Chapter Text
Julia Houston sat alone at the bar, making her way through her third drink of the evening. She rested her head on her arm, staring out at the crowded space and taking in precisely none of it. It was just another room full of people; talking, celebrating, avoiding their problems.
Julia swirled the ice in the bottom of her glass. Meeting with producers was always hard - it never got any easier to essentially be told that the project you’d poured your heart and soul into simply wasn’t worth the time or money. And no matter how much she tried to push it away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all pointless, and today had just proved that.
She supposed logically that she should stop moping. A good few of her plays had been produced and performed, albeit for very short runs in tiny theatres off-off-off-broadway or at small arts festivals. But still, people had paid to see her work and had mostly enjoyed it. That was more than the majority of aspiring writers ever got. And she had a beautiful family at home - Frank and their toddler Leo, who was just beginning to talk - but she still felt as though there was something more out there. As though she had more stories to tell. Julia snorted, laughing to herself at the melodrama of her own thoughts. As though she had more stories to tell. This wasn't a paragraph in some biography, the tale of a low moment just before her rise to success. This was real life, and it was time to realise that.
She sighed, taking a sip of the new drink that was silently offered to her by the sympathetic bartender, likely an aspiring creative herself, and took a proper look around the room. A group of girls sat around a table, chatting and laughing. One of them wore a bright pink sash - a bachelorette party. A group of friends played cards, a couple shared a plate of fries, one of them pressing a quick kiss to his girlfriend’s - or maybe fiance now, she thought, noticing the new ring on the young woman's finger - cheek.
In the corner of the room, a man of around her own age with wavy brown hair sat at the piano. Julia smiled slightly, watching the joy on his face as his fingers danced over the keys, completely engrossed in the flow of the music and his playing. The music itself was beautiful, a piece she'd never heard before that started slow and built into a soaring anthem - fast, exuberant and full of life. The circle of people around the piano player seemed captivated too, and when the piece came to an end they cheered and clapped as though they'd just seen a Broadway show, and the piano player grinned. He thanked the crowd, but he clearly had a strict time limit because he hurriedly scooped up his bag and stepped off.
He made his way out of the bar, and in a spur of the moment decision that she most likely would never have made if she’d been completely sober, Julia called out to him.
“That…..” she trailed off. The words felt a bit jumbled - she was obviously more drunk than she’d thought. “...that was great. I've never heard that piece of music before, what's it called?”
The pianist practically glowed. “Thank you! Well, you wouldn't have. I wrote it myself.”
“Oh, so you're a writer too.” Julia mumbled, taking another sip from her glass.
“Guilty.” The pianist grinned. He took the seat next to her. “So you’re a writer? What have you written? Anything I might've heard of?”
Julia groaned quietly, dropping her forehead to the table. The pianist winced.
“Sorry, poor question.”
There was a small pause.
“I'm Tom, by the way.” The pianist said, “Tom Levitt.” He offered her his hand.
She took it. “Julia.”
“So, Julia, what are you working on?”
“Oh, nothing much. Nothing good, anyway.”
The pianist, Tom, raised an eyebrow at her, and Julia sighed. “It's a play set in France, and it’s sort of about grief and friendship. Though it sounds kind of silly when you say it like that.”
Tom laughed. “Plenty of amazing shows sound silly when you suggest them ‘like that’. Take Wicked - let's do an adaptation of beloved classic The Wizard of Oz, but without any of the main characters. Or Jesus Christ Superstar - Easter, but make it a musical.”
Julia smiled. “Sure, maybe you're right. But it does feel like it's missing something. I just can't put a pin in what.”
“I don’t know, how about…songs?” Tom joked, laughing.
Julia thought about this. Obviously he was joking, but it actually wasn't a terrible idea. “You know, you might be on to something there.” She said thoughtfully.
“Oh?” Tom laughed again, pushing a curl of his hair back from his face and considering Julia more carefully. “What did you say the show was about?”