The Age of Grief - Jane Smiley [17]
“I was very funny.”
“Yes, you were very funny.”
Nancy lay back on the chaise longue. “The director said that he thought I should take acting classes at the university. They have a very good program. I had never acted before, and they gave me the second lead. You know, there are tons of professional actors in Vancouver.”
“It wasn’t exactly a professional show. Only the two leads were getting paid, and the guy wasn’t even an Equity actor,” Kevin said.
“I know that.”
Lily took a deep breath. Neither Kevin nor Nancy had changed position in the past five minutes. Both were still leaning back, gazing into the tops of the trees or at the stars, but their voices were beginning to rise. She said, “It must be lovely to live in Vancouver.” She thought of it vividly, as if for the first time: thick vegetation, brilliant flowers, dazzling peaks, lots to eat and do, the kind of paradise teaching would probably never take her to.
“It’s expensive,” Nancy said. “And I’ve found the people very self-satisfied.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Kevin said.
“I know you don’t. Kevin likes it there just fine. But the university is good, and they send acting students off to places like Yale and England and New York City all the time.”
“By the time you could get into acting school, you would be thirty-one at the very least.” Kevin had sat up now, but casually. He poured the last of the mysterious-tasting wine into his glass.
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, frankly, I don’t see how you can quit working for another two years, until I get established.” He looked at the wine in the glass and gulped it down. “And maybe thirty-one is a little old to start training for a profession where people begin looking for work before they’re out of their teens. And what about having kids? You can’t very well have any kids while you’re going to school full time. That play had you going eighteen hours a day some days. Which is not to say that it wasn’t worth it, but I don’t know that you would even want to do it six or eight times a year.”
Nancy was breathing hard. Lily leaned forward, alarmed that she hadn’t averted this argument, and put her hand on Nancy’s arm. Nancy shook it off. “Kids! Who’s talking about kids? I’m talking about taking some courses in what I like to do and what some people think I’m good at doing. The whole time I was in that play you just acted like it was a game that I was playing. I have news for you—”
“It was a community-theater production! You weren’t putting on Shakespeare or Chekhov, either. And it’s not as if Bill Henry had directed in Toronto, much less in New York.”
“He’s done lights in New York! He did lights on The Fantasticks! And on A Chorus Line!”
“Big deal.”
Nancy leaped to her feet. “I’ll tell you something, mister. You owe it to me to put me through whatever school I want to go to, no matter what happens to our relationship or our marriage. I slaved in the purchasing department of that university for three years so that you could go to business school full time. I lived with those crummy friends of yours for four years so we could save on mortgage—”
Lily said, “Nancy—”
Kevin said, “What do you mean, ‘no matter what happens to our relationship’? What do you mean by that?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean! Lily knows what I mean, too!”
Lily pressed herself deep into her chair, hoping that neither of them would address her, but Kevin turned to face her. In the darkness his deep-set eyes were nearly invisible, so that when he said, “What did she tell you?” Lily could not decide what would be the best reply to make. He stepped between her and Nancy and demanded, “What did she say?”
“I think you should ask her that.”
“She won’t tell me anything. You tell me.” He took a step toward her. “You tell