After the show, we went to a club. That night we saw the famous English singer Cleo Laine – a good friend of Ben’s – perform, with her musician husband, John Dankworth, leading the band. What a voice. I remember being concerned about how long we might stay out, as I had to dance Swan Lake the following night. As a dancer, the next show was never too far away and you couldn’t afford to let your guard down.
Coralie enjoyed coming to New York City and was keen to see how I’d settled in. She looked as elegant as ever. We laughed for days when she discovered a live mouse in the rubbish bin of her fancy hotel room. ‘New York! New York!’ we sang.
While I was doing my morning stretches, Mum headed downstairs for breakfast – it was a treat for her to have someone else cooking for her, and she always looked forward to a buffet breakfast. When she returned to our room she told me she’d had the most interesting conversation with Li. ‘That Chinese dancer, Mary. Li. He is very friendly. He saw me sitting by myself and came over and introduced himself, and asked if he could join me for breakfast. We had such a lovely chat.’
‘Oh, yes. He’s very nice.’
‘Somehow he guessed I was your mother, Mary. How could he have known that? Did you tell him I was coming?’
‘Oh, I told quite a few people you were coming, Mum.’
‘Li spoke very highly of you, too, which was wonderful to hear. He is a charming young man,’ she said. ‘And handsome, too!’ she added, looking intently at me.
Li and I had developed a strong connection dancing together. I had no intention of forming an intimate relationship with a dancer, particularly one of my partners – it would be a recipe for disaster. In any case, we were both in relationships. Matz was planning to visit again when we returned to Houston. Li also had a girlfriend: Linda, a flautist in the orchestra. But Mum seemed to have sensed something. I quickly tried to change the subject.
‘He’s an incredible dancer, Mum. Wait till you see him in Peer Gynt. He has so much artistry and athleticism – and I feel so safe in his hands.’
Without knowing it, maybe there was a twinkle in my eye or something in my voice when I talked about him. Maybe Mum knew more than I did at that stage, because she then said, in her charming voice, ‘Be careful with the Chinese. They’re very different.’
I thought she seemed very wise. I suppose thirty years ago, her generation wouldn’t have had much association with Chinese people. I knew Li was very charming, and didn’t read anything else into it.
When Ken and I danced on the second night, I was beyond excited as I remembered admiring Rudolf and Patricia dancing Romeo and Juliet from the side of the stage in this city eight years ago. And now I was actually dancing a leading role in front of this audience. It was truly surreal, but knowing how big the occasion was, I had to focus on the character and music. I couldn’t afford to allow my nerves to get the better of me.
The performance went very well. I was thrilled that my first show had gone without a hitch. I was surprised to hear the audience clapping in the middle of my fouetté turns in Act Three. What an enthusiastic reception! Ben was happy with my performance, and Coralie was beaming with pride. ‘Darling, you are now dancing with much refinement and lovely maturity,’ she said to me. This was the best compliment of all – Mum had always yearned for refinement.
Then came the performances of Peer Gynt with Li. Our partnership was electric – I hadn’t felt this way on stage with any other partner. It is quite difficult to find the perfect partner in ballet, just as it is in life, but with Li there was no need to talk, no need for explanations, just physical intuition. In the dance world, you know instantly if you are simpatico, and we were. I hoped so much that he would become my regular dance partner.
In between Swan Lake and Peer Gynt we had a Sunday off. Mum and I went shopping and shared a lunch at the Russian Tea Room. She enjoyed giving me advice on the dresses that I bought at Bloomingdale’s – an apricot, a blue floral and a navy blue. It was the first time I had paid quite a bit for clothes. I needed cool summer dresses for the Houston heat. I loved those dresses and wore them for years. I hadn’t needed anything like this in London, but here as a principal dancer I was expected to socialise, and I was going out more, too.
Too soon, it was time for Mum to go. We were used to these farewells by now and I knew that she needed to get home to keep an eye on Dad, who wasn’t so well these days. She had enjoyed her visit to New York and spending time with me.
Once I returned to Houston, and the pace and rehearsal schedule slowed, I began to feel quite lonely. Houston was very different to the hustle and bustle of London. You didn’t bump into other dancers on the street or on the tube. I couldn’t just pop into M&S for a salad. Rosie was busy with her own schedule and relationships, and I really had to find my own way of doing things. There was a phone in the apartment, but it was very expensive to call overseas; nevertheless, I still rang my parents a few times when I got desperate, and they promised to come to visit me again soon.
I wrote love letters to Matz telling him how much I missed him. I knew a number of things were contributing to my sense of isolation. I’d grown up with the corps de ballet crowd in London and we’d been together for eight years. They were like my family. I didn’t have that support here. It wasn’t as easy to make friends as a principal dancer – it was lonelier at the top. I was on my own much more. I soon worked out that I needed to make the first move. I called Peggy Oxford and we started to become friends. I had also felt a connection from the beginning to our publicity person, Kate Crady, and we developed a good friendship over time that later extended to our families. As principals, Janie, Li, Ken and I were expected to greet people after every show, which I enjoyed. It extended my circle.
Geographically, Houston is spread out. There is no subway system and public transport is non-existent. Everyone had a car. Having to get cars or taxis everywhere was quite alienating, but I needed a car to get to work. So I bought one, even before I could actually drive. Some of the male dancers kindly taught me to drive over the next few months. ‘Best not be on the road with Mary!’ they warned jokingly. I had never been behind the wheel of a car before.
I went for my driving test and did terribly. I should have failed but I wept and begged the examiner, ‘I just have to have the licence or I can’t get to work.’ I knew I couldn’t really drive as I was terrified to drive on the freeways, but the tears somehow worked – the examiner passed me. I managed to avoid the freeways for at least a year. People are driving at sixteen in Texas. I think they were happy to give a driver’s licence to anyone. Later I came to love the independence of driving – it revolutionised my life in Houston.
With time I started to feel at home, despite the cultural shift. Streets in Houston are very wide and set out in grids. Downtown Houston, like the whole of the city, is very flat and hot, with towering glass skyscrapers but no real heart, as at the time no one lived in that area. The city felt strange, and was a ghost town at night. Cars were king – there were no footpaths to get around. There was a Mexican flavour, with restaurants everywhere, and an arts district taking shape, but as I had come from London it all seemed very disjointed to me.
There were drive-throughs for everything, even banks and fuel stations, which could be found on virtually every block. I was introduced to Thanksgiving at Ben’s. Then there was Halloween, which I didn’t much care for, and of course Christmas. The fuss! It was all about shopping and presents. It was endless.