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

“Any comparison to Lemmon and Matthau is a compliment.”


“What?” John scowled at Frank. “I’m Lemmon.” He jabbed Frank in the chest. “You’re Matthau.”


“Because I’m the one who can do physical comedy.”


“My delivery is better, too. Matthau is more deadpan.”


“You keep forgetting the shorter part.”


John rolled his eyes and went back to his reflection to check his appearance one more time. “One date and you think you know it all about what it means to perform.”


Frank rested his hands on John’s shoulders, a purely territorial gesture that only needed more privacy to become more intimate. When he leaned in to whisper into John’s ear, goose bumps erupted along John’s nape at the hot breath fanning over his skin. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been so enthusiastic in your support, then.”


Chapter 29