"And what exactly is it then?"
"She's going to audition for a special school and needs to prepare some music. I'm helping her," Balwin explained.
"Is that so?" He looked at me again and then turned to Balwin. "Am I correct in assuming you've completed all your homework?"
"Yes sir." Balwin said.
"What school is holding this audition?" he asked me.
"She's auditioning for the Senetsky School in New York," Balwin replied quickly.
"I was asking her," his father said. "She's a singer, you say. but I have yet to hear her utter a sound."
"I was just--"
His father's glare was enough to snap Balwin's mouth shut. I had never seen such obedience coming from such terror.
"It's the Senetsky School," I repeated.
His father barely looked at me before turning back to Balwin.
"I see. Well, your mother has a bad headache this evening, so don't make your music loud," he ordered.
"Yes sir." Balwin said.
His father snapped the paper in his hands like a whip, turned and disappeared into the living room. I could see Balwin visibly release a trapped breath.
"C'mon," he said and continued to the stairway.
"I don't want to cause any trouble," I said before starting down.
"It's all right," Balwin said looking up at me. "My father doesn't think much of my music, my composing. He likes to recite statistics about how difficult it is to succeed in the creative arts. Everything I have here. I've bought with my own money, and money my mother gave me. Please close the door behind you," he added and continued down the stairs and to the piano.
I looked at the living room doorway and then stepped down and closed the basement door.
"When I sell something for a lot of money, my father will change his tune," Balwin muttered.
It was hard getting myself back into the spirit of singing. Every time I raised my voice. I thought about his father hearing me and becoming enraged. He wasn't half as wide or as powerful looking as my father, but there was something more terrifying about Balwin's father. His name should be Ice, I thought, Those eves looked like they could stab someone with a sharp, hard glare.
"Don't be afraid to get into it," Balwin said after we had run through it twice. "My mother won't be able to hear you and even if she did, she wouldn't complain like he says."
"I don't want to get you into trouble."
"You won't." he insisted. "C'mon. I want to make a CD soon. You'll be able to play it for people.'
We started again and I gave it more energy, which brought a smile back to his face.
&nbs
p; "That's more like it," he said after we finished. He played the recording he had made and we listened and followed the music. "Right there you should give it more authority," he said, using one of Mr. Glenn's instructions for the chorus.
I smiled.
"Don't you agree?"
I nodded and he looked embarrassed. When the recording was finished, he asked if I would like something to drink.
"I can make tea down here. I've got a microwave behind the bar,"