I have one of the classiest authors ever on my blog today. I adore C. Zampa and I'm honoured to be part of her blog tour.
Most who know me know that I love reading and writing about times past. Other eras, particularly the 20’s, 30’s and 40’s.
Well, Sue asked me to talk about one of my biggest passions. The stars of the big screen, the celebrities from days gone by. Movie Stars. No, no, no. I didn’t say ‘celebs’, and I don’t mean Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt or the line-up of cookie cutter glamourettes who walk the red carpets these days.
I mean Movie Stars. Men and women who graced the silver screen, who were bigger than life. Actors and actresses whose names conjure visions of The Cocoanut Grove, The Brown Derby, Grauman’s Chinese Theater, the Hollywood sign that reigned over tinsel town in its glory days, mansions that snuggled in those green Hollywood hills where stars lived. Oh, sure, actors live there now, too, but today the sight of their dwellings just shout dollar signs, not high-octane glamour, romance and mystery.
They funny thing is that these folks, these actors from the days past, were actually owned by the big studios. And, oddly, those studios—who so many of the players eventually rebelled against for more control—were the very powers that made the stars the mega attractions they were.
These were the days when scandals were hush-hush, studio ‘brooms’—called so for their sweeping junk under the carpets—were on staff at all times to make sure the good-girl types stayed good and let out just enough naughtiness to the public to keep the sultry sirens mysterious and sexy. Sweepers to keep the glamour boys of film—the fellas with slick hair and Ipana smiles and sharp clothes—wholesome if the needed to be wholesome and roguish if they needed to be that, too. Image. It was all about image. No freelance actors roaming the streets without makeup and sporting bed-head hair. No, sir.
I know. Quite controlling, wasn’t it? Kind of bogus. Fakesville. But you know what? It was this very controlling hand that made the era what it was. Glamour. A dream world of escape. An image that made everybody want to run away from home and join the glitzy circus that was
. Had it not been
for these powerhouses, the studios, a huge part of our history—film—would have
never been. Hollywood
Big studios. I’m ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille glitter. All of it. I love it. Why do folks like me love it so? Who knows? Sometimes I swear it’s a past live or lives. Sometimes the 1940’s the war, the home front, the men in fedoras, the women with gorgeous pompadour hair styles and seamed stockings, seem so unbearably real to me, I can almost hear the sounds and smell the wonderful smells.
And, hey, maybe I just love glamour for glamour’s sake. Maybe I love glitz and sizzle, maybe I dream of hanging with Tyrone Power at the Hollywood Athletic club or boozing it up at some Cuban-themed nightclub under fake palm trees.
So, yeah, I love to imagine I was there in some other life. Who knows? I might have even been one of those big star types.
Contemporary M/M Novella
When Honor Castillo convinces himself he isn’t gay, he begins a new life. He ends his affair with his lover, Jorge Villagomez, and marries Rebecca to establish a life with her as a respected
Eleven years later, Jorge returns to
When Jorge approaches Honor to design his studio, Honor believes he can walk the line between friendship and lovers. But when a sudden crisis threatens to take Jorge from him forever, Honor must choose between his duty and his heart. Most of all, he’s forced to decide what he’s willing to lose in order to be true to who he really is.
There were times I thought I would die from the pain of it and times I often hated myself because of the pain it caused for those I loved.
But if I had the chance to go back, to do it over again, would I still have done the same? Yes. Hell, yes.
I STARED through the slats of the tree house roof at the porch light shimmering on the leaves. The weathered boards were warm and rough on the soles of my bare feet, and the musty smell of the worn wood soothed me, turned me on.
The little wood sanctuary had hosted some of the best memories of my life. In this secret clubhouse, my buddies and I stashed comic books and Playboy magazines. We sneaked cigarettes, turning our little haven into a sort of juvenile male-only nightclub.
It was here I discovered I didn’t go for the chicas in the nudie magazines but instead lusted for the cocks and tight asses of chulos. One hot summer night a million years ago, on the floor of this little dilapidated tree house—crickets going wild in the dark and lightning bugs glittering in the shadows of the trees—I made out with a boy for the first time.
That boy was Jorge Villagomez.
Thin, pale Jorge, who always seemed to be in frail health. Constantly missing school, in and out of the hospital, never having to participate in gym. The boy who carried a little plastic container filled with his medications in his backpack. Although he never spoke of it, not even to me, the undisputed word—from a kid named Julie something-or-other who knew everything—was that Jorge had a heart condition.
Beautiful, ungodly beautiful Jorge. Somehow his fragility made him all the more divine. Unbearably delicate skin complemented with the shiniest, blackest hair I’d ever seen. But it was his eyes that riveted me. Clear, mystical, startling silvery gray. And in the middle of all those ravishing features was the cutest gap-toothed smile. That tiny flaw lent Jorge a smidgen of ordinariness. It almost made him approachable.
Rich, spoiled Jorge. Hell, even his name dripped with privilege. Jorge Villagomez. His parents—of noble Spanish heritage—were
San Antonio society, steeped in culture and money.
Fiery, icy, bossy, bitchy, girly, sweet, adorable Jorge. Sickly as he was, feminine as he was, nobody but nobody ever made fun of him. He never endured the bullying most of the weaker kids did. Something in Jorge defied the teasing. His very spirit double-dog dared anyone to make fun of him.
What that exquisite creature saw in me, I hadn’t a clue. I figured he got some rich boy’s thrill hanging out in my not-so-affluent neighborhood.
But then I figured if a guy like me was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of Jorge’s libido, I shouldn’t ask questions. I’d just smile and roll around in the sexual glow.
If I lived a hundred years, I’d never forget the day he sashayed into my life.
Amazon Author page: www.amazon.com/C.-Zampa/e/B004QSDSG0
The author is giving away a $50 Amazon Gift Card at the end of the tour
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Honor C. Tour Stops
29th: Dawn’s Reading Nook
30th: New Release Announcement Blog
31st: Author Raine Delight
4th: Will Parkinson (blog post/promo post)
6th: RJ Scott (Promo post)
11th: Silvia Violet (Promo post)
12th: Freddy MacKay
17th: Three Flynns (Seduce Day/wip teaser)
18th: MM Good Books Review (review and promo excerpt/blurb)
18th: Sloane Taylor (Recipe and promo post)
18th: Sue Brown (Guest blog post)
20th: Three Flynns Website/blog (Blog Post)
22nd: Cynthia Sax (interview-no giveaway on this stop)
24th: Romance Lives Forever Blog