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

“No fair.” He collapsed in a sweaty heap onto the grass, struggling to catch his breath but uncaring that the evening sun now blinded him where it sliced across the Hanson yard. “You have stork legs.”


Frank flopped down at his side, said legs stretched out in front of him. “I gotta beat you at something.”


“My teachers are easier than yours.”


John grinned. “That’s because you got stork arms, too.” When Frank made to punch his shoulder, John laughed and rolled out of the way.


“We should do something since you don’t have to work tonight.” Plucking a blade of grass, Frank held it between his thumbs to whistle through as he lapsed into contemplative thought. The shrill squeak annoyed Mrs. Hanson to no end, but John associated the sound too much with Frank for it to be anything but relaxing. “How about camping out in the backyard? If we don’t do it now, we won’t be able to until spring.”


Chapter 8