Not that they really doubted the need for live shows and the power of their draw. But June felt like they doubted her. They never said it out loud, but they treated her like a hummingbird they’d caught in a net.
“What do I do first?” Gerry asked.
June turned to consider the saloon. She walked to the control panel behind the bar and flipped a master switch. Lights—courtesy of Mel’s quick repair job last week—buzzed on throughout the room and over the stage.
“Lights. Awesome,” Gerry said. “I was afraid we’d be painting in the dark.”
“It’s old, but not totally in the Dark Ages,” June said. “I heard you had some painting experience. That’s why I asked for you. I could sure use the help.”
“Yep. Painted houses with my dad the last two summers. He does interior painting in the winter, exterior in the summer.”
“He’ll miss having your help this year.”
Gerry nodded and looked at his shoes. “I know. But I just didn’t want to work in the family business another year. Thought it would be fun to branch out a little.”
June smiled. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
* * *
MEL ROLLED HIS shoulders and ran a hand through his dusty, disheveled hair. The good news was that someone—at some time—had run some new conduit in the Starlight Saloon. That meant he could tie into it and not spend the next three days trying to battle an ancient wiring schematic. Making this theater usable for the summer wouldn’t be the major undertaking he’d expected. Throughout the day, Gerry had pitched in between painting walls and muscling junk into an outside Dumpster.
The bad news was that the job was only three-quarters done but he needed food and a shower too bad to continue.
At seven o’clock, he gave up and loaded his tools in his maintenance truck. He had to put in an hour’s worth of work at the garage and then it would be lights out. Although it wasn’t his parents’ usual day to keep Ross, he’d called them hours ago to pick up the boy from day care at the Lake Breeze. They were used to such calls during the operating season. Ross was probably curled up on his grandpa’s lap right now watching television. Reruns of old black-and-white TV shows. Lucky kid. If Mel got out of here before it was very late, he’d pick up Ross so he could sleep in his own bed.
The hour in the maintenance garage stretched to three, courtesy of a mess made by one of the new hires and an emergency call to a food stand with no power. The food stand was in the Wonderful West, which had just closed. Employees and security guards were sweeping the guests toward the front, so Mel drove his personal truck along the vacant midway, hoping to make a quick fix and head straight home.
The restaurant’s power problem was an easy fix, a tripped breaker. Mel headed for his truck, pajamas and bed becoming more inviting by the moment. He could almost taste the leftover pot roast his mother would have waiting in plastic containers.
However, as he drove past the Starlight Saloon, he noticed a light on inside. He stopped and got out of his truck, cursing whoever left the light on—probably June.
It was definitely June. Because she was still there, alone on stage. On her knees working her way across the stage with black matte paint. Mel paused in the doorway, watching as she rolled paint onto the floor.
“You’ve put in a long day,” he said quietly, afraid to startle her and end up wearing a bucket of paint.
June laid the roller in the tray and sat back. “You have, too,” she said. She used the inside of her elbow to brush stray hair off her cheek. “I thought you were headed for food and a shower three hours ago.”
“I was, but I had to do some cleanup in the maintenance garage. Where’s Gerry?”
“I sent him home after you left. He worked hard today, and he seemed happy to leave.” June smiled. “I think maybe he had a date. Or he was starving.”
“When I was his age, I was always starving,” Mel said.
“And did you always have a date?”
He laughed. “With a cheeseburger.” He fumbled in his front shirt pocket. “Speaking of which...”
“Don’t tell me you have a cheeseburger in there.”
“Nope. Mini doughnuts from the vending machine. I can’t bring you one, but I can toss it.”
“Risky. I’m not a great catch.”
Mel grinned. “Lucky for you, I’m a good throw. Can’t miss.”
He fished a mini doughnut from the half-eaten package and tossed it carefully to June. She caught it left-handed and popped it in her mouth.
“Impressive,” Mel said.
“Had to,” she mumbled, her mouth full of doughnut. “My right hand is full of paint.”
“I’ve never doubted your talent.”
June chewed slowly, keeping her eyes on Mel. “But you’ve doubted other things about me,” she finally said.
He shook his head. “No.”
She resumed painting, only a quarter of the stage to go before she backed out a stage left door. Mel pulled up a chair at one of the many tables in the saloon. Unlike the big theater on the front midway, this one didn’t have orderly rows of pull-down seats numbering in the hundreds. Instead, high-top tables were surrounded by four chairs and scattered around the floor, each of them with a view of the raised stage. The room had an old dance hall feel, like in a Western movie.
“Think I need an audience for this?” she asked.
“Just keeping you company and waiting to offer you a ride home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, her tone implying he was not unwelcome.
“I’d like to help paint, but there’s only room for one in that pattern you’ve got going. Wish I had a cold beer in my front pocket I could toss you next.”
She laughed. “Now, that would be risky. Either I’d miss and splatter it everywhere, or I’d catch it and not give a darn if I finished this job tonight.”
“Could finish it tomorrow,” Mel suggested.
June shook her head, never slowing with her roller. “My big plan is to give this all night to dry so we can walk on it tomorrow—at least a little bit—as we continue bringing this stage up-to-date. I ordered some big props and they’ll be in tomorrow or the next day, and I assume you don’t want to store them in Receiving or Maintenance.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Well, when you’re one-third owner of a struggling amusement park, you have to use your head.” She glanced up and grinned. “Otherwise you’ll have your back against a wall.”
“You’ll probably be glad when you get to the wall—then you can go home.”
“Almost there,” she said.
“You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow after kneeling all this time,” Mel observed.
She glanced up sharply. “What do you mean?” Her tone was almost confrontational.
“I just mean a job like that is a knee killer,” he said. “I pawn off those jobs on the young guys.”
Her shoulders relaxed and Mel could tell, even from across the room, her expression did, too.
“Oh,” she said. “I see what you mean.”
“You’ve