by Amie Denman
He already has a tan. And he was more handsome at twenty-seven than he’d been at twenty. He also had a son who needed his attention. And she had a show waiting for her in New York.
“I could distract Jack for you in case he’d have some objection about his best friend dating his sister. He can be bought. Easily.”
Polishing off her cookie, June shoved away from the counter. “No, thanks. I’m pretty busy, and I’m not planning to leave my heart at Starlight Point when I’m back on Broadway in a few months. Right now, I’ve only got one hour before the park opens.”
“Only an hour?” Gus brushed her hands off on her apron. “I better get moving. You can’t believe what it’s like in here when those gates open. People work up a sugar craving on the drive and look at my doughnuts with crazy eyes. Hope no one ever opens a doughnut shop right on the other side of the bridge. That would kill me.”
A beeper over a big fryer of doughnuts went off and Gus raced to it.
June grinned. “Good luck.”
* * *
MEL HEARD THE request come over the radio. Somebody needed a ladder in front of the Midway Theater. He’d wondered when June would get around to changing the letters on the marquee. Today was her big opening day and she was probably as nervous as a marshmallow at a cookout. He’d planned to avoid her today. Ross had talked about her all the way home yesterday—the pretty lady who bought him ice cream and played the piano with him.
She was playing Mel, too. But that was a mistake he’d made before. He’d survived it, but he didn’t want Ross getting attached to someone who would exit as soon as her song was over.
“Can you take the ladder, Boss?” Galway said. “My truck’s loaded with traffic cones ’cause I’m helping the parking crew while their truck is in the shop. Gotta go dump them off by the tollbooths or it’ll be chaos when cars start jockeying for lanes.”
Mel glanced at the ladder leaning against the wall and his obviously empty truck right in front of it. Crap. He had no excuse.
“Thought you might be headed up there anyway to check on things,” Galway added. “You’ve put a lot of work into the theaters this year.”
“I put a lot of work into everything,” Mel said.
“I know. Just pointing out that both theaters had your attention.” Galway grinned at him and climbed into his truck.
Can’t a guy do his job without people reading into it? Maybe he was just being sensitive after listening to Ross review the piano lesson eight times before bed.
Mel waited for Galway to pull away, and then he backed his truck out of the maintenance area. If he was lucky, he’d find one of the summer stagehands with a cardboard box full of black letters and orders to put up the sign advertising the new show. He could drop off the ladder and run.
But he didn’t tend to be a lucky man.
As he drove up to the theater and found June standing out front, shading her eyes, his conjecture was confirmed. She flashed him a smile as he got out of his truck that suggested he was exactly who she wanted to see. Of course he was. He had her ladder sticking out the back of his truck.
“That was fast,” she said. “And you sent your best man.”
He grinned. “Only one available.”
“I only need one.”
Mel tried to think of something cool and calm. Like the frozen lake in the winter. Or the cold steel of his truck as he got out and shoved the door shut. It didn’t help.
“I assume you want this ladder right here?” he asked.
June smiled and nodded. “I do.”
He balanced the ladder on one shoulder and set it in front of the marquee, carefully resting it against the sign without damaging it. He checked the angle and scooted the feet out just a little more, bracing it carefully on the concrete.
“Want me to come back and pick it up in a bit? I’m checking on something at the front gate before the park opens, so I’ll be in the neighborhood.”
June glanced up at the marquee, her expression clouded. “I know just what I want it to say. Got the letters all ready.”
“So it shouldn’t take you long.”
“I thought maybe...” She paused and chewed her lower lip.
“Maybe I could check your spelling?” Mel asked.
“It’s pretty high up, and I know you’re not afraid of heights.”
“Maybe I’m terrified on top of the Sea Devil and I’m just acting brave so I don’t get canned or transferred to the popcorn wagon,” Mel said. “Besides, marquee signs aren’t really in my area of expertise.”
“Anyone can slide the letters into the rows. And it would be helpful to have someone on the ground to tell if it looks right. Centered. Stuff like that.”
“I’ll be right here,” Mel said. “I can tell if something is square.”
“I think I should be the judge. Besides, you’ve got on better ladder-climbing shoes,” she said, gesturing toward his work boots.
Mel glanced at June’s sneakers. Her argument didn’t hold a lot of water, but he was wasting time. His truck had to be off the midway in less than a half hour and he still had a string of lights at the gate to troubleshoot.
“Fine,” he said. He took the small box of letters she held out and started to climb. “Just tell me what you want this thing to say.”
He knew he sounded grouchy, but he was struggling. If he just got this job over with, he could get on with the complicated business of keeping June at arm’s length while wishing he didn’t want to soak her up like sunshine.
“The top line says ‘Fall in love with the Stars,’” June said.
“Okay,” Mel said, looking down at her with a cynical expression. “I thought this was a Broadway review. Dance songs. Stuff like that.”
“All songs are love songs.”
All songs are love songs. Ridiculous. Mel searched his brain trying to refute her assertion and steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Not ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’” he said.
“All popular songs you can dance to are about love,” June said.
He shook his head. He’d have to think about that later.
Mel braced his knees on the insides of the ladder so he could free up his hands to draw letters from the shallow box. “Fall in love with the Stars,” he grumbled, digging for letters.
“I’m serious,” June said. “Then the line below it says ‘A Sparkling Broadway Revue.’”
“Don’t tell me there’s a third line.”
“Just show times. Eleven, one, three, five and seven.”
“Long day for performers.”
“For everyone around here.”
“Next year, we should put up an electronic sign instead of these old slots and letters. Then you can type up whatever you want. Even change it every day.”
He made the mistake of looking down. June’s expression was pure excitement. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought up the idea of a digital sign. He knew from experience she liked things that were bright and things she could change.
“Is it too late to get one this year?”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“No way. It would involve wiring, tearing off the face of the marquee you just had painted and more time than I have. There’s no way it’s getting done with the season already started.”
He didn’t want to look down and see her disappointment. Why did he wish he could stay up all night running cable to a new digital sign just to see her face when she saw it? June was going to turn him into a lunatic.
“Can you space the letters out a little more?” she asked.
Obligingly, Mel slid the letters along the track leaving even spacing between them. He finished the first and second row and paused, leaning away so June could see it without obstruction.
/> “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
VIRGINIA HAMILTON, 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.
* * *
JUNE 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.”
