Carousel Nights. Amie Denman
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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