Carousel Nights (9 page)

“Look okay?”

“Fantastic,” she said. Maybe it was the bright sun slanting into his eyes, but it seemed to Mel that June was looking at him, not the sign. He was being paranoid.

“I'll just put up the showtimes and I'm done,” he said.

Only a few minutes later, he backed down the ladder and handed June the empty box.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Easy work. You already had the letters sorted.”

June dipped closer and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Even though it was a sisterly kiss, his heart turned over like an electric motor. Until he remembered that June was just waiting to flit off like a moth looking for a brighter light.

The metal window at Augusta's bakery rolled up, clanking loudly in the morning stillness. Mel and June jerked at the sound and saw Augusta leaning on her front counter smiling at them.

“Gates open in fifteen minutes, but I've got fresh doughnuts if you want one,” she said.

“Nuts,” Mel said. “I gotta get my truck off the midway.” He lowered the ladder, shouldered it and slid it into the back of his truck all in less than a minute. He'd have to slide out a side gate and drive his truck around front if he still wanted to see about those lights.

He opened the door on his truck, taking one last look at June. She stood alone on the midway, far enough from the theater to see the marquee. And then he remembered.

“Good luck with your big opening day,” he said, leaning through the open window of the driver's door.

“Good luck with your faulty lights,” she replied, stepping closer.

“Last call for a free doughnut,” Gus shouted.

Mel flicked a look toward the front gates where people were already lining up on the other side of the turnstiles. He ran across the midway, grabbed the doughnut from Augusta's outstretched hand and leaned in for a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Don't tell Jack about that.”

“The kiss or the doughnut?” Gus asked.

“Either one.”

“He'd be more upset about the doughnut.”

“I doubt it,” Mel said. He dashed across the midway and dove into his truck. Driving slowly with one hand, he watched June in his rearview mirror as she crossed the midway and stepped under the bakery's pink awning. Maybe he didn't want to know what she and Gus were talking about as he drove away.

CHAPTER NINE

V
IRGINIA
H
AMILTON
,
WITH
her dog, Betty, on her lap, sat across from Mel. The maintenance area was relatively quiet on a Wednesday afternoon halfway through June. The big jobs were done, and Mel's crews were out dealing with details, fine-tuning and the daily problems that arose in an amusement park.

“I hope you don't think it's too early to start on the STRIPE plan for this summer,” she said.

As far as Mel was concerned, he'd like to sink the whole STRIPE project to the bottom of the lake. But he'd volunteered for this job—trying to do June a favor and save her the hellish task of teaching summer employees to play the piano.

“Might as well get started,” he said, controlling his tone so he wouldn't take out his frustrations on Virginia. Her heart was in the right place—wanting her employees to get more out of Starlight Point than just a paycheck—but running the STRIPE on top of the maintenance department was like asking a professional athlete to balance a book on his head as he rounded the bases or went for a hook shot.

“I know you're going to need plenty of help,” Virginia said, “and I'm already gathering up volunteers. You can use the ballroom and we'll set up a big screen and lots of tables.”

“Where are these volunteers coming from?”

“Maintenance staff, year-round and seasonal. Plus I got some students and professors from the community college—mostly electrical or engineering majors.”

“They volunteered?”

“I offered a season pass to anyone who helps with at least five class sessions during STRIPE week.”

“Good deal,” Mel said. “And good thinking.”

“I'm not just a pretty face,” Virginia said.

Mel smiled. He'd grown up an informal extra son in the Hamilton household. When he and Jack wanted to have fun, they hung out at Jack's house, where kayaks and a motorboat were always available. When they wanted to eat, they went to Mel's house, where the food was delicious. Now that Mel had a son, Virginia considered herself an honorary grandma and invited Ross over to play on the beach right in front of her house. With June staying at the Hamilton house on the Old Road this summer, Mel and Ross might be wiser to steer clear.

“I reserved the ballroom for the last week of June,” Virginia continued. “We can do an early morning and an evening class. That way we get all the summer workers before things get too busy around here.”

Before things get too busy
. While it was true that July and August had greater numbers of guests, it was
always
busy.

Mel nodded, resigning himself to even more insanity than the usual one-hundred-day operating season brought. “You should know I'm planning to keep it simple. Messing with electricity isn't like doing ballroom dancing and learning conversational French. A little knowledge can actually be a dangerous thing.”

Virginia reached across the desk and patted Mel's hand. “I'm counting on you to know what to do.”

“Basics. Like hot wires, neutrals and grounds. Breakers and fuses. Safety in general. Maybe make up a board so they can play with a direct and alternating current.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she said, methodically stroking Betty's fur while the dog slept through their meeting.

“Just enough to give everyone some clue about electricity, not so much that people try to steal my job or rewire their dorm rooms for tanning beds and big speakers.”

Virginia laughed. “They wouldn't do that, would they?”

“Probably not. Just the same, I'll warn them not to even think of touching the wiring in those old dorms. We don't need an electrical fire.”

“Thank you, Mel. Go ahead and order any supplies you need and I'll set up the class schedule.”

He nodded, shoving back in his desk chair. “Hope Jack will be there. As I recall, he attended almost every one of Augusta's cake classes last summer. I never knew he was so dedicated to the STRIPE program.”

Virginia laughed. “I think we all know why he was there.”

“Cookies?”

“Ha. I'll test that theory by offering him cookies if he'll help.” She placed Betty in the wagon and pulled her toward the door. “But you're not as pretty as Gus.”

He certainly wasn't. And he was going to look like a haggard old man by the end of this summer.

He left the office in the corner of the maintenance building and stopped.
What is that noise?
Mel headed toward the racket coming from the back corner. He could guess what it was. There was only one project in that part of the shop right now.
Great.

* * *

J
UNE
AND
TWO
men stood, hands on hips, looking at the former beer truck parked in the corner of the maintenance garage. The first theater show didn't start until eleven, so June had grabbed two of her technicians and brought them to the garage to see what magic they might be able to work on the parade vehicle.

They'd got a huge surprise. June had no idea the truck had been moved, cleaned and painted in the past few days. Metallic silver paint covered every inch of the box truck except for the windows and tires. Exactly what she wanted. Someone, and she could easily guess who, had taken an interest in the project.

“Sorry it's so ugly.”
Speak of the devil
. She swung around and smiled at Mel, who threaded his way past parked vehicles, rolling tool chests and half-finished projects. “But it sure will be noticeable on the parade route.”

“It's just what I wanted,” she said. “I'm amazed by how much you've done. Thank you.”

“I can't take credit for all of it. The garage guys put air in the tires, changed the oil and put in a new battery. It won't break any speed records, but it'll run down the midway all right.”

“I love how shiny it is.” She really did. She wanted it to sparkle and attract attention.
When the sun hits that paint, people will have to stop and look.

“It looks like a spaceship,” Mel said.

“Right.” She nodded. “Starlight Point...you know, a stars and planets theme for the parade.” She smiled. “My parade is ‘out of this world,' and it will be when you see the whole thing put together.”

“How can you run an afternoon parade when your performers are all...uh...performing in the theaters?” Mel asked.

“I'm not running the three or five o'clock shows in the Wonderful West. According to numbers from last year, those were tiny audiences. I plan to run an eleven and one and then a seven in the evening. I hope it works.”

“That still makes a long day for your dancers.”

“But there are breaks in between. On Broadway, I did one show a night, but it was a three-hour show. They do twenty-five minute shows spaced two hours apart. Don't worry, I have it figured out.”

He laughed. “I never doubted that. Where are you getting the planets and the stars to decorate the old wagon?”

“I ordered them from the props company I used for the theater shows.”

“Theater props on a vehicle?” Mel asked. “They have to cover up a lot of ugly.”

“Just wait,” June said. “Now that it's running and painted, the fun part begins. That's where these guys come in.” She gestured to her helpers, who were dressed in the all-black uniforms of stagehands and theater techs.

“You won't recognize this truck when they're through with it.”

“Good,” Mel said, a crooked grin lightening his expression. “Then I can forget all about it.”

June stepped closer to Mel and touched his arm. “I really appreciate it. I know you're busy and the parade doesn't seem like an important project.”

He shrugged. “I wouldn't look at the paint job too closely. I had them spray right over the rust. I'm hoping the paint will stick long enough to get us through the summer and then we can do something more permanent for next year. Assuming you want—”

Mel stopped. And she knew what he was thinking. All the work she was doing on the theaters, her crazy idea for the parade. Was it just for this year or would it outlast her brief tenure at Starlight Point? Evie had asked her the same thing last night as they were watching an old movie. Before they'd both gone off to their childhood rooms, Evie had posed the question for which the answer
used
to be obvious.

What did she want?
Of course she wanted to be dancing and singing on the big stage instead of following the parade route through Starlight Point. What person in her right mind wouldn't choose Broadway over the Midway Theater? June turned toward the parade truck and pretended to be very interested in the bumper, the tires, the way the back doors almost matched when they shut.

The question hung between them like exhaust fumes.

“The silver paint hides a lot of flaws,” Mel said quietly, his voice carrying only to June. “Shiny stuff always does.”

Ouch
.

Loud thumping emanated from inside the truck and one of the tech guys, Aaron, leaned out the side window, which was once used for dispensing cold beers.

“You know what we need?” Aaron asked.

A distraction. Thank you.

“What?” June asked.

“Flashing lights. Strobes that'll show up in the daytime. I want to see this machine from the top of the Sea Devil.”

“How hard would it be to add those?” June asked, her attention flicking from the tech guy to Mel. She felt guilty asking Mel to do more work, but strobe lights were hard to pass up.

“No idea,” Aaron said. “I do sound and speakers. What do you think?” he said, addressing Mel.

Mel shrugged. “Could be done.”

“Great,” the man said, disappearing back into the truck. June could hear the two tech guys talking to each other from inside, but their words were muffled. She hoped her conversation with Mel wasn't audible to them.

“With some help,” Mel said.

“What do you mean?” June asked, her tone neutral.

“You could be my first STRIPE student.”

June groaned. “I almost forgot you got roped into that.”
And rescued me from a messy argument with my mother. An argument I could never win.

“To be fair, I roped myself into it. I was just meeting with your mother about the plans.”

June pressed her lips together. Her lungs constricted when she thought about her mother's assertion that she wasn't doing her share at Starlight Point. When June had confided her thoughts to Evie, her sister had shrugged and suggested Virginia just wanted her daughter to be around more. Was that her mother's reason? Both her parents had encouraged her to follow her dream of a Broadway career. If her father were still here, he'd tell her to keep going. She knew it.

“Something wrong?” Mel asked.

June smiled, summoning her acting ability. “I was just thinking how you saved me the job of teaching hundreds of people to play ‘Happy Birthday.'”

“Looks like you owe me.”

Mel leaned against the truck, crossed his arms and put one foot over the other.

“Well?” June asked.

“I'm thinking about amps.” He pulled a notepad and a pen from the pocket of his blue work shirt. “We need to put in an extra battery. Maybe a generator,” he said, writing on the pad. “With all the lights and speakers you're adding, we don't want to risk killing the truck out on the midway.” He grinned. “Your dancers would look ridiculous pushing the truck all the way back here.”

She laughed. “They would. I didn't hire them for their muscle. So, how can I help?”

“How much time do you have?”

June pulled her cell phone from her pocket and lit the screen. There was never enough time when she was running five shows a day in one theater and three in the other.
Maybe this parade was a stupid idea and Mel was right.

“About an hour,” she said. “And then I need these guys to run the tech for the first shows of the day.”

“Not enough time to do anything right now, and I may need to order parts anyway.”

“Can we make a date to meet here later?” June wished she hadn't used the word
date
.
Appointment
would have been a better choice.
Arrangement. Assignation. Darn the English language...

Mel smiled at her. Her cheeks were so warm she knew they were pink. Even in the ancient fluorescent lights of the shop, Mel would notice.

“We can make an appointment for that,” he said.

He'd stolen the word she wished she'd used.
Sigh.

“You could tell me where to put the lights and help pull the wires,” he continued. “It's a pain, trying to get through the frame, but we'll try to work on the inside of the truck since it looks awful anyway. No guarantees you won't get your hands dirty.”

“I can handle that.” She shoved her cell phone in her pocket. “On the condition that you'll sign off on my STRIPE completion so my mother will think I'm a team player.”

“Doesn't she already think that?”

June shook her head. “I'm not sure.”
And maybe she was right
.

“I'll say you're my best student if you come to the classes and share a practical example of why learning some wiring can be useful,” Mel said.

June laughed. “You mean in case any of them ever have to wire strobe lights on an old beer truck to drive in a parade?”

“Precisely.” Mel blew out a long breath. “But you'll have to make sure you learn something. I have no idea what kind of a teacher I'll be. I'm used to just doing stuff myself.”

“I have the same problem. That's why I didn't want to teach piano lessons. Or one of the reasons anyway. I can play anything you want, but trying to show someone from the beginning is different. I can't remember a time when I didn't know what a D scale was.”