Stevie giggled as Mick knocked the top hat she was wearing over her eyes. They heard a click as Herbert caught the moment, another photo to add to the countless possibilities already captured for the album cover.
Realistically, that particular shot would never be an option, but she was so photogenic, and their energy so infectious, that Herbert couldn't help but capture it. Stevie jokingly fumbled around blindly until she heard the door to the studio open and pushed the hat back up so she could see who had interrupted the shoot.
Two men walked into the studio; one around Stevie's age, maybe a little younger, and the other was much older than all of them. The younger of the two strode to Mick, his hand outstretched.
"Mick, great to meet you - Randy Ostin." Stevie and Mick exchanged a glance as they recognized the name; he must be the son of Mo Ostin, the president of Warner. "This is Des Strobel, he's going to be designing the album cover. Wanted to come and see what was happening."
Des Strobel looked from Mick to Stevie in vague confusion. Whatever was happening here with these outfits would certainly make for a striking cover. He turned to Herbert, who began talking him through the feel of the shoot, and Randy Ostin stood with his back to Stevie, telling Mick how he'd listened to the current cut of Rumours and how fantastic it sounded.
Stevie rolled her eyes and dropped down onto the footstool they were using as a prop, passing the crystal ball from one hand to the other. She was used to becoming invisible when the industry suits were in the room. She may have unexpectedly become the front woman for Fleetwood Mac, but the studio still seemed to consider her brainless eye candy. Christine was treated with marginally more respect as a musician, and together they were a force to be reckoned with, but when she was alone as she found herself now, she felt like a child hovering on the edges of the adults' conversation.
The door opened again and she did a double take. It was the man from the party; the man she now knew was named Derek Taylor. Don had continued to spend that night paying her no attention, so in a revenge move she had attached herself to Lindsey, who spent the whole time waxing lyrical about how the man she'd spoken to, the man who's house they were in, was the 'fifth beatle' - their publicist, responsible for selling the band to the USA, the generator of beatlemania.
"Steves," he'd proclaimed, as she leant as close into him as she could under the watchful eyes of his girlfriend Carol Ann, and to the complete disregard of Don. "If Derek Taylor is in charge of marketing for Rumours, then it is huge."
She figured Lindsey's dream had come true as Derek sauntered over to her now, one hand in the pocket of his suit pants and the other holding a cigarette, something she'd noticed after watching him at his party was an ever-present feature.
"Hello again."
"Hi." She felt the color rise in her cheeks as he looked down at her, a half-smile on his face. She got to her feet to level the playing field a little, but even then he towered over her now her platform boots had been replaced with ballet slippers. "I wasn't expecting to see you today."
"You have a new record coming out, correct?"
"Correct."
"Then that's why I'm here. One of the reasons, anyway."
She bit her lip as she tried to suppress a smile.
"Hey, Del!" Ostin called over. Stevie noticed Derek's nostrils flare slightly in irritation. "You coming to talk about this record or what?"
"I'm already talking about it." He said matter of factly, his eyes resolutely on Stevie's. "What do you think?"
"Me?"
