by Amie Denman
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.”
“But you did a great job with Ross. He talked about it all the way home.”
He did? Ross was so sweet, he almost made her wish she had a child just like him.
“That’s different,” she said. Very different. “He’s enthusiastic and a willing participant. Besides, you must be a good instructor. How else would our summer maintenance workers learn how to do their jobs?”
“That’s easy,” Mel said, grinning and raising one eyebrow. “Got a couple of retired teachers on my staff. I put them on the job of training new guys every year. They have the patience of saints and understand how to teach. I don’t.”
“So, on top of being a top-notch maintenance man, you’re a good delegator, too.”
“And I’m best friends with the boss. Helps me keep my job,” Mel said.
“Jack’s no more your boss than I am,” June said, smiling and stepping closer.
“Maybe I wasn’t talking about him.”
“Do you really consider me your boss?” she asked.
Mel shook his head. “I was talking about your sister. Evie has developed her penchant for accounting into a full-scale assault on all fronts. I think she’s getting ready to take over the whole place.” He winked at June. “Wouldn’t want to tangle with her.”
June curled her fingers and punched him lightly on the shoulder.
“Then you better get to work,” she said. “We’re all on the clock.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE SHOWS HAD been open for a week, and June was convinced they were a success. Ushers counted the number of audie
nce members at each show and, compared with last year’s information, attendance was up.
New costumes, music, theme and choreography were part of the draw—the part June felt justified taking credit for. But she had to hand it to this summer’s group of performers. They could sing, dance and smile with some of the best she’d worked with on Broadway. If they were using this as a proving ground on their way to something bigger—and they were, of course—they had great careers ahead of them.
June attended shows in each theater every day, pretending she didn’t know the whole show inside and out, imagining what it must be like to see it for the first time. From front rows, back rows, side rows with pillars partially obscuring the stage, she tried to see each show from a theater patron’s perspective.
Today, she was watching from backstage at the Starlight Saloon. She’d dashed over from a meeting with her brother and sister and was too late to grab one of the tables. As she leaned against a wall she’d painted black herself, June crossed her arms and watched the girls smile and dance a circle around the guys in the show. A country and Western–theme show with gadgets and gears giving it a trendy steampunk feel, this show had several solo singing performances.
One of the girls, Christina, had a perfect voice for the venue. Patrons set down their drinks and listened. It was hard to believe someone so thin could produce that kind of volume.
Usually.
But something was off today. June pushed off the wall and focused on the performers on stage. Christina sang the familiar country tune, but without any gusto. She skipped the second verse. Even though her smile never faded, she waved to the audience and left the stage.
June briefly noticed the other dancers scrambling to ad-lib in her absence, but it was soon the last thing on her mind. Christina clutched her chest and staggered to her knees as soon as the side curtain hid her from the audience.
“What’s wrong?” June whispered urgently, hurrying to her side and kneeling next to her.
“Heart. Racing. Can’t breathe.”
June laced an arm under Christina’s shoulders and raised her to her feet.
The girl weighed nothing.
June persuaded her into the green room behind the stage and flipped on the light. Loud music from the show was thumping through the wall, but June’s heart was thudding in her ears. She lowered Christina onto the couch and took a good look at her. She was ghost-white, a clammy sheen of sweat covering her skin. She still clutched her chest and struggled to breathe.
Hands shaking, June called the central dispatch at the Point and made an urgent request for the fire office scooter. They were close by, an access gate not far from the Saloon led right to the fire office and maintenance building.
June propped open the back door so the firefighters could easily find them and returned to Christina.
“What can I do?” June said, kneeling in front of the girl, willing her to breathe.
Christina shook her head.
“Do you have a heart condition? Has this ever happened to you before?”
The girl shook her head, still clutching her chest, her breathing worsening.
“Do you need medicine? Can I look in your bag for it?”
June would have raced up the stairs on any roller coaster in the park at that moment if only Christina would keep breathing until the firefighters got there. CPR. She’d taken a course several years ago to refresh her memory from the lifeguard training she did when she was fifteen. She could do it.
If she absolutely had to.
“Christina, tell me what happened. Did something happen?”
She shook her head, unable to speak between gasps. Her tiny frame shuddered with the effort. June wrapped her fingers around the girl’s wrist, trying to find and follow a pulse. There was no flesh on her skinny arms.
Reality slapped June in the face. Why hadn’t she seen it? The bane of professional dancers.
“Have you had anything to eat today?” June asked.
Christina’s head snapped up for a second and then she returned to watching the floor as she struggled to breathe.
June heard movement behind her and the buzz of a radio. Thank goodness.
“What do we have?” a firefighter asked. June knew him, an older man who’d worked summers at the Point for years. She glanced at his name tag. Of course. Andrew. She knew that. But she was so panicked she hardly knew her own name right now.
Andrew gently moved June aside and took her place right in front of Christina, where he could evaluate her.
“Medical history?” he asked June.
“No idea. None I know of, but I don’t know.”
He felt the victim’s pulse and watched her struggle to breathe for only five seconds.
“We’ve got to move. Now.” He scooped up the frail girl and walked out the door as if he carried a doll. June followed, numb with shock. Andrew placed the girl on the cot and his partner got in the driver’s seat of the scooter.
“Get in,” Andrew said, nodding at June and indicating the front passenger seat.
June jumped in the scooter and they took off. The younger firefighter said something over his radio. When they approached the gate that led to the fire office and maintenance area, Mel was there holding the gate open. June’s cheeks were cold and she realized it was the combination of tears and the breeze created by the fast-moving open scooter.
The scooter pulled up right behind the ambulance. It was already running. Mel probably started it, too. The firefighters loaded Christina in the ambulance while June stood nearby, devastated by watching the girl try to breathe. They both got in the back with her.
Mel raced up on foot. Andrew leaned out the open back door and eyed Mel. “Can you drive? We could use two people in the back on this one, and the other squad’s already on a call at the marina.”
“Yes,” Mel said. He headed for the driver’s seat.
“You come, too, ride up front,” Andrew said to June. “Let’s move.”
June climbed in the front seat and Mel put the ambulance in gear and drove swiftly out of the lot.
“Don’t run the siren on the outer road,” Andrew said. He stuck his head in the pass-through from the cab area of the ambulance to the back. “You can hit it as soon as we get to the parking lot.”
“Andrew,” June said, catching his sleeve. “I think she has an eating disorder. Maybe anorexia or bulimia. I’ve seen it before with dancers. Does that help you understand what’s going on with her?”
“I know what’s going on with her. Her heart’s way out of rhythm and we’ll be lucky if we’re not using the defibrillator before we get to the hospital.”
Mel’s fingers ran over the switches on the dashboard as he tried to watch the road. They were all labeled with their purpose.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “I see the one labeled siren and overhead lights. I can run them.”
“Thanks,” Mel said grimly, carefully navigating the curves around the amusement park. The blue lake sparkled on their right as they rounded the peninsula, but there was nothing to be cheerful about.
“I’ve driven this vehicle before, for maintenance and such, but never for something like this.”
“Are you...licensed or anything for driving an ambulance?” June asked. Her voice shook and she let the tears roll freely down her cheeks.
“No. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to refuse.”
June’s hands still trembled, but she leaned forward and found the siren switch as soon as Mel reached the front parking. Her cell phone rang and Evie’s picture popped up.
“It’s Evie,” she said. “I’ll call her back in a little while.”
Mel nodded, focusing on driving as they passed the tollbooths and started across the Point Bridge. It would only be ten minutes, tops, until they got to Bayside Hospit
al.
“I should have realized weeks ago that something wasn’t right,” June said. Over the siren, she couldn’t hear what was happening in the back of the ambulance, and she was afraid to look.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m afraid Christina has an eating disorder. You can’t believe how much of that there is in the dancing world.” She took a deep breath, trying to control her sobs before they broke free. “It’s so competitive.”
Mel took one hand off the wheel and closed it over June’s hand. “Did she confide in you or ask for help?”
“No. I can ask the other dancers if they had any idea, but my guess is she was hiding it. That happens too much.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You were there when she needed you most. You may have saved her life.”
“I hope so.”
Barely taking his eyes off the road, Mel raked her with a quick glance. “You’d never do that, would you? Hurt yourself to compete in New York?”
“Of course not,” June said. She smoothed her skirt over her knee with a guilty sinking feeling. It isn’t the same thing. Right? She had to keep her thoughts on Christina and what they could do to save her right now.
June watched the traffic ahead and blew the air horn as they approached an intersection.
“You’re pretty good at that,” Mel commented.
“Desperation,” June said. “I’m glad you’re at the wheel. I couldn’t drive right now if my life depended on it.”
“Yes, you could. You’re strong enough to survive the dog-eat-dog world of Broadway.”
If he only knew how close she’d come to causing permanent damage to her knee.
June swallowed. “Two years ago, a dancer who was in the same production as me died suddenly. They figured out later she’d been hiding an eating disorder and had been slowly damaging her heart for years.”
“Did you know her very well?”
“No, but she roomed in the same building with a lot of the company.”
“I’m sorry,” Mel said. “I’d think her friends or roommates might have noticed.”
“I wish they had.” June thought of her three closest friends in New York. Would she notice if Cassie, Macy or Ian had a serious problem? I’m never letting this happen to someone again if I can help it.
