Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [15]
“I don’t know. I—”
“Of course we will. Unless you’re just wasting my time. You’re here to audition, right?”
“I didn’t even know today was—”
“Well, you’re here. Listen, you have to know I don’t get—don’t take this wrong—‘your kind’ here often. Ever, actually. Is it a look, just for today? You trying out for the role of Conrad Birdie, or—?”
“Like I said, I didn’t know. But I’d rather try drama than football, so . . .”
“Experience?”
“You mean in drama?”
“What else? You’re, what, a senior?”
“Junior.”
“You look so old, and you have that ethnic thing happening, almost Italian. Are you Italian?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Dark skin. Fast beard growth, am I right?”
Brady nodded.
Nabertowitz seemed to study him. His delivery slowed. “You know what I’d do with you? I’d lose the ’burns, and you could play much older. You could be the dad. I mean, you look like Birdie, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got the guy for that. Unless you have experience. What did you say about experience?”
“I didn’t. I don’t.”
“But you love drama. Live theater.”
“Well, I love movies, and I mean love ’em.”
Nabertowitz looked crestfallen. “So, like, what, Terminator 2, Naked Gun?”
“Nah. I’m goin’ down the list of the best hundred ever and trying to see them all. My favorites? Of all time? The Verdict and, um, Deer Hunter.”
The drama teacher nodded and smiled with his mouth closed, then slapped both palms on the table and roared. “I get it! This is priceless! It’s a gag, right? Someone put you up to this! Who was it?”
Brady shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”
“C’mon! You come in here looking all retro—and, pardon me, but like a burnout—yet your two favorite movies just happen to be mine, too, and you expect me to believe . . . ?”
“You pulling my chain?” Brady said.
“No! You’re pulling mine! I love it! Okay, quiz time. Tell me your favorite picture this year.”
“I’d have to think about it.”
“Of course you would. Until you remember what someone told you mine was. Come on, there’s lots to choose from. Crystal and Martin have comedies out. Costner as a really bad Robin Hood. The Jodie Foster–Anthony Hopkins vehicle that’ll probably win it all.”
“Fried Green Tomatoes actually.”
Nabertowitz leaped from his chair. “I love it! You’re good! Now who?”
“Who?”
“Who set me up? This is priceless.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know you or anybody who knows you, and I feel like you’re laughing at me.”
“What’re you, serious?” Nabertowitz said, sitting back down.
“Dog-dyin’ serious.”
“I like that line. Now, are you swearing on a stack of Bibles no one told you that the three pictures you just mentioned include two of my all-time favorites and my favorite from this year?”
“How many times do I have to say it?”
The teacher finally fell silent and just stared. “All right,” he said at last, “pop quiz. Tell me what you liked best about each of those pictures.”
Brady leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “Can’t pick just one thing about Deer Hunter. The acting was dead-on. The torture scenes were like you were right there. Everybody was good. Streep was fantastic. But, okay, favorite? Christopher Walken when he was, you know, shell-shocked.”
In Brady’s peripheral vision, Clancy Nabertowitz sat nodding. “Where have you been all my life?”
“The other two? I just think Newman was at his best in The Verdict. But mostly I like movies that aren’t afraid to be quiet.”
The teacher cursed in a whisper. “You’re going to make me cry. Tell me one more time this isn’t a put-on.”
“Ask me that again and I’ll punch you in your face.”
Nabertowitz held up both hands. “I believe you. It’s just . . . I work with a lot of great kids. But what do they love this year? City Slickers, Addams Family, Sleeping with the Enemy, Father of the Bride.”
“Those were okay.”
“But you know what I mean.”
“’Course I do,” Brady said.