Free Once More With Feeling by Nora Roberts Page B

seen Steve? I suppose I should fight my way through and say hello.”
    It was a typical enough party, Raven decided: Clothes ranged from Rive Gauche to Salvation Army. There was a steady drum beat from the band by the pool underlying the talk and laughter. The doors to the terrace were open wide, letting out the clouds of smoke and allowing the warm night air to circulate freely. The expansive lawns were ablaze with colored lights. Raven was more interested in the people but gave the room itself a quick survey.
    It was decorated stunningly in white—walls, furniture, rugs—with a few vivid green accents slashed here and there. Raven decided it was gorgeous and that she couldn’t have lived in it in a million years. She’d never be able to put her feet up on the elegant, free-form glass coffee table. She went back to the people.
    Her eyes sought out Julie with her handsome Italian millionaire. She spotted Wayne with one of his bone-thin models hanging on his arm. Raven decided that the rumors that he would design the costumes for
Fantasy
must be true. There were others Raven recognized: producers, two major stars whom she had watched countless times in darkened theaters, a choreographer she knew only by face and reputation, a screenwriter she had met before socially and several others whom she knew casually or not at all. She and Carly were both drawn into the vortex of the party.
    There were dozens of greetings to exchange, along with hand-kissing and cheek-brushing, before Raven could begin to inch her way back toward the edges. She was always more comfortable with one or two people at a time than with a crowd, unless she was on stage. At a touch on her arm, she turned and found herself facing her host.
    â€œWell, hello.” Raven smiled, appreciating the chance for a tête-à-tête.
    â€œHi. I was afraid you weren’t going to make it.”
    Raven realized she shouldn’t have been surprised that he had noticed her absence in the crowds of people. Steve Jarett noticed everything. He was a small, slight man with a pale, intense face and dark beard who looked ten years younger than his thirty-seven years. He was considered a perfectionist, often a pain when shooting, but the maker of beautiful films. He had a reputation for patience—enough to cause him to shoot a scene over and over and over again until he got precisely what he wanted. Five years before, he had stunned the industry with a low-budget sleeper that had become the unchallenged hit of the year. His first film had received an Oscar and had opened all the doors that had previously been firmly shut in his face. Steve Jarett held the keys now and knew exactly which ones to use.
    He held both of her hands and studied her face. It was he who had insisted on Brand Carstairs as the writer of the original score for
Fantasy
and he who had approved the choice of Raven Williams as collaborator.
Fantasy
was his first musical, and he wasn’t going to make any mistakes.
    â€œLauren’s here,” he said at length. “Have you met her?”
    â€œNo, I’d like to.”
    â€œI’d like you to get a real feel for her. I’ve copies of all of her films and records. You might study them before you begin work on the score.”
    Raven’s brow rose. “I don’t think I’ve missed any of her movies, but I’ll watch them again. She is the core of the story.”
    He beamed suddenly, unexpectedly. “Exactly. And you know Jack Ladd.”
    â€œYes, we’ve worked together before. You couldn’t have picked a better Joe.”
    â€œI’m making him work off ten pounds,” Jarett said, plucking a canapé from a tray. “He has some very unflattering things to say about me at the moment.”
    â€œBut he’s taking off the ten pounds,” Raven observed.
    Jarett grinned. “Ounce by ounce. We go to the same gym. I keep reminding him Joe’s a struggling writer,