Carousel Nights (7 page)

She wasn't moving, a slender shadow on the ground just outside the stage door. She extended a hand toward him in the darkness. “Help a girl up?”

“Sure,” he said, reaching for her automatically. “You sure you're okay?”

“Uh-huh. My leg is just...asleep. All that kneeling and painting.”

“Told you.”

He could've sworn she caught her breath as he pulled her to her feet. She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. He smelled her hair, just a hint of some kind of berry-scented shampoo. Maybe a little paint and dust mixed in, but still sweet and tempting. He cautiously put a hand on her back and massaged in a small circle.

This is not what I expected
. June the flight risk was standing still. Practically in his arms. It was more wonderful and frightening than he cared to admit.

“If I weren't so tired, I'd stand here all night and let you do that.”

“I'm available.”

“Just a little more until my knee—I mean my leg—wakes up. Then I'll be out of your hair and you can go home. Long day today,” she said quietly. “Long day tomorrow, long months ahead.”

Mel kissed the top of her head so gently she probably didn't notice. Even as close as she was now, June Hamilton had been out of reach his whole life, like a circle drawn an inch too wide all around him.

“I should give you that ride I promised,” he said.

June nodded. Mel reluctantly loosened his hold on her and turned them both toward the white path made by his truck's headlights. He kept an arm around her, and she didn't make a move to shake him off.

He opened the passenger door and winced at the creaking sound from his aging truck. When June climbed in and he shut the door, the noise echoed in the deserted park.

“Lonely here tonight,” Mel commented.

“Not during the day. I heard the train, the shooting gallery, the Western Streak and the horns on the antique cars all day long.”

Mel leaned on the door frame and regarded June through the open window. “Do you ever get lonely in New York?”

He had no idea what made him say it. The cold steel under his fingertips reminded him he was a fool for asking, for hoping for anything where June was concerned.

“Plenty of people and noise there, too,” she said lightly.

Mel circled the truck and got in the driver's seat. “Bet they don't have a shooting gallery where you get twenty-five shots for only twenty-five cents.”

“Have you put in some time there with your son?”

Mel laughed, glad to break the tension for the drive. He started down the Western Trail and along the silent midway to the parking lot. “I save up my quarters all winter long.”

June drew in a quick breath. “What about Ross? Who's taking care of him tonight?”

Was that genuine concern and alarm in her voice?

“Left him home alone with a phone and a take-out menu. Like I usually do. Made sure he knew where the matches are hidden.”

June punched him lightly on the upper arm. He grinned.

“Sleepover at my parents' house. I don't know what I'd do without them. Right now he's probably wearing superhero pajamas and a goofy smile, sound asleep with my mother's cat.”

“He's adorable,” June said.

They crossed the empty parking lot and took the Old Road to June's mother's house, where June was staying for the summer. Mel pulled into the driveway and put a hand on her arm before she could slide out.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You're the one who gave me a ride.”

“But you painted that stage floor so I don't have to find someone to do it. And you helped me finish those vending-machine doughnuts. Probably saved my life.”

June's smile shone in the faint light from the dashboard. “Good night, Mel.”

Mel waited until she went in the house before he backed out and headed home. He couldn't help but wonder...who watched over June when she was alone in the big city?

CHAPTER SEVEN

G
LORIA
,
THE
HEAD
of the wardrobe department at Starlight Point, rolled a big bin through the back door of the Midway Theater.

“Got costumes for your dress rehearsal today,” she said, giving June a reproving look. “Since you keep forgetting to send your performers over to me in Wardrobe, I thought I better come to them.”

“Sorry,” June said, “we were—”

“Busy. I know. Happens every year. Everyone wants their costumes exactly how and when they want 'em. Think they come out of thin air.” Gloria sighed dramatically and wiped her brow. “I'm used to you showbiz types.”

For decades, Gloria had made costumes for the live shows, decisions about all the seasonal uniforms, and hemmed and altered more clothes than an army needed. In charge of laundry, fitting, ordering and cajoling, she'd shoved people of all sizes and ages into something befitting their jobs at Starlight Point. Staying on her good side, June knew from experience, had many benefits including emergency repairs and other situations where it was good to know a professional seamstress.

June gave the older woman a long hug. “I love you, Gloria,” she said. She laughed and pulled the covering off the bin. “Let's see what you've got.”

She drew out six sets of sparkling silver costumes for females and six matching vests for the male performers.

“Ooh,” she crooned. “These are amazing. I love this material—I knew it was a winner when I saw it on the bolt.”

“You've got a good eye,” Gloria said. “All the costumes are fresh and people are going to be dazzled.”

A good eye.
Mel had said the same thing about her work on the theaters.

“Thanks. And thank you for all the extra work you've done. I know we don't usually start from scratch with every single costume, but I wanted this year to be special.”

Gloria nodded, helping June sift through the costumes and hang them on waiting racks backstage. The Broadway revue June had produced required three costume changes, all of them lightning-quick. June's favorite costumes were the ones with feathers and boas, reminiscent of the glamorous big musicals of the middle of the twentieth century.

“The top hats were tough,” Gloria said as she lined up tuxedos with tails on the rack. “I had to send back the first ones we ordered because they were cheap-looking. And they shouldn't have been,” she huffed, “considering the amount we paid for them.”

June had paired elegant red evening gowns with the tuxedos, and she pictured herself wearing one and dancing to the Broadway medley she'd choreographed. It would be so nice to dance in her own show, but this summer was about helping Starlight Point while also helping herself. Resting her knee was her smartest move if she wanted to grab as many years of the spotlight in New York as she could.

She'd get her chance to sparkle on stage in a few short months. If she got the part of her dreams, a lead in
White Christmas
, it would take her through the fall and holiday seasons and showcase her ability to sing and dance. That role would open doors for the rest of her career. And that show had amazing costumes from the World War II era, a period of Broadway musicals she truly loved.

“Seems to me that planning shows is a real talent of yours,” Gloria said. “In addition to singing and dancing.”

June smiled and warmth spread across her cheeks. Gloria had always been a part of her life, almost like an aunt. A somewhat grouchy aunt who was difficult to please.

“I sat in on a rehearsal yesterday,” Gloria continued, “and this is the best we've ever seen at the Point. Of course I've only been doing costumes twenty-five years, so what do I know.” She pulled out a red tomato stuffed with pins and draped a measuring tape around her neck. “But I think it's obvious these shows are going to be a tough act to follow for whoever's in charge next year.”

June draped a red sequined gown over her arm. The heat drained from her cheeks when she realized the direction Gloria was heading with her praise.

“Just saying it's a shame you won't be around next year,” Gloria added, patting June's arm. “But I know you're after the big prize. You won't win a Tony Award burying your light here at Starlight Point.”

Gloria pulled a pair of sewing scissors from her apron pocket and clipped a loose thread from the dress over June's arm. June scooped more costumes and accessories from the waist-high bin, organizing them according to act and dancer. Methodically, she slipped costumes on hangers and lined them up on the bar. She didn't resent Gloria's questions. It was hard to be offended by someone who'd made her first ballet costumes two decades ago and had been a friend and mentor all her life. And Gloria understood...right? June had gone so far, but she wasn't done yet.
Why come within an arm's length of your dream and not grab it
?

“You better use these for dress rehearsal later today,” Gloria said. “If there's a problem, we'll be working all night to fix it.”

“Sorry to cut it so close,” June said. “I took on a lot, and I know I've made more work for you, too.”

“I don't even want to hear about your parade costumes for at least a week,” Gloria said.

June laughed. “I think I can promise it will be a while. Mel is not enthusiastic about fixing up one of the old beer trucks for a parade float. I'm not sure he'll do it at all.”

Gloria cocked her head to the side. “He may not be excited about it, but I think he's working on it anyway. He came in to wardrobe early this morning for a fresh shirt because he ripped the sleeve almost off his other one.”

“How did that happen?”

“He said he was crawling under a retired beer truck and hooked his shoulder on something. I wondered why he was wasting his time on one of those old beasts, but now I know.”

Performers started coming through the cast entrance, and June called them over to review their costumes. An enthusiastic group by nature, the summer performers oohed and aahed over the costumes as if they were a royal wardrobe. Twelve young men and women ranging from eighteen to twenty-two—they were talented, excited and nervous.
I was one of them not that long ago.
June knew they hoped to use Starlight Point as a stepping-stone to something bigger, perhaps even Broadway. That's exactly what she'd done, and she wanted to help them.

“May have to fatten you up just a little,” Gloria said to one of the dancers, patting her cheek in grandmotherly fashion. “I don't think I ever made a costume with such a small waist. No idea how you have the stamina to do five shows a day.”

June glanced at the dancer, wondering what her reaction would be. Christina was a sweet, but very quiet college sophomore who hoped to make it big as a dancer.
But, my goodness, she is a walking skeleton
. Why hadn't June noticed before?

Christina glanced nervously around as if she hoped the other dancers hadn't heard.
Competition
, June thought. There was too much of it among performers. It was healthy when it made them strive to be their best, but it had a dark side, too. June understood too well. She'd never breathed a word about the weakness and pain in her knee, not even to her own sister.

“Meet you at the Saloon after lunch,” Gloria said. “We'll do the same thing there. Wait until you see what we've got for your steampunk show. Some of the craziest-looking things I've ever made.”

Gloria rolled out the door leaving June and Megan to run the dancers through the first of several dress rehearsals. Dancing in tights was one thing, dancing in a sequined gown with accessories was another.

Two hours later, the backstage dressing area started to look like it was ready for the live show's premiere in only two days. The sets were on stage, with parts of them in the wings for quick changes. Her Broadway-themed show would definitely wow Starlight Point guests. June had high hopes for the steampunk show, too.

And then there was the parade.

A little part of her wanted to admit Mel was right. Doing ten daily shows and a parade was nuts. But she'd dreamed some big dreams before and, so far, she was still climbing the ladder, not backing down.

* * *

M
EL
FELT
THE
BURDEN
of single parenthood most in the two months before opening day and throughout the summer. Being able to grab Ross from the Lake Breeze and ride the carousel during his lunch break helped alleviate some of his guilt over his long summer hours. But he could never make up for the lack of a mother.

“Got one stop to make, buddy,” he said as they walked up the midway. Mel's aging silver truck was parked in the marina lot, and it was a nice day for a walk through Starlight Point holding his son's hand. He wished Ross could stay five forever.

He stopped at the theater. Mel hadn't been inside the place in a week. He'd put his electricians on a wiring job here, but he wanted to do a quick final check himself before they started pulling heavy amps with all the new lighting June thought they needed. They should be able to land airplanes with all the lights she ordered.

He and Ross came through the midway doors under the marquee. As part of a surprising compromise, June and Evie had agreed on fresh yellow paint and rows of new lightbulbs instead of a major face-lift. They'd cut ties with the architect and put major changes on ice. Maybe they were lucky June was using all her energy inside the theater on new shows, costumes and choreography.

In fact, she was still there. Playing the piano on stage while two dancers perfected a romantic routine. Young lovers spun and dipped, looking into each other's eyes and smiling as they held their position right at the front of the stage.

“Again,” June said, playing and watching the dancers, nodding.
How does she play the piano with both hands while talking to people and watching them dance
? He knew she was talented, of course, but he'd never really thought about what that entailed. When it came to wiring, fixing roller coasters, hydraulic brakes and keeping Starlight Point running, he had skills. He was also a master at applying Band-Aids and juggling fatherhood. But June's light shone so brightly, no wonder she didn't want to be shaded by the family business. Even in the dim light of the theater, she was something special.

“Cool,” Ross said. “Can I watch the show?”

“They're just practicing right now, but you can watch for a minute. Sit here,” Mel said, shepherding him to a seat right off the main aisle and catching June's eye for a moment.

He didn't need her to watch Ross. His son was used to being in every nook and cranny of Starlight Point and he knew the cardinal rules: don't interrupt and don't touch anything. Ross would sit quietly and wait for him. It should only take five minutes to make sure the box had been tagged by the electrical inspector so June would be safe pulling enough amps in here to light a city.

* * *

O
N
TOP
OF
BEING
dog-tired from all-day dress rehearsals, June lost the power of concentration as soon as a prickle down the back of her neck warned her that Mel was coming through the front door. People had been in and out of the theater all day, working on the snack bar, cleaning, training new ushers and technicians. She was used to ignoring interruptions, but she'd never developed a knack for ignoring Mel.

Without taking her eyes off the performers in front of her, she followed his progress up the center aisle and heard the soft creak of the theater seat. She allowed herself a look, and an unspoken agreement to keep watch over Ross passed between her and Mel. Mel moved behind her, heading, she imagined, for the maintenance closet and new electrical panels.

She'd vaguely followed the progress of two other electricians throughout the week. June had stayed out of their way, wondering when Mel might come by to check their work. She knew he would eventually because he treated projects at the Point like they were his personal property, never letting anything slide that could cause a problem later.

“Good enough,” she told the dancers after she'd run them through the song one more time, partly for Ross's benefit since he appeared to be engrossed in the show. “You'll be ready to dazzle the day after tomorrow.” The dancers needed rest, and this show, with or without more fussing from her, was going to be the best one the Point had staged in her lifetime.
She hoped
.

The stage empty, she turned on the bench to face the lone audience member.

“Do you want to come up here?” she asked.

Ross launched from his seat and pulled himself onto the stage, working one short leg up and then the other. He could have used the steps, but he seemed to enjoy the challenge.

“You've been up here before, haven't you?” she asked.

“Yeah. But it's cooler now.”

“I hope so. I'm trying. And we did a lot of work to this theater.”

Ross wandered over to the piano and slipped onto the bench next to June. Like most kids, he blissfully ignored the laws of personal space. His hair was the same sandy color as his father's, and he had an irresistible grin, but his eyes were darker and more serious than Mel's. He reached a tentative hand onto the keys.

“Go ahead. You can't break it.”

Ross used one finger to pick out the melody of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” only missing and retrying a few notes. He looked to June for approval when he finished.

“Nice. Where'd you learn to do that?” June asked.

Ross shrugged. “Just figured it out. I have a music box that plays it. When it's on, it makes a star pattern on the ceiling of my room.”

“That makes you an expert on this song. It sounded so good, you should try it again,” June said.