by Amie Denman
“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.
* * *
MEL 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.
* * *
ON 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 slip
ped 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.
The boy played the melody again, a little more confident this time, stumbling over only one note.
“Let’s add some harmony, just for fun. You keep doing that, and I’ll play on the lower keys. All you have to do is keep a steady rhythm.”
Ross turned a questioning look to her.
“I mean don’t speed up or slow down.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Ross played melody, and June filled in a robust harmony, improvising and having fun. The music filled the theater, echoing from the empty seats and balcony. She’d played that piano all day, concentrating on making every single thing perfect. But this was different. It was fun. No competition, no need to be perfect.
“One more time,” June said. “We’re a great team.”
They ran through the song again with June adding some variations. Ross had a smile a moonbeam wide and had gained enough bravery to use two fingers at a time.
“That was awesome,” he said. “Can you teach me to play all by myself?”
June ached to say yes, but she wouldn’t be in the area long enough to get through the first few songs in the piano lesson book. He needed a piano teacher who’d stick around.
“Well,” she began, “with talent like yours, I think you could pick it up really fast. So you probably need a very good teacher who can keep up with you.”
A floorboard creaked behind her. She and Ross turned quickly, almost bumping heads above the piano bench. Mel leaned against a pillar at the edge of the stage, arms crossed, intently watching them.
“Did you hear me playing, Daddy?”
Mel smiled at the boy. “Sure did. You were amazing.”
“He has quite an ear,” June said. “Where’d he get all that artistic talent?”
She wished she could go back in time five seconds and tell herself to shut up. Remembering too late that Ross’s mother was off somewhere trying to build a career as an artist instead of being here seeing her son grow up made her heart feel as if someone was squeezing it. She could only imagine how Mel and Ross felt. How could anyone not want to be around a kid as sweet as Ross?
Mel’s expression became unreadable. “Ready to go, son?”
“Can I play a little more? Want to hear the whole thing again?”
His expression softening, Mel nodded. “If your partner doesn’t mind.”
“Are you kidding? I love this. Takes me back to when I was his age doing exactly the same thing.” She leaned closer to Ross. “I used to hang around this theater all the time.”
“Did your dad work at Starlight Point, too?”
June laughed. “Yep.” She bit her lip and glanced back at Mel. He was smiling, too.
“From the top,” she said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JUNE TAPPED HER foot and scrutinized the front of the Midway Theater. Finally. Opening day for live shows. The past four weeks were a blur of crowds, rides, popcorn and plenty of long hours. And today was a huge debut. She was as nervous as she’d been on opening nights of the Broadway shows she danced in. Even though she wasn’t performing, her heart was on stage with those young dancers.
She’d thought of everything. She hoped.
Music, pacing, lighting.
Zippers, hairpieces, smiles.
Everything. Except getting someone to replace the letters on the Midway Theater marquee. When the workers painted the building’s facade a fresh yellow and changed all the lightbulbs, they left the sign with the sliding letters and numbers untouched. The posters were in their glass cases. Flyers and ads were printed. But the heavy old marquee still advertised last year’s show. With half of the black letters missing.
It had to be done, but she needed someone to climb up there. June’s knee was better than ever, but climbing was still not her friend. She wasn’t risking all her progress by standing on a ladder.
June strolled over to Augusta’s midway bakery, its pink awning adorned with tempting graphics of doughnuts, cookies and cakes. Although the front shutter was still rolled down, she knew Gus would be in there with a few seasonal bakers making doughnuts and icing cookies for the sunny Saturday in early June.
Opening the employee door at the back of the bakery, June leaned in and looked around. “You in here, Gus?”
The smell was heaven. Sugar. Grease. More sugar. Temptation.
Augusta’s voice carried over the growl of the stand mixer. “Over here.” Gus wore her pink apron—the uniform of all her employees. Hair pulled back, a Starlight Point hat on her head, she towered over a mixer, peering into it.
“Cookies?” June asked.
“Icing,” Gus said. One spoonful at a time, she added water from a small bowl. “Have to get it just the right consistency or it won’t flow onto the cookies.”
June leaned on the counter and watched. “I don’t know a thing about baking.”
“I could teach you,” Gus offered, never taking her eyes off the icing.
“Why? I’ll just eat your cookies. I feel guilty about stealing them, so I don’t eat too many.”
“Good plan. Your brother doesn’t have the same strategy.”
“But he has testosterone. So he can eat a lot more useless calories than I can. And he can hide the evidence under those business suits. Dance costumes are not so forgiving.”
“Men have it made,” Gus agreed, testing the consistency of her icing by dribbling it from a rubber spatula. “And they’re good for business.”
June watched her for a moment, tempted to swipe her finger through the icing and lick it off, but Gus had rules about that. Serious rules. Family was not excluded from the prohibition on licking the bowl. Ever.
“It’s opening day for live shows,” June said.
“I know. I wanted to make a special cookie for you, but it’s hard to come up with the right shape. The star theme seemed too easy, guitars and music notes never really look like what they’re supposed to be, so I gave up on those. I did consider making a cookie shaped like your parade float.”
“But?”
Gus drew her eyebrows together and made a face like she’d eaten a lemon. “I didn’t see the float until last night, so there wasn’t enough time. And...it’s not really inspiring as a food shape.”
“You mean it’s ugly.”
“I think its beauty would be lost in translation to cookie form.”
“You’re just being nice. You think it’s ugly.”
“No,” Gus said. “I think it looks like an old truck. You haven’t worked your magic on it yet, but don’t worry. If you put enough dancers around it and turn up the music, no one’s going to care. Besides,” she added matter-of-factly, “people love parades. I hope they line up right in front of my shop and devour cupcakes while they wait.”
Gus divided the icing into several smaller glass bowls and added color paste to most of them. She deftly blended blue, red and green, leaving the largest bowl white.
“I can’t wait to see your shows.” She looked up from her icing and grinned. “You’ve been
knocking yourself out. Feel like you’re ready?”
June nodded. “I think both shows will be amazing. The musicians and performers are awesome. I could use a little more training time with the ushers and the servers in the Saloon, but they’ll pick it up soon. I hope.”
Gus laughed. “I had absolutely no idea what I was getting into last season. Didn’t know if I’d need a dozen cookies or a thousand on opening day. But we figured it out.” She handed June a freshly iced carousel horse. “You’ll be fine.”
June bit the head off the horse and savored the hint of lemon and vanilla in the icing. “You wouldn’t happen to have a ladder, would you? A tall one?”
Gus shook her head. “Nope. I hardly have room to store my supplies. I was hoping for a bigger shop this year, but here I am. I can call maintenance if you like. Someone would bring you a ladder. Especially that cute one who appears to take an interest in theater. What’s his name? Marv, Max—oh, that’s right—Mel.”
June was glad her mouth was full so she didn’t have to make a quick response. Gus thought Mel liked her? Who else thought that? Did he?
Maybe someone, probably Evie or Jack, had told Gus about the very brief summer romance seven long years ago. When they were practically children. Not the adults they were now with obligations making any possibility of a relationship unrealistic.
Gus was a romantic, probably the result of making wedding cakes every weekend. She was imagining things. Wasn’t she?
“Very funny,” June said casually after she swallowed her mouthful of cookie. “I’ve fallen in love with every member of the maintenance staff here, one at a time, whoever was working on my theaters at the moment.”
“Can’t believe a guy like that is still on the market,” Gus said. “You should snap him up before the summer workers notice him in his navy blues sporting a tan.”
