Throughout his career, actor John Paravati has stuck with what he told the gossip rags -- he's been in like, in lust, even in respect once or twice, but never love. All he's ever cared about is performing. If he's stuck now doing commercials for cruise lines, at least it's better than shilling adult diapers.<br><br>But Hollywood pretends, and John is a master. Because once upon a time, he loved two things more than anything -- his best friend Frank and the movie palace he used as sanctuary.<br><br>Over fifty years ago, John ran away from his hometown. Now, someone has restored the theater he left behind, and they want John at its relaunch. The memories still sting, but he agrees to attend, even though it means dealing with heartache. At seventy-seven, he's too old to hold onto the hurt. The question is, however, is he too old to start over once it's gone?

The Hearts of Yesteryear

“So do I get to hear what the big deal is about this theater, or do I have to get you drunk and tickle it out of you?”


Marjorie’s light tone cut through his reverie, the same fog-state he’d been in ever since Corrine had left them at the soundstage. Dinner was done and gone, but John had little memory of what he ate or might have said to her while he did so. Now, he sat in the front seat of the Cadillac she refused to give up, his head tilted toward the window, staring at his own reflection as she drove him home.


“It’s in Shakersville,” he replied without tearing his gaze away from the emptiness flashing past.


“And you don’t want to talk about it.”


“I don’t even want to think about it.” Except it was too late for that, wasn’t it? That was all he’d done since seeing the letter. He shot her an apologetic smile. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you?”


Chapter 3