"Sorry, you're right, I know." It sounded great, though," she relented. "But— Go back to the kitchen and do it again, will you? Half-voice this time."I obliged. She played the intro and I walked in and started my reprimand."No," she said, cutting me off in mid-phrase.I arched my eyebrows at her. "No?" No. Look, Nick, this is your first entrance, the first time the audience lays eyes on you. You need to set a tone. You're just walking in like ... like Marullo. Scarpia doesn't 'just walk' anywhere, he swaggers. Well, not exactly swaggers, he ... Look, try it like this: Walk in, but as you do think swagger. You need to own that stage the moment you appear, draw every eye to you just by your manner."I got her point. I was used to coming on as a comprimario, a second banana. But Scarpia wasn't a comprimario, he was a star—both in the opera itself and in his fictitious life. I nodded to her, went back out, and we did the whole thing again. This time I didn't just walk in, I strode in as. We seem to get along with each other. He was about 55 years old and in good health. He was over 6 foot tall. Mom came back with tea she sat next to uncle. WE must have talked for about 2 hours. We found out he never married. In conversation he hinted that he will stay here for a week if it is ok with us. We all said sure no problem here. There on couple of rooms empty. You came your self your own home.Bholy got up to leave , uncle got up and shock her hand to say bye. Uncle went out to field just to do walk. He cam back after hour or so. When he came back we watched some TV and more chit chat. I was begging to like him he was joke about African people.Made us laugh. At night mom took him on second floor to show him his room. Mom was there for 15 minutes. When mom came back she seem happy.When we were removing our cloths to go bed. She had lust in her eyes.Your eyes are telling some thing? She pushed me on bed and jumped on me.Is some thing have to do with uncle? She starts to suck.
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