Amie Denman - Carousel Nights

“He’s in love,” Evie said.

June and her sister stood side by side watching hundreds of guests continue through the front gates. From their position on a small raised bandstand, they could also see over the front ticket counters to the Point Bridge, where cars waited at the toll booths. Sunlight flashed off windshields, and the line of vehicles stretched all the way to Bayside.

“And how about you?” June asked. “Anyone you’ve got your eye on?”

Evie shook her head. “I’m married to Starlight Point right now. I’m trying to get the red ink and the black ink to pick out china patterns together.”

“Might do you some good to get out of the office every day. You might meet people. Maybe around three o’clock?”

“Nice try.”

“I’d let you wear a sparkly sash and carry the banner,” June said.

“I think I’ll stay in the office and be the adult in charge.”

June raised her arm and did a perfect beauty pageant wave, nodding and smiling at her sister.

“You’re perfect for the job,” Evie said. “You’ve got more drama in one arm than I’ve got in my whole body.”

June laughed. “Someday, that’s going to change.”

“You mean you’re going to give up the stage?”

“Nope,” June said, “I mean you’ll get in touch with your inner drama queen one of these days.”

“Doubt it,” Evie said. She glanced at her smartphone and tucked it back in her skirt pocket. “You can have two thousand bucks to get your parade going. That has to cover float, costumes, everything. It’s the best I can do.”

“I’ll take it. I might even do it for less and spend the rest on a spa day for us.”

“Rain check on that until November.”

“No good. You’ll be insane by then and I’ll be in New York.”

Evie shoulder-hugged her sister. “I wish you’d stay. No matter how expensive your plans are.” She smiled at June and started to walk away.

“Evie,” June said, stopping her sister. “Which columns are the good ones—red or black?”

“Depends on how much fun you’re having,” Evie said, laughing, and then she turned and headed toward the corporate office behind the midway games.

* * *

“WHO THE DEVIL made this mess?” Mel thundered. It was almost ten o’clock at night. Mel would’ve gone home hours ago but rides shuttered for six months didn’t come to life without some kinks. Opening week was a maintenance challenge every year. That’s why his son, Ross, spent the week before and the week of opening “on vacation” at his grandparents’ house in Bayside. Without their help, Mel didn’t know what he’d do.

Without a beer, a shower and at least five hours of sleep tonight, he was on the verge of stealing one of the bumper cars and wreaking havoc on the Point Bridge.

The last thing he needed now was a mess in his maintenance garage. Someone had rearranged rolling tool chests, moved a lawnmower, turned on every light in the place and dragged an ancient maintenance scooter from its personal graveyard in the far back corner. Clanking and voices led Mel to the other corner where one of his most trusted year-round workers—Galway—was shoving a big box of stuff on a two-wheeled cart.

“What are you doing?” Mel yelled.

Jack stepped out from behind a tall rolling tool chest. “Plotting your overthrow,” he said. “I’ve just made Galway here the head of maintenance. Gave him your corner office, key to your personal bathroom, everything.”

Mel kicked a tire resting against a steel post. It rolled across the floor and whacked Jack in the leg.

“He can have it,” Mel said. “I’m going home. Someone else can clean up this mess.”

“Any idea how long it’s been since that old beer truck ran?” Jack asked, completely ignoring Mel’s outburst and pointing to a shadow in the far back corner.

“Two hundred years,” Mel said, his mood steadily worsening. “Heck if I know, it’s been at least ten since we sold beer in those trucks on the midway. Don’t even know why we even have one of them around anymore.”

“I think it’s perfect,” June said, her voice emanating from inside the boxy truck. “Needs some work,” she added.

“What’s going on?” Mel asked. He could already guess he didn’t want to hear it. Especially if it involved June. From what he’d seen in the weeks she’d been home, it was obvious she hadn’t changed much. She was just as beautiful. Her smile was just as wide. And her ideas remained way up high in the sparkly and expensive clouds.

“June wants a parade,” Jack said.

Mel rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. That beer and shower might as well be on Mars. “What’s the occasion?”

Galway locked his tool chest, pocketed the key, glanced over his shoulder and quietly left the shop. Mel couldn’t blame him. If he could lock up and leave, he would. But he didn’t own the place and he was stuck listening to some harebrained idea involving one of the old beer trucks. On a pickup truck frame for maneuverability, the beer trucks had served gallons of the cold stuff for years on the midway. A sliding glass window on the side made it easy for guests to walk up and indulge.

“A daily parade,” Jack explained. “Afternoons. Down the midway, through the Wonderful West and out the back gate.”

“You twirling a baton and leading it?” Mel asked Jack.

“Nope. You are.”

“Kiss my butt. I’m going home.”

The back doors on the long abandoned truck creaked open and June looked out. Her hair was pulled back, but several chunks of it slipped out and framed her face, flushed with energy and sunburn.

“Plenty of room in here for sound equipment,” June said, her voice vibrating with excitement. “We could put a speaker on the roof for days when we don’t have a high school band lined up.”

Mel felt the air change the moment her gaze swung to him. He wasn’t foolish enough to think she brightened because of any reason except one: he was key to getting things done around Starlight Point. And she had a project in mind.

“Hey, Mel,” she said.

Mel crossed his arms and leaned against one of the many steel posts supporting the roof of the maintenance garage. “Happy opening day, June. I can’t believe you’re not dead on your feet.”

She smiled. “I’m used to long days on my feet. Staying up late. Broadway, you know.” She ended her explanation with a tiny shrug.

It was far more endearing than he wanted it to be. He pictured her for a moment, a brief flash where he saw June singing and dancing under bright lights, electrifying a crowd of thousands.

And now she wanted a parade.

“Long day,” Jack said. “Think I’ll go home and let you two work this out.”

Mel flicked a glance at his friend but didn’t say anything. Jack didn’t need his permission to leave. But Mel wished he’d stick around and help him fend off June’s ridiculous request.

Walking slowly toward the beer wagon, Mel heard Jack’s receding footsteps, and the shop door clicked closed.

June stood in the back of the piece of junk she apparently hoped to make into a parade vehicle. Mel didn’t give a darn if she was standing in Air Force One. He was tired. Exhausted from the maniacal ecstasy of opening day. There was a chicken potpie in his freezer just waiting for its five minutes in the microwave.

“You’re out of your mind,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “Doing a parade every day on top of however many shows is nuts.”

“Ten,” she said. “Six in the Midway Theater, four in the Starlight Saloon.”

“Whatever. It’s still crazy.”

June sat on the floor of the truck, her legs dangling off the back. “I’ve done crazy things before,” she said.