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Don’t know why. When you get old, you don’t feel like you have time to keep a secret.”
    “I wouldn’t know,” Dad piped up.
    “Neither would I,” Lillis agreed.
    “The comeback,” I interjected.
    “Comeback,” Lillis sneered. “Where was I? Was I away? I knew where I was.”
    “Where?” I asked.
    “Mostly Cleveland,” he said. “I would have said ‘Philadelphia,’ but that had too many syllables for the joke.”
    I decided to be more direct, if such a thing was possible. “Are you and Mr. Townes going to make another movie?”
    “Another movement?” Lillis feigned horror. “I’ll thank you not to inquire about my bowels, young man.”
    “Another movie .”
    “Ah. A different question, although there are those who think otherwise. Well, we’ve discussed it. I think it could happen.” Lillis was watching my eyes, gauging my interest. He probably saw more interest there than in his bank account, which (contrary to his “more comfortable” remark) was rumored to be quite impressive.
    “That would be amazing,” I gushed. It slipped out.
    “That remains to be seen. But that’s not why you came up here today, is it?”
    I was caught off guard by his question. “No. I mean, yes, but, no. See, I was hoping . . . that is, I wonder if you’d consider . . .”
    “Is that the way you always talk, or do you actually know about sentences?” Lillis asked me. I repeated the question in my mind a few times so I could tell my grandchildren how the brilliant comedian had torn me down.
    “He knows sentences,” my father defended me. “And I don’t mean like ‘seven to ten years for armed robbery,’ either. ”
    Lillis smiled. Dad could establish a genial rapport with a crocodile; it’s why he had been a brilliant salesman for four decades. “It’s nice to see you can keep up, anyway,” Lillis told him. “Was he just an off day for you, or do you think your wife had a thing going with the mailman?”
    If anyone else had said it, Dad would have picked up the table lamp and crowned him with it. But from Lillis, you knew it was the part of his image that he could still control. It must have been a terrific burden to have to insult everyone you meet, and make them enjoy it at the same time.
    “Mom didn’t like the mailman,” I told him. “She said he only brought bills. But I do look a little like the dry cleaner.”
    Dad looked a little shocked, but Lillis laughed. “Welcome to the same conversation, kid,” he said. Then he gave me a very careful look and said, “Okay. You didn’t drive up here today just to appall your father. What is it you came here to ask?”

4
    “HARRY Lillis is coming to your theatre?” Sharon asked.
    “What did I ask you?” I reminded her.
    We sat in the late September sunshine, in the outdoor section of C’est Moi!, a misnamed restaurant that served burgers and sandwiches (although wraps and salads had recently made their way to the menu) on Edison Avenue, the main drag of Midland Heights. The temperature was in the low seventies, probably the last time we’d see that this year, and Sharon had suggested we take our weekly luncheon al fresco.
    “Not to call it ‘your theatre,’ ” she recited. “But do I have to say Comedy Tonight every time?”
    “No, sometimes you can refer to it as ‘The State’s Only All-Comedy Movie Theatre,’ but only if you say it loudly, and with a couple of exclamation points,” I answered. “I can use all the publicity I can get. And yes, Harry Lillis will be there a week from today.”
    “To get you publicity.” Sharon bit into a turkey club. Mayonnaise would have squirted out on anyone else’s lip, but it knew better than to try that with my ex-wife. She emits a frequency that keeps dirt off her body through sheer intimidation.
    “To celebrate his distinguished career,” I countered. “The poor man almost never leaves the Home anymore. This will show him that people still love his work.” I speared a piece of