Rebel on Pointe: A Memoir of Ballet and Broadway by Lee Wilson

Author:Lee Wilson [Wilson, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: University Press of Florida
Published: 2014-09-30T00:00:00+00:00

8 Rosella Hightower, Cannes, and Monte Carlo, 1962

The low resonant sound of the ship’s horn announced the departure of the S.S. United States from New York harbor. Mom, Dad, Trick, Twink, Tuck, and I stood at the railing of the top deck as the ship began to move. People around us threw confetti and streamers and popped corks on champagne bottles. On the docks, hordes of people waved at us, and we waved back. As I stood on the deck and looked at the country I was leaving behind, I didn’t anticipate the obstacles ahead, nor did I know that the summer of 1962 would be the most difficult summer of my life.

The transatlantic crossing, however, was a delight. The ship was still inching its way through New York harbor when the maître d’ of the first-class dining room led my family to a round table for six and introduced the waiter who would serve us on the five-day trip. I opened the menu, and my heart sang. There were no prices. I confirmed with Dad that food was included in the cost of the voyage, and for the first time in my life, I could eat anything I wanted. And for the next five days, I did.

Some nights, I had avocado vinaigrette, a rare and expensive treat in Delaware. One evening, I had two pineapple sundaes, and by the time the ship docked in Le Havre, I had discovered two new desserts that were worthy of the gods on Mount Olympus: baked Alaska and petits fours. Baked Alaska was a sheet of warm pound cake, topped with a block of cold Neapolitan ice cream, frosted with meringue, which was set on fire to toast the meringue and create a visual spectacle. Baked Alaska had to be ordered twenty-four hours in advance, and I would have ordered it every night, but Mom said that one special request per trip was enough, so I moved on to petits fours, “bite-sized” cakes with unbelievably good frosting.

The S.S. United States was a floating city with a movie theatre, a library, and a daily newspaper. Every evening, the passengers dressed for dinner. For the captain’s dinner, the most formal event of the voyage, I wore my first little black dress—cotton, jewel-neck, and sleeveless. On board the ship, I felt like a princess, but when we arrived in Switzerland, I turned into a pumpkin.

The house Dad rented in Carouge, a suburb of Geneva, was a mansion compared to our old house in Delaware. All four bedrooms had French doors leading to private balconies, and the master bedroom had its own bathroom. When Dad drove into the driveway, Trick jumped out of the car, ran into the house, cased the four bedrooms, and claimed the best bedroom after the master for himself. Twink and Tuck claimed the other two bedrooms.

“What about me?” I asked.

“You won’t be living here,” said Mom. “You can bunk in with Twink or Tuck until you join a ballet company.”

I hated the

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