Читать книгу Carousel Nights - Amie Denman - Страница 10

CHAPTER ONE

I SURE AM far from Broadway. Right back where I started.

For June Hamilton, standing on the stage of the Midway Theater was pure nostalgia. She had danced her first semiprofessional steps here during the summers. But she had no intention of dancing her last ones on stage at her family’s amusement park. Her legs were still good for six or seven seasons of New York City, and she still had a dream to chase.

“Thank you for spending your summer at Starlight Point,” she said. The performers gathered around her shifted even closer. “You’ll dance your legs off doing five shows a day, but the experience you’ll gain can take you anywhere.”

“You’ve been on Broadway for ages, right?” a girl with a tiny waist and a movie-star face asked.

“Hey,” June said, narrowing her eyes but smiling at the girl. “Only a few years, and I’m going back for the fall season. After I transform this theater and the Starlight Saloon into standing-room-only attractions.”

She had one month until the two theaters at Starlight Point opened for the summer.

Today she and her stage manager, Megan, would begin a marathon of rehearsals and performances. The new crop of college-aged performers gathered on stage at the Midway Theater, leggings and loose sweatshirts ready to come off so they could dance.

June handed a shop broom to one of the guys. “Do you mind knocking off some of the construction dust?”

The young man smiled, perfect white teeth giving him a showbiz gleam. “Didn’t know I’d be dancing in a work zone,” he said, taking the broom and heading downstage.

“Life of the theater,” June said. “You never know what you’re getting into.”

“It’s all good. I’m happy to have a summer job.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Megan said, coming through a back door onto the rear of the stage. “I was battling my computer files and uploading practice music to my phone.” She headed for a small set of speakers propped on a cardboard box. “I love the show you’ve put together,” she continued, fumbling with a cord and searching the back of the speaker for a place to plug it in.

“Everyone loves Broadway, especially people who are willing to take a break from spinny rides and cotton candy,” June said, smiling at the six-months-pregnant stage manager, who still managed to look like a dancer despite her protruding belly. “At least I hope so.”

“You brought the glamour home,” Megan agreed. “I have no idea what we’ll do next year when you’re back to your day job.”

June walked to the front of the stage. The seats were all empty, but she felt the magic anyway. She always had. She faced the rows of seats and the midway wall of the theater where the marquee hung over glass doors.

June breathed deeply, raising her arms and stretching. She imagined the excitement, music, costumes and applause. More than anything, her feet wanted to spell out a routine on the floor that would have the audience wishing for three sets of eyes to take it all in.

But she had a lot of work to do before one patron filled a seat. When June had agreed to come home for the summer and take a hiatus from dancing on Broadway, she’d exacted an agreement from her brother, Jack, and sister, Evie. They had to let her update the old theaters. It was their second year running Starlight Point after the unexpected death of their father. They’d had bumps in the road, major and expensive ones, but ramping up the live shows would be a return on investment.

As she stood on the stage, breathing in theater air and listening to the clicking of tap shoes behind her, June wished she could fast-forward to opening day with a hundred people soaking up the great Broadway revue show she’d sketched out.

“You’re smiling,” Mel said.

She hadn’t heard him come in. How long has he been there? He stood near an exit door at the side of the house five rows back. Mel Preston. Tall. Blue work shirt with Starlight Point over one pocket and his name over the other.

She already knew his name. And plenty of other things about him.

June had left Starlight Point seven years ago, when she was eighteen, to attend college in Manhattan and begin her Broadway career. She didn’t regret striking out on her own and leaving the family business to the rest of the family. But she did have one tiny regret.

Okay, one six-foot-three regret.

“Of course I’m smiling,” June said. “Theater is my life.” She spun on her good leg and tapped out a short rhythm with her foot.

“Even this dinky theater?” he asked, walking down the middle aisle.

Her heart rate sped up with each step he took.

“Careful,” she said. “I know the owners of this place and I could have you fired.”

Mel sat in one of the hundreds of empty seats. He leaned back, a travel mug of coffee in his hand. He’s staying? June needed to concentrate on her rehearsal, and Mel divided her attention with his mere presence.

“How have you been, June?” He sat as if he were a ticket-holding patron waiting for his entertainment. Asked the question as if they were high school classmates bumping into each other at the bank or the grocery store.

June had been home just over a week and she’d somehow avoided a reunion with Mel. But Starlight Point only covered a few square miles. If she was planning to be home all summer, she had to find a way to tune out the way Mel made her feel, even after seven years. Maybe I’ll turn the music up very loud.

“I’ve been fine,” she said with a business-casual tone she hoped would convince at least one of them. “Busy. I’ll tell you all about it when I get my shows open.”

“I heard you’re staying all summer.”

June nodded, unsure if Mel considered it a good thing or a bad thing she was staying all summer. Her two goals of recharging herself and the theaters did not allow room for reviving a romance she’d left on the table. Not that Mel’s tone or posture suggested a return to old feelings. He was busy, too, the head of maintenance at Starlight Point. If he’d already seen her plans for renovation on the Midway Theater and the Starlight Saloon Theater, he was probably ready to drive her to the airport.

“Why did you decide to come home?” he asked.

Why did he want to know? She could tell him to mind his own business...but it was a fair question.

A question she’d been dodging since she’d announced she was coming home. In the competitive world of Broadway, she’d only admitted the pain in her knee to her closest friends. And there was no reason to acknowledge it to Mel now. Especially since it already felt better after weeks off the stage.

“I came home to revitalize these theaters,” she said. “I do own a third of Starlight Point.”

Loud music poured from the small speakers behind her.

“Sorry about that,” Megan said, “trying to find the right track.”

June broke eye contact with Mel. He could stay and watch if he wanted to, but she had work to do. She could certainly keep her composure. After dancing in front of thousands of Broadway fans, keeping her heart and mind on her career should be as easy as learning to two-step. She turned to her waiting dancers.

“I made copies of the order of the numbers for you. I’ll grab them.”

June crossed the stage and dug through her lucky duffel, a high school graduation present from her parents. She’d stuffed her shoes and dance clothes in it for years, hauling it along to her Broadway debut in Oklahoma!, her chorus role in Hello, Dolly!, her crazily costumed role in Cats, and her most recent performance in Pippin. In all those shows, she’d been a background dancer. Her next ambition was to get a larger role where she could sing and dance. The front of the stage—that’s where she wanted to be.

She handed out copies of the program and sat at the piano.

“Let’s do a read and sing-through,” she said. “I’ll play since it’s easier than stopping and starting the sound track.”

The six male and six female performers sang through the pieces culled from a dozen or so Broadway shows. Typical audience members would recognize nearly all the songs, and June hoped the combination had just the right energy and appeal for the amusement park crowd.

“Ready to try the first dance number?” she asked, rising from the piano and stacking the music on top.

Her breath quickened just thinking about dancing and she pulled off her hoodie, tossing it toward the side of the stage and taking a quick look to see if Mel was still there.

He was. She should not care either way. Didn’t he have work to do?

June waited, tapping her toe in anticipation while Megan fiddled with the music on her phone.

“Wish I could dance,” Megan said, “but I’m barely surviving morning sickness as it is. Slow movements are my friend right now.”

June smiled sympathetically. “I thought morning sickness was supposed to go away after the first few months?”

“Apparently not for everyone,” Megan said. She finished searching the playlist and looked up. “Ready?”

Spin, step, step, hold, dip. June moved with the dancers, letting the energy of the stage and the familiar music take her back to the time when she never thought about her knee, never took a cautious step waiting for the slice of pain. When she was happy just being a dancer.

She wanted to keep going, but the song ended. Megan thumbed a button on the player and the silence was broken by the dancers’ quick breathing. A moment later, applause from the lone audience member reminded June he was still there.

June walked to the front of the stage, signaling the other dancers to join her. They held hands and did an elaborate stage bow. Mel stood, continuing his applause until the dancers dispersed to the rear of the stage where they’d stowed their water bottles and cell phones.

“Glad you liked it,” June said to Mel.

“What’s not to like?”

She smiled. Despite the four rows of seats between them, he could probably hear her heart racing with adrenaline and endorphins. It was the dancing, her love of the theater. What else would it be?

She focused on the ramshackle catwalk and the back wall, which sported faded posters and a series of cables and spotlights older than she was. There was so much work to do in the weeks before her show opened. Too much.

“I’m glad you asked,” she said, “because I have a long list of jobs that have to be done before anyone lays eyes on this theater or my show.”

Mel nodded. He put his hat on and stepped into the aisle. The way he moved, tugged on his hat...it was as familiar as her mother’s voice in the kitchen or the feel of her father’s hand holding hers. The father she had lost while she was off dancing toward her dream. If she could go back, would she do anything differently?

“You’re not leaving right now?” June asked.

“Work to do.”

“I was hoping to talk to you about some construction I need.”

“Out of time,” he said, his words matter-of-fact.

“You had time to watch us rehearse for half an hour.”

“And it was great. I always knew you’d be a success,” he said.

June crossed her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her voice, combined with surprisingly good acoustics, bounced off the back wall just as Evie and Jack entered the theater. They paused, probably trying to accustom their eyes to the dim lighting.

They had either the best or worst timing in the world.

“What’s up, Mel? Is June ordering you to make this place look like Times Square?” Jack asked.

Evie elbowed Jack and Mel chuckled.

“She’s trying. I interrupted their rehearsal and now I have to get back to work. The Kiddieland helicopters will be grounded unless someone troubleshoots the control panel. Opening day wouldn’t be the same without them.”

He sent one long look at June and slid out the side door, opening a brief rectangle of bright sunshine.

“Still rehearsing? Want us to come back later?” Evie asked.

Behind her, June heard Megan rounding up the dancers and having a quiet conversation with them about blocking and potential props. There would be a million small decisions to make, but a big one was right in front of her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, carefully sitting on the edge of the stage and scooting off. “We should nail down our plans for final improvements here.”

Jack and Evie exchanged a look. “That’s why we’re here, but I’m not sure we’re going to make your day.”

June shrugged. “I was having a great day until about five minutes ago. Unless you tell me we can’t shape up these old theaters in the next month, I’ll live.”

Jack sat in a theater seat, his long legs protruding into the aisle. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a sandwich bag full of cookies. He bit into a star-shaped sugar cookie and held out the bag.

“Want some?” he mumbled, mouth full.

“You’re stress-eating, Jack. It’s not even lunch and you’re hitting the sweets.”

Evie sunk into a seat in the row in front of her brother. “Better than drinking before lunch.”

“That’s next,” Jack said. “We’re bleeding money and none is coming in.”

“The park’s not even open yet,” June protested. “Stop panicking.”

“We have to be conservative with the little capital we have,” Evie said. “We’re looking for places to cut.”

“Don’t look here. This theater anchors the whole front midway. If it’s closed or cheap-looking, guests will notice.” She rested her hand on a seat back. “Bankers and investors will notice.”

“Can we get away with closing the Starlight Saloon for the year?” Evie asked.

“Are you kidding? My steampunk Western show is going to put the Wonderful West on the map. I can guarantee it will bring people to that part of the park and make them stay. They’ll get elephant ears and tacos while they wait for the train. You can’t afford to make that area into a ghost town. Kids love the shooting range and parents can get a cold beer and catch a show.”

“But the kitchen—” Jack began.

“Sucked last year, but we—you—got by. We can serve prepackaged food and drinks. Chips, cookies, cold bottles. No kitchen required.”

“It would be easier to just—”

“No.” June cut off her sister. “We can do this. Even if we have to work night and day until opening. Remember how you two ran around like the sky was falling last year on the day the vendor boycott and the bankers’ visit collided? Everyone pulled together. Augusta, Mel, the maintenance staff, a few other poor suckers I recruited. We got through it. Starlight Point survived. We can do it again this year. Especially since—” she lowered her voice with a quick glance at the stage, where the dancers and Megan were absorbed in their plans “—we have no choice.”

“Should’ve been a drill sergeant. Or a cheerleader,” Jack grumbled.

“I’d rather dance. The costumes are much better. Right now, I’m getting back to work. This old place is going to shine if I have to scrub the floors myself.”