The Heart Does Not Grow Back: A Novel by Fred Venturini Page A

about the reality television show called Dedications.
    “There’s this girl, Lori, fake tits, real hot. We’ve sort of been dating since March. At least she’s under that impression. So anyway, I applied for the show and ended up getting a call. I’m like, okay, there’s a shot here. After an interview and a few follow-ups, I made the cut, dude! The fuckers want Mack Tucker on TV!”
    The dream of fame. The fastball was dead, but the dream wasn’t.
    “I hate to be a buzzkill, but it sounds like you’re not doing the college thing anymore?”
    “The casting interview was during exam week. I can get college credits any fucking time.”
    “Then good for you,” I said.
    “Good for us. Convertible trip to California, brother. I haven’t forgotten. But there’s one tiny complication with the casting. They want me to propose to her on the show.”
    “I know you don’t want to get married,” I said. “And you’ve only dated this Lori for what, ten weeks?”
    “Two and a half months, fucknuts. It’s a relationship, not a newborn. But they won’t let me on the show if I don’t propose,” he said. “It’s kind of the point of the show. But don’t worry. I got this figured out—she won’t say yes. It’ll be their signature episode, where I get rejected. I can do autograph signings at malls, maybe get some momentum for a bachelor show of some sort. Chicks will feel sorry for me. Pity pussy galore!”
    I could tell he never actually watched the show, which was buried on a shitty cable network that only a guy with a life like mine would run into. But the women always said yes. A typical episode consisted of Some Tool hell bent on getting married, spewing his story to Music Star during the first segment. In the second segment, Star and Tool sit in a studio together as Star writes a song specifically for Tool’s One and Only Love. In the last segment, One and Only Love—who was usually a gorgeous woman who had no business being with Tool—got dragged into a restaurant or park significant to their relationship so that Star could perform the song as Tool holds her hand with tears in his eyes as he proposes.
    “So you think she’ll say no?” I asked. “You think any woman can say no when she knows she’s on TV and being judged by a whole audience? When she has had a song from some famous, sexy pop star written and performed just for her?”
    “You’re right,” he said. “Good thing for me my episode won’t have anyone sexy or famous. I don’t even know his name. Ben McSomething. It’s some black dude who plays the piano and isn’t blind. How good could he be? Anyway, this is a special occasion. They seemed really fucking-A pleased with what I bring to the table. This is the launch pad, bro. So I’m thinking, steakhouse. Me, you, a few pitchers. You in?”
    “Maybe,” I said.
    “What you doing nowadays?”
    I didn’t want to say nothing . “I’ve got a few irons in the fire.”
    “Atta boy. That mean you’re picking up the check, or what?”
    “Yeah,” I said without thinking. I wasn’t in a check-picking-up state when it came to finances, but I didn’t want to tip my hand to Mack.
    “Good. I should come through your way early next week. That cool? I’ll just holler?”
    My thought was, Come through on your way to where? Mack sounded adrift. That made two of us.
    “Just holler,” I said. “No interesting shit going on in my world.”
    He screamed, “Mustang, motherfucker!” and hung up the phone.
    *   *   *
    I was back at Wal-Mart, my quick in-and-out shopping trip. I always tried to go on Wednesdays, when the store was practically empty. Mowing season was over, so I was in ration mode. After quickly filling the basket with the bare essentials, I scanned the checkout lanes for a quick and quiet exit.
    I assumed that most men didn’t like to check out with attractive clerks, where every item is a spilled secret—the toiletries alone advertising, Here’s what I wash myself