Friends, I give you chapter three of Being Alive. I'm loving your feedback on the story, so please keep it up! 20 or more reviews will get you an update faster, I promise. Life's just been hectic with college applications and auditions.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.
The idea that New York in the rain was romantic was one that was only true in sappy romance novels that were sold in corner convenience stores. In reality, the streets were riddled with puddles and the sea of umbrellas was almost impossible to move through. Ezra chewed on his bottom lip as he maneuvered his way through the messy sidewalk. Though Hardy Mitchell was his friend, this was a meeting he couldn't compromise being late to. If everything went right, Ezra would have a director for his finally finished, full length musical.
He kept his leather satchel close to his body as he pushed his way through the rain and the swarm of bodies. The door knob to the coffee shop he was meeting his college roommate was in Ezra's grasp and within seconds the cool blast of an air conditioner greeted him. It was mid-July and seasonably way too hot.
"Here I thought you were going to bail on me."
Ezra shook out his wet curls and looked up to see the taunting face of his old buddy. Hardy was the type of guy who took Ezra to parties in order to set him up with a girl and ended up sleeping with his chosen target instead. Not that Ezra was much interested in the plastic blondes Hardy usually picked. Hardy balanced him out with his carefree qualities and allowed Ezra to let just a little while. However, when it came to his career, Hardy wasn't as nonchalant.
"You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get somewhere on time when everyone is jammed together with umbrellas."
Hardy rolled his eyes. "I live in this city too. But you wouldn't know that with the way you've holed yourself up over the past year."
"Someone had to write this musical," Ezra replied, taking a seat in one of the plush chairs opposite Hardy. He opened his damp satchel, thankful that the leather kept everything inside relatively dry. After wiping his hands on his equally damp jeans, Ezra fished out the score and book to his completed project. "It's not easy being both the composer, lyricist, and book writer."
"Good thing you've mastered that then," Hardy replied, taking a sip from his wide lipped coffee mug.
Ezra shook his head in amusement. "Hardly. I've let too many distractions come in the way of me finishing this baby on schedule."
"Would that distraction happen to begin with an 'A' and end with a 'ria'?"
He couldn't have shot Hardy a more deathly look. The sandy haired man was constantly teasing Ezra about the torch he had lit for Aria. Especially since he hadn't gone after quenching the flame. The difference between Ezra and Hardy was that the former was one who waited for fate to happen; the latter went and got what he wanted no matter the cost.
"No," Ezra said, flipping through the libretto and score as a way to deviate from Hardy's prodding question. "Anyways, we're not here to talk about my love life. We're here so I can convince you to direct my show."
Hardy let out a tut, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval of Ezra's shyness on the subject of Aria. "I'm just saying, it's been years Ezra. She's just graduated and is going out into the real world. You might want to snatch her up before she moves on with her life and forgets about you."
"That's real reassuring. Now will you read the damn script?"
An hour later, Ezra nervously sipped on a huge cup of coffee. He'd been watching Hardy's face expressions as he read over his script. The need for approval was grating on him and Ezra was thankful that he had the mug in his hands so that he wouldn't be picking away at his nails.
As Hardy slammed it down on the table, Ezra jumped and almost spilled his coffee. "I'll direct it. I don't know why you made me read it – I'd have directed anything you put into my hands even if I thought it was shit."
Ezra beamed, totally disregarding Hardy's jab. He'd written some real crappy pieces in the past, but only did he realize how ridiculous they were when he saw them performed at a low-end theatre or cabaret bar.
"So now we have to talk producers. You should talk to Byron about that; he might know—"
Hardy's words were cut off from the beeping of Ezra's phone. Holding up his hand for a moment, Ezra pressed the green button and allowed the caller to come through. His previously furrowed expression turned to one of blank emotion. "I'll be right there," Ezra murmured, hanging up within seconds.
"We're going to have to talk this another time," he said to Hardy, quickly packing up his satchel. "There's been an emergency."
Life is a funny thing. One moment you had success and the next it could be ripped away from you. What was even funnier to Ezra was death. As he sat dejectedly in a hard backed chair in one of New York City's hospitals, he contemplated the life of Byron Montgomery; how he had everything just within fingers reach and now those fingertips were cold and lifeless.
The rain in the city certainly didn't have the slightest romantic overture anymore. It had been an accident; a cab skidded in a puddle and hit Byron whilst he was crossing the street. But a life was lost nonetheless. Aria had lost her father and Ezra lost the man who guided him for most of his teenage and adult life. He hadn't even made it to the hospital and was pronounced dead in the ambulance.
He didn't know why he and Aria were sitting in the hospital. Byron's body had been long since taken away hours ago. It was as if the moment they stepped back out onto the streets, it would be official. Byron Montgomery was gone and there was nothing neither of them could do to change the fact.
Aria's body trembled, but she wasn't crying like she had been earlier when Ezra arrived at the hospital. She was curled up into Ezra's side. Luckily, the chairs didn't have armrests. His shirt was damp, but not from the rain any more. He'd let Aria cry and blow her nose against the fabric. It would just need a good washing when he got home. Ezra's fingers stroked through Aria's hair gently as she sat, staring at the wall in front of them.
"I don't want to go home," she murmured. Ezra didn't think he'd ever seen Aria like this – so broken, so lost. Any spark of warmth in her eyes was gone and her skin was pale. The fluorescent lighting in the room didn't help matters much.
"I told you I'd stay over. I'm not going to let you be alone."
"I don't want to go home," Aria repeated once more. "Going home means this is real. I don't have a dad anymore."
Ezra sucked in a deep breath. The smallness of her voice made him want to shrivel up inside. This was something he couldn't fix. He didn't have the ability to snap his fingers and make Byron magically appear again. It wasn't as simple as getting her a cup of coffee as a quick pick me up.
"That's not true," he countered as Aria sniffled. "He'll always be with you, Ar, as cheesy as that sounds."
"Can you not try to cheer me up right now," she asked him meekly. But Ezra didn't retort back. He knew he had to let her grieve. Aria wasn't going to be smiling at any point during the course of that day or maybe the rest of the week. It would kill him not to see that megawatt grin.
"Obliged," he replied, brushing his fingertips gently through Aria's hair.
Given that Ezra had grown up with practically nobody but Byron and Aria, it didn't hit him until then just how hard this would be for her to get over. Her father had always been her constant; Ezra had figured that out from the first day she'd offered him junk food while he waited in their kitchen. A part of him was jealous. Ezra never had that. While Byron and Aria slotted him into their family, he didn't belong to them.
Ezra watched a few more tears drip down Aria's cheek and his gut wrenched slightly. Her tears would be his undoing – within the week, Ezra considered himself a dead man.