Meet Me at the Starlight

Chapter 9

MATT

A grand total of five people gathered in Spike’s Concessions on Wednesday morning. Granny, Matt, Spike, Mary from Tasty Dip, and Tyler from Copycat. Dion said he’d try to make it, but he had a lot of work on his schedule. “But count me in,” he’d promised.

Matt doctored the cup of coffee Spike handed him, and when he looked to the huddled group, all eyes were on him.

“What’s our marching orders, Captain?” Granny said. “We have six weeks to get three hundred and fifty signatures.”

The town council gave them until Thursday, April 30, to collect signatures, which initially seemed like ample time, but this was Sea Blue Beach. The referendum of 1964 took six months to get half as many. And Matt felt sure Harry, infuriated how he’d been outmaneuvered, would start a campaign of his own.

“I’m not sure we need a captain, but”—Matt surveyed the crew and sipped his coffee—“where do we start?”

Spike retrieved a thick folder. “I went by town hall this morning and asked Leslie for copies of our original charter and constitution.” He handed the folder to Matt. “We can put forth the petition and call for a vote but—”

“Federal and state law gives Harry and his council the right to invoke eminent domain for the good of the town.” Matt flipped through the documents. “We need to start a campaign, get as many signatures as we can—more than we think we need. You know Harry and his crew will find a way to remove a few during the verification process.”

“Can we really stop them from tearing down the Starlight?” Mary said.

“We can try. If enough people vote to keep it, then maybe the town council will capitulate,” Spike said. “Petitions can only be posted at the courthouse and post office.” He pointed out that detail on the papers Matt held. “We can’t go door to door, but we can pass out flyers and such.”

“Harry will be a stickler for this to be done by the book.” Matt passed the folder back to Spike. “I’ll see about getting a story in the Gazette. And some ads. Tyler, can you design a flyer?”

“Already got something in mind,” he said.

“Great,” Matt said. “Also, Rollo on the Radio always wants me on, so I’ll reach out.”

“Why isn’t the rink a historical landmark?” Mary said. “Or some sort of House of Blue or Lauchtenland artifact? It was built by one of their princes.”

“I can answer that,” Granny said. “In the state’s mind, the Starlight has done nothing significant for history and does not qualify to be a historical landmark. As for the royal family, I’ve no clue.”

“Should we reach out to them?” Mary certainly had lofty ideas. “You’re a celebrity, Matt. Don’t you know people?”

“Not from the House of Blue. Lauchtenland’s royal family is very private. We’ve not heard a word about them since Princess Catherine’s twenty-first birthday. They don’t go for celebrity attention.” Matt eyed his small posse. “Let’s just focus on what we, the people of Sea Blue Beach, can do.”

“What about Malachi Nickle, a freed slave?” Spike said. “He helped build this place. Doesn’t that qualify the Starlight as an historical landmark?”

“He helped build the town,” Granny said. “The prince built the skating rink, while Malachi built the sawmill, which does qualify as a historic landmark. It was used heavily during both world wars.”

“Matt, talk to your dad,” Tyler said. “Is there any other part of town for Murdock’s development?”

“Good point. I’ll ask.”

Mary was a member of a half dozen clubs and committees, and experienced with the red tape of town hall, so she volunteered to file the proper papers. She’d also present the Starlight’s case to those who liked fighting for causes.

Another meeting was scheduled in three days to kick off their campaign. With high fives and bolstered declarations of courage, the small committee dispersed.

Spike pulled Matt aside. “Got a second for me to show you a few things?”

Starting with the main area, Spike pointed out the scuffed and battered walls, the stained and threadbare carpet, and the duct tape holding a set of speakers together. There were worn places on the skate floor, and a rotting section of the balcony railing begged for a lawsuit. All of the wooden benches bore the marks of kids-in-skates for the last few decades.

The Wurlitzer organ worked but barely. It needed major repair if Granny wanted to keep it. Matt pressed one of the keys, and it never released. As far as he could remember, Granny had played music from a sound system. But the antique organ was part of the Starlight’s original magic.

“Dirk could sure play the whiz out of this thing,” Spike said. “You’d think Harry would appreciate that his daddy got born again in this place and was forever changed. From drunk on booze to drunk on the Spirit. That’s what he always liked to say. From Drunk Dirk to Dear Dirk.”

“Harry seems bent on his own legacy—not his daddy’s, not Granny’s, not the Starlight.” Matt looked at Spike’s clipboard. “What else?”

“Follow me, my brother.”

Several bathroom toilets and sinks leaked above chipped or broken floor tiles. The back room—with a single bed and battered chest of drawers—was loaded with things Granny wanted to “store.”

“She don’t need any of this. It’s just a bunch of old papers and records.” Spike opened one box to reveal a bunch of broken skates. “The last five years she’s become a pack rat.” He opened another box full of accounting ledgers.

Matt reached for one dated 1952. “We can deal with this room sooner rather than later, but the rest will take time.”

“I’ll take the benches to my workshop. Start refinishing them up one at a time. If we fail in our mission, she can sell them in an auction.”

Matt tossed the ledger into the box. “Do you think we have a chance, Spike?” He didn’t believe his celebrity would carry much sway. Who cared what Matt Knight wanted when he lived in California?

“There’s always Immanuel.” Spike walked out of the room and down the side of the rink, past the battered benches, and stopped under the murals.

“Spike, he’s a painting. A fairy tale told by a brokenhearted, shipwrecked prince.” The image of the man looming over the rink had scared Matt for most of his childhood. Maybe even a little bit right now. Under his wide-brim hat, his eyes seemed to watch. To see.

“He’s more than a fairy tale to your granny. I might also point out the murals are ninety years old and are as beautiful as the day they were painted. You know, with a fancy Italian artist’s name attached to these panels, they’d go for a pretty penny at auction.” Spike moved on to the sound booth. “In here, some of the equipment was damaged when the roof leaked. I think Tooz spent all her reserve fixing it. Nora made up this tip sheet for the DJs when things don’t work.” Spike held up a stained yellow pad with curling edges.

Turn off and turn back on.

Take off old duct tape, put on new.

Pound the receiver gently! (circled in heavy ink) Smack on top, center.

“Dad didn’t step in to help with the roof?” Matt scanned the rest of the list.

“By the time he’d heard, she’d already hired the crew and paid the money.”

“Were they fair?”

“I hate to tell you this, Matt, but just about everyone these days takes advantage of your granny—from the kids she’s hired to Mayor Harry Smith. I try to watch out for her but . . .” He motioned for Matt to follow him to the ticket booth. “This cash register is from before the war. Probably dates back to the thirties. With no sales tape, skimming a fiver or tenner from the till is easy as pie. Who would know? Tuesday counts on their honesty.”

Spike continued the tour to the booth room, where Granny caught up to them. “What are you two doing? Snooping?”

“Just showing Matt what’s what, Tooz. I told you things need fixing up around here.”

“I told you I run a tight ship,” she said. “Nothing some paint, mop, and broom won’t fix.”

“You think so?” Spike picked up a skate and jimmied the trunk loose from the boot. “This ain’t safe. Also, Tooz, that kid Kenny lets his buddies in for free. I watched him do it all week, then heard a couple of them bragging about it in concession. Bunch of heathens.”

“Kenny? Are you sure? Both of his parents worked here as teens. They were great kids.”

“Well, he’s a cheat. Don’t get me started on Chondra.”

“Now what’s wrong with her? She’s a hardworking gal.”

“How about I step in, lend a hand for a while?” Matt roped his arm around her. “I’ll work with Spike to get a few things fixed up while we promote our petition. Then, when we win, I’m investing in the Starlight. If Harry demands Sea Blue Beach moves into the future, let the Starlight lead the way.”

“Well, I feel I should protest,” Granny said. “You work hard for your money, Matty. But if this life has taught me anything, it’s always to accept a lending hand.”

“Consider it payment for eighteen-plus years of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, taking care of me while Dad worked, and buying me clothes and my first car.”

A ’70 Cuda. Wrecked by Booker. Which created a domino of events. For Booker. For Matt.

Matt followed Granny toward the rink, her chin up, shoulders back, striking a pose in her pale pink blouse, dark slacks, and brown oxfords. Her white hair was still thick and holding the curl from her weekly wash-and-set at Brenda’s Beauty.

“The Starlight and I survived the Depression and the war, never mind the ill intentions of your grandpa’s mob friends. Now I got teenagers robbing me? Maybe Harry and the council are right,” she said, looking surprisingly defeated. “Maybe the days of the Starlight are over.”