The Marriage Plot - Jeffrey Eugenides [19]
At the end of the semester, the acting students met separately with the professor for a critical review. Churchill welcomed Madeleine with a wolfish yellow grin, then sat back jowly and deliberate in his chair.
“I’ve enjoyed having you in the class, Madeleine,” he said. “But you can’t act.”
“Don’t hold back,” Madeleine said, chastened but laughing. “Give it to me straight.”
“You have a good feel for language, for Shakespeare especially. But your voice is reedy and you look worried onstage. Your forehead has a perpetual crease. A vocal coach could go a long way toward helping your instrument. But I worry about your worrying. You’ve got it right now. The crease.”
“It’s called thinking.”
“Which is fine. If you’re playing Eleanor Roosevelt. Or Golda Meir. But those parts don’t come around very often.”
Churchill, steepling his fingers, continued, “I’d be more diplomatic if I thought this meant a lot to you. But I get the feeling you don’t want to be a professional actress, do you?”
“No,” Madeleine said.
“Good. You’re lovely. You’re bright. The world is your oyster. Go with my blessings.”
When Dabney returned from his review with Churchill, he looked even more self-contented than usual.
“So?” Madeleine asked. “How did it go?”
“He says I’m perfect for soaps.”
“Soap commercials?”
Dabney looked peeved. “Days of Our Lives. General Hospital. Ever heard of those?”
“Did he mean that as a compliment?”
“How else could he mean it? Soap actors have it made! They work every day, make great money, and never have to travel. I’ve been wasting my time trying to get all this advertising work. Screw that. I’m going to tell my agent to start lining up some auditions for soaps.”
Madeleine was silent at this news. She’d assumed Dabney’s enthusiasm for modeling was temporary, a tuition-earning scheme. Now she realized he was in earnest. She was, in fact, dating a model.
“What are you thinking?” Dabney asked her.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“Just that—I don’t know—but I doubt Prof. Churchill has that high of an opinion of the acting on Days of Our Lives.”
“What did he tell us the first class? He said he was giving a workshop in acting. For people who wanted to work in the theater.”
“In the theater doesn’t mean …”
“What did he tell you? Did he say you were going to be a movie star?”
“He told me I couldn’t act,” Madeleine said.
“He did, huh?” Dabney put his hands in his pockets, leaning back on his heels as if relieved not to have to deliver this verdict himself. “Is that why you’re so pissed off? And have to tear down my crit?”
“I’m not tearing down your crit. I’m just not sure you got Churchill’s meaning, exactly.”
Dabney let out a bitter laugh. “I wouldn’t get it right, would I? I’m too dumb. I’m just some dumb jock you have to write English papers for.”
“I don’t know. You seem to have a pretty good grasp of sarcasm.”
“Man, am I ever lucky,” Dabney said. “What would I do if you weren’t around? You have to catch all the subtleties for me, don’t you? You and your flair for catching subtleties. It must be nice to be rich and sit around all day catching subtleties. What do you know about needing to make a living? It’s fine for you to make fun of my ad. You didn’t get into college on a football scholarship. And now you have to come in here and run me down. You know what? This is bullshit. This is total bullshit. I’m sick of your condescension and your superiority complex. And Churchill’s right. You can’t act.”
In the end Madeleine had to admit that Dabney was far more fluent than she’d ever expected. He was capable of portraying a range of emotions, too, anger, disgust, wounded pride, and of simulating others, including affection, passion, and love. He had a great career