poured a half glass of champagne and handed it to me. “Have you had champagne before?”
“Last New Year’s Eve, Director Bernard allowed the oldest girls a taste.”
“Sip it slowly. We can’t have you tipsy.” Catherine hesitated a moment. “I hate to sound like a prudish maiden aunt, but I must offer a bit of advice before anyone arrives. You’re a beautiful young woman, Vivi, and men will find you appealing and exotic, given your mixed heritage. You can expect a great deal of uninvited attention.”
I stared at the bubbles rising up the sides of my champagne glass, wondering what could have prompted such a statement. No one, besides Bridgette, had ever told me I was pretty. I shifted from one foot to the other, unable to meet Catherine’s eyes.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” she continued. “Just be cautious, as your life at the orphanage was extremely sheltered. Gossip is a favorite pastime in this town, and you don’t want to be the target of malicious rumors. If any of the male guests make you ill at ease or say anything inappropriate, please tell me.”
I thought of Maîtresse Durand’s warning that morning about guarding my reputation. True, I had little experience, having rarely spoken to the boys in school beyond discussing homework or exams.
Catherine glanced at her watch. “My friends should be here any minute.”
“I’m a little nervous.”
“They’re lovely people, mostly, although they can get a bit unruly after a few drinks. You’ll be fine.” Catherine lit a cigarette. “Marguerite is bringing her new beau, an officer who arrived recently in Vientiane. She’s very taken with him, which isn’t at all like her.”
Mali answered a knock at the front door, and a tall, slim woman made her entrance. She wore a Chinese Mandarin gown, like I’d seen in the window of Wong’s Mercantile. Pink and yellow peonies embroidered the peacock-blue silk dress, with its high collar and frog clasps that ran diagonally down the front. Slits ran up the sides to the middle of her thighs, and the fabric clung to her curves. She’d pinned a gardenia over her left ear. She crossed the room, teetering on three-inch gold lamé heels.
A robust older gentleman, wearing a full-dress military uniform with medals dripping down the front, followed behind her. He pulled aside her luxurious long tresses, nearly as bright red as her lipstick, to whisper in her ear. Marguerite laughed and batted at his hand.
Catherine gave her friend a quick embrace. “Mademoiselle Marguerite Vanier and Captain Charles Martell, let me present Mademoiselle Geneviève Dubois.”
Marguerite startled me by rushing over, grabbing my shoulders, and kissing me on both cheeks. She smelled of alcohol, cigarettes, and gardenias. Green eyes, the color of fresh mint, drew attention away from her slightly hooked nose. “I’ve heard so much about you, dear girl.” She tossed her beaded evening bag on a side table and proceeded to inspect me as I shrank from her gaze. “Aren’t you gorgeous! Charles, isn’t she lovely?” Charles grinned and nodded. “I guarantee you’ll turn a few heads tonight. The wives will be wild with jealousy.”
“Marguerite, really, you say the most inappropriate things,” Catherine chastised. “She’s already nervous.”
“But it’s true.” Marguerite snickered. “You’re every French wife’s worst nightmare.” I didn’t know how to react to such a disconcerting claim, except to blush.
A dozen more guests arrived, filling the salon with the sound of voices, laughter, and ice clinking in glasses. Despite the pressing heat, men wore dinner jackets and ties or dress uniforms dripping with ribbons and medals, reeking of sandalwood and other spicy scents to cover the underlying odor of sweat. Women shimmered in silk, satin, and chiffon gowns in a rainbow of shades, their flowery perfumes competing with the increasingly thick cloud of cigarette smoke. I felt like a spectator at a sophisticated play, watching as people floated past, flirting and teasing one another, sipping their drinks, issuing up witty remarks that met with clever retorts or a coy tilt of the head. Marguerite held a couple captive with a story about the Resident Superior, her husky laugh reverberating around the room. Someone put a record on the Victrola, and Josephine Baker sang “I’ve Found a New Baby,” as Mali wandered in and out with plates of hors d’oeuvres.
Catherine put an arm through mine and escorted me around the salon to meet her friends, who congregated in small groups. Wearing her brightest smile, she introduced me as her former student, assuring everyone I was a bright and capable young woman, someone she greatly admired. After a short pause she would add that, if anyone knew of a job opening, please let me know. The men responded with polite nods and platitudes—best of luck; something will develop, I’m sure; I’ll keep you in mind—while their wives studied me with appraising eyes, issuing unreadable smiles, murmuring greetings empty of warmth. It felt exactly like the indifferent attitudes I’d been subjected to every year at the Resident Superior’s Christmas and Bastille Day parties. No one asked questions or offered advice, nothing that might prolong the conversation. It was as if we were speaking across a great distance, and they were afraid I might come closer. Each guest would quickly find an excuse to leave—one person needed to refresh his drink, another headed to the toilet, while several guests spotted friends they urgently wanted to greet.
Catherine, tireless in her efforts, started to introduce me to a heavyset older matron. “Madame Herbert, let me introduce—”
But the woman interrupted. “Really, the nerve. I already know about this thieving little métisse. What can you expect from half-breeds?” She pivoted and stormed away.
Catherine blanched. “Oh, Vivi, I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse for such behavior, but her husband left her last week for his Lao mistress. She’s falling apart.”
I felt sorry for the woman, but why would she detest me simply because I was born half Lao? I hung my head, wanting to fade into the walls, hoping no one else had heard her comments.
“Come this way,” Catherine said, “and meet my friends who are thinking of hiring an au pair.” She led me to a couple I’d noticed arrive earlier. The husband, tall and lanky with dark hair and eyes and a neatly trimmed mustache, reminded me of the movie star Charles Boyer. His mouth curled into an enigmatic smile, making it unclear if he was amused or bored.
“I want you to meet Madame and Monsieur Fontaine,” Catherine said. “This is Geneviève Dubois, my former student.”
Madame Fontaine, short and slightly round with strawberry-blonde curls, could not have been more unlike her husband. She exuded nervous energy, waving her hands in the air as she spoke, speaking in bursts. “Catherine mentioned you’re available to help…with our children. We have four boys under the age of seven…I simply can’t keep up with them.” A trill of laughter trailed her words. She tilted her head to one side, studying me, then glanced at her husband, as if gauging his reaction.
I smiled. “It must be a great deal of work. I’d be happy to help.”
“I can always count on Mademoiselle Courbet to assist,” Madame Fontaine said, with an edge to her voice. “I’ll call you if I decide to hire someone.” With that, she disappeared.
Monsieur Fontaine shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. She’s a little scattered at times, but I can assure you she is greatly in need of assistance. Our children are wild animals.” He glanced at Catherine and sighed. “Excuse me.” He stepped away to greet another couple.
“It’s not ideal, Vivi, but it might suffice to start,” Catherine whispered. “Jeanette is quite hopeless at managing their household, even with two full-time servants. Marcel gets very impatient with her.”
“I hope she calls.” In truth, I dreaded the thought of taking care of privileged French children, but anything that brought in money would do for the moment.
A young officer stepped forward, raising an eyebrow. “And who is your lovely young guest, Mademoiselle Courbet?”
Catherine hesitated. “Lieutenant Toussaint, this is Mademoiselle Dubois.”
He bent over and kissed my hand. “Delighted.” His eyes slowly grazed the length of my body, and I found myself inching back from him. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, as certainly I’d remember.”
Like a good soldier, he stood at attention; I thought he might even click his heals together and salute. His thick dark hair, slicked back with an abundance of pomade, gave the illusion of a helmet framing his face. Powerfully built, he grinned at me with his over-generous mouth, demanding my attention. I wouldn’t have called him handsome, but he had a rugged appeal that some women might find attractive.
Catherine pulled on my arm. “Please excuse us, lieutenant, I want mademoiselle to meet some friends who just arrived.” She led me away, whispering in my ear, “Don’t go near him. He’s notorious for chasing every skirt in town, then bragging about his conquests.”
Before leaving to check on her guests, Catherine presented me to Collette Martin, who was standing alone by the front window. Collette had a surprisingly youthful face despite her white hair pinned in a bun at the nape of her neck. Her pale green chiffon dress clung to her shapely figure, and silver Buddha earrings dangled from her ears. Her eyes studied me a moment. “Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing.” She patted my arm in a familiar way. “Catherine has only good things to say about you.”
“She’s very kind.”
“Yes, isn’t she.” Collette took a sip of her drink, swaying like a stalk of bamboo in a breeze. “You’re looking for work, I hear.”
“I’ll take anything.”
“Don’t hope for much from this crowd, except maybe a job caring for their children.” She burst out laughing. “But no wife will want you in her home. You’d be much too tempting for her husband.” A surge of heat rose up my face.
“Oh, I’ve embarrassed you.” Her drink sloshed in her glass as she stumbled to one side, and I had to grab her elbow to keep her from falling.
She ran her fingers over the sleeve of my dress then turned me around to examine the back. “This used to belong to my friend Annette. She donated it to the orphanage, I believe.” I nodded. She giggled like a schoolgirl. “The fabric is rather worn, but I assure you, it looks much nicer on you than it ever did on Annette. And this blue is perfect for your darker complexion.” She pointed to the hem. “Ask Catherine’s housekeeper—Mali, isn’t it?—to fix that tear.”
I was at a loss for words. The next thing I knew, she was waving to someone across the room and tottering off, leaving me alone in the corner. Her seemingly innocent comments, laced with barbs, left me further deflated. Was this her intention or simply the alcohol obliterating any sensitivity to my feelings? I edged my way toward the door, hoping to slip upstairs to the safety of my room. I didn’t belong at this party. Surely most of Catherine’s guests thought I should be next to Mali, serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Maybe they were right.
Lieutenant Toussaint appeared at my side, exhaling gin fumes in my face. “Mademoiselle, I hope you’re coming to the club for dinner.”
I stepped aside. “I can’t this evening.”
His hand gripped my shoulder, and he pushed me against the wall. “Oh, you must. I want to dance with you.”
“Some other time.” I was trapped, unsure how to politely escape. The thought of his forceful arms around me made me shudder.
“In that case, I’ll call you to set a date for dinner next week.”
“Thank you, but I’ll be busy searching for a job.”
He stood back, his shoulders squaring once more. “Surely you can find time for an evening with me.” He sounded incredulous over my refusal. “A young métisse like you should appreciate offers of friendship.”
Catherine swooped in. “Excuse me, lieutenant, but I must borrow mademoiselle once more.” She led me to the back of the room. “That man is so annoying. Stay here while I check in with Mali. We’ll be leaving soon.”
I watched the guests from my isolated corner, wondering why they couldn’t take an interest in me instead of treating me like an embarrassing nuisance to avoid. I had expected more. It seemed my only safe alternative was to join Mali in the kitchen.
As I passed through the entry hall, I heard whispering: “Marcel, not here.” Muffled giggles drifted from the shadows beneath the stairway. I could barely make out Catherine, leaning against the wall, and Monsieur Fontaine with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his body pressed against hers. I gasped as he bent down and kissed her with an intensity that made my face burn.