When Valentines Collide (13 page)

“I
was such a blind, self-absorbed idiot,” Chanté spat, storming through Edie's front door. “I've lost him for good now.”

“Please, come in,” Edie mumbled in the wake of her trail, sighed, and then closed the door. Shaking her head and tightening her belt around her plus-size figure, she stopped. Hadn't she lived this moment before?

“Well, it's good seeing you again,” Edie said, following Chanté into the dining room. “I thought you weren't speaking to me?”

“I'm sorry, Edie,” she said, collapsing into a vacant chair at the table. “I wanted to call, but I also wanted to hide in my own shell, too.” She buried her head in her hands. “I can't seem to do anything right.”

Edie slumped into her chair and pushed her breakfast aside. “What happened?”

“Matthew is filing for divorce. And please don't say anything about professional credibility or book sales.”

“No. Of course not.” She reached across the table for her hand. “Oh, Chanté. I'm so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” She sniffed and brushed away a tear before it had the chance to fall. “The thing is, I should be relieved. No more roller coasters of emotions. No more wondering when the big shoe was going to fall. Not that I have any shoes anymore.”

Edie gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “Maybe it's not too late. Have you talked to him?”

Chanté nodded and missed a few errant tears. “He came by the house last night.”

“I take it that it didn't go too well?”

“We're as toxic as ever.” She smiled but it looked more like a twisted frown. “Before we went to that resort, I was emotionally prepared for a divorce. When I decided to go on birth control, I did it knowing that Matthew would never understand. And I couldn't find the courage to tell him that I wanted to stop trying for a baby. I'd pick a fight for everything else, a classic case of transfer aggression. Then it became a mad race to leave him before he had the chance to dump me.

“Then something happened at The Tree of Life Resort. We connected. It was like…old times. There was no competition, no bitterness—just love. I found out that I still loved him. And I discovered I still wanted to try and give him what he desperately wants.”

Edie's gaze followed Chanté's hand as it drifted down to her belly and her brain jumped to a conclusion. “Are you pregnant?”

Chanté shared another sad, crooked smile. “Yeah. Despite the pills.”

Edie was confused. “Matthew's filing for divorce knowing that you're pregnant?”

Chanté lowered her gaze.

“You didn't tell him?”

She shook her head.

“But why?”

“Because he would have stayed…and it wouldn't have been for me.”

“But, Chanté—”

“Look, one of the hardest things women have to learn is knowing when to let go.” She shook her head during a pathetic laugh. “Do you know how many times I've told callers that?”

“Forgive me, but sometimes there's a real fine line between letting go and giving up.”

“Not in this case.”

Edie pulled away from her friend and slumped back in her chair. “So that's it then?”

“Yeah.” Chanté drew a deep breath and willed her courage to return.

“And what about the baby? What if this time—?”

Still afraid to hope, Chanté chose not to answer.

“Chanté, as your friend, I got to tell you that I think you're making another mistake.”

“Another mistake?” she echoed.

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“It's okay,” Chanté assured her, standing up. “I'm a big girl. I can take my lumps. But don't worry. If—and this is a very big if—I'm blessed to carry this child to term I have no intentions of cutting Matthew out. I just want to make sure that he doesn't stay for the wrong reasons.”

Edie drew a deep breath. “I can understand that.” She stood. “Don't leave. Stay and have breakfast with me. You're eating for two now. Having any weird cravings yet?”

“Well, don't laugh, but I really could go for some tomato soup and marshmallows.”

Edie scrunched up her face. “I would never laugh at that. Not now anyway.”

 

Matthew and Seth met at the International House of Pancakes for their favorite selection of Rooty Tuitty Fresh and Fruity pancakes. However, after Matthew announced his decision to file for divorce, the men fell into an awkward silence.

“I know you think I'm making a mistake,” Matthew said finally. “And I know the media will have a field day with this.”

“I don't care about that,” Seth said. “I'll have an official press release sent out later today.”

Matthew nodded and absently twirled his pancakes in his strawberry syrup. “This is the right decision, you know.”

“I can't answer that for you.”

“No. No. I mean, I'm just saying. Given our situation, our history and given what I know about human behavior, we're not normal. This marriage has taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

“Look, one thing I can agree with you on is that you and Chanté are a few cards short of a full deck. And now what you're telling me is that cutting up cars and spiking each other's food is okay, but this…”

“Deception?” Matthew finished for him.

Seth lowered his fork. “Forget it. I—I can't help you with this. As your friend, I'll support you in any decision you make. As your agent, I'll get out whatever message you want to the press. And we'll just leave it at that.”

Matthew nodded at his pancakes again. After another lengthy silence, he said, “I went to the house last night.”

“Yeah?”

“I was going to be strong, lay down the facts and present my case on why I decided to file for divorce. But the minute she walked in, the words jumbled in my head and my heart ached to the point I couldn't breathe. My head flooded with all these memories of how we met, the first time I kissed her, and even the first time we—well, you know.”

Seth gave him a crooked smile.

“Then I remembered how much fun we had at the resort. Rose petals on the bed, long bubble baths and body-oiled massages. I wanted to pull her into my arms one second and then in the next, I was baiting her, wanting a good fight.”

“So what happened?”

“What do you think?”

“Right hook?”

“I didn't let it show, but it took me half an hour to blink the stars out of my eyes,” he chuckled, but quickly grew serious again. “Fighting is a lot easier than dealing with what's really wrong.”

Seth smiled. “You know, it seems I heard somewhere that ‘couples tend to argue over something safe or superficial as the battlefield while the serious problems are ignored.'”

Matthew recognized the quote. “Now you know I was right.”

“It's not always about being right.”

“I know. I know. It's also about being able to say you're sorry. I remember.”

“Yeah, but did you learn from it?”

“I thought you weren't getting involved?”

“I thought that you had more sense than to end your marriage because your wife can't have children.”

Matthew exploded out of his chair. “Shut up! You don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

The restaurant's diners swiveled their heads toward the television star and Seth threw his hands up in surrender when he realized that he'd hit a nerve.

“I'm sorry, man. You're right. I shouldn't get involved.” But Seth knew at that moment that he was going to get involved. His wife wasn't the only trickster in the family.

Slowly, Matthew slid back into his chair, but he didn't touch his food. Seth's accusation echoed eerily of those Chanté had thrown at him at the resort. What he'd once dismissed as a ridiculous comment now gave him pause. Was he running toward the exit door of his marriage because of the possibility of no children?

Twenty minutes later, the men gave up the sham of eating their meals and requested their checks. While Matthew sank into a gloomy depression, the wheels in Seth's head churned at warp speed.

The men said their goodbyes and as they dispatched to their separate cars, Seth scooped his cell phone from his pocket and called his wife.

“Honey, it's time to throw the deer back into the water.”

“Matt and Chanté?” she guessed.

“Yeah. I just finished having breakfast with Matthew.”

“Well, Chanté just left here. Baby, she's pregnant again.”

“What? Well, that's good news!”

“Not exactly. She's not going to tell Matthew.”

“What? But—”

“Wait, before you get started, I agree with her.” Edie gave him a brief rundown of Chanté's reasoning for keeping the pregnancy hidden.

“Well, all this tells me is that we need to act fast.”

“I'm all ears. What's the plan?”

“We get them to do what they do best—fight.”

F
or ten weeks Chanté had grown accustomed to waking up with Buddy's butt in her face. It was just another way to fill the empty space on the other side of the bed. It was a poor substitute really, but after so much time had passed, she'd convinced herself that the trick was working.

However, when she opened her eyes this morning, Buddy was nowhere in sight. Yawning, she propped herself up on the pillows and wiped the sleep from her eyes as she glanced around.

“Buddy? Here, boy. Where are you?” When he didn't waddle out from his hiding place, Chanté groaned for having to get up and look for the adorable mongrel. But after searching every inch of the master bedroom, she grew concerned.

The bedroom door was still closed so she couldn't imagine how he could have gotten out. Also, if he had gotten out, she didn't even want to think about how much destruction the little Tasmanian Devil might have caused in other parts of the house.

“Buddy?” she called, opening her bedroom door. “Where are you, boy?” Chanté carefully combed the house and still there was no Buddy.

She heard a car's engine in the driveway and she rushed to the door to see if perhaps she had a dognapper on the premises. Bolting onto the front porch, Chanté slumped in disappointment to see that it was just old man Roger pulling into the drive.

“Good morning, Mrs. Valentine.” Roger waved and shut off his engine.

“Morning, Roger.” She pulled her satin robe close and glanced around the property. “You didn't happen to see Buddy out running around when you pulled up, did you?”

“Nah, I can't say that I did.” He turned and glanced around the property as well. “I, uh, did see Mr. Valentine leaving a few minutes ago.”

Chanté blinked at the news. “Matthew was here?”

“Uh, yes ma'am.” Roger stared earnestly up at her. “Looked to me he was in quite a bit of a hurry, too.”

“I don't believe him!” She stomped her foot and pivoted back toward the front door. “I've been the one taking care of Buddy all this time. He has no right!” She marched back into the house and slammed the door.

Roger scratched the side of his cotton-white hair, feeling more than a little guilty for lying to the lady of the house, but Mrs. Valentine's good friend had convinced him that the lie was crucial to get the Valentines back together again—well, that and the two hundred dollars she'd slipped into his shirt pocket.

Frankly, he didn't see how kidnapping a dog was going to do much of anything, but then again, he always thought the feuding shrinks were a little off their rockers anyway.

 

Buddy was having a great time as far as kidnapping went. During his high-speed race across town, he was given new toys to play with and enough dog biscuits to put him in doggy heaven.

“If I get caught during this caper, I want you to tell the pet detectives that you were never mistreated,” Edie said.

Buddy gave her a hearty bark and then returned his attention to the dog biscuits.

Thirty minutes later, Edie arrived at the
Love Doctor
studio, still dressed head to toe in black from her morning heist. She quickly found her husband's car and parked behind it. Seth was to meet her at exactly ten o'clock and at one minute after the hour, she was in full panic mode.

At 10:02, she truly envisioned those pet detectives screeching into the studio lot to take her away. What was the time given for dognapping? Would something like that go on someone's permanent records?

Lost in her thoughts about being hauled to jail, Edie didn't notice the petite woman approaching from the rear of her car. At the hard tap against the window, Edie screamed and nearly wet her britches, which then set Buddy off into a barking frenzy.

After a few heart-pounding seconds, Edie placed a calming hand across her heart and rolled down the window.

“Hi, I'm Cookie.” The girl jutted a hand into the car. “Are you Mrs. Hathaway?”

“Maybe,” Edie said cautiously and slid her large sunglasses up higher. “Why do you need to know?”

Cookie just smiled. “Well, since I know that little fella over there is Buddy, then I'm going to assume that you are Mrs. Hathaway. Your husband is tied up with the producers of the show and he sent me out to meet you.”

Edie groaned.

“Don't worry.” The young woman winked. “I'm on your side.”

Buddy barked and waved his short tail excitedly.

“I guess that means he trusts you. So what's next?”

“Well, I'm going to take our little friend over there and put him in Dr. Valentine's dressing room. The Valentines' groundskeeper just called and said the wife just drove off the property, so we need to get moving.”

Edie was out of the car before Cookie could finish her last sentence. They placed Buddy in the box Cookie brought and then covered the top with a thin towel. In true cloak-and-dagger mode, the women stole into the studio by the back door during the taping of the show.

Once, Buddy barked as they were sneaking past the set's caterers. Cookie, unexpectedly, let go of the box and faked a coughing fit. Edie caught the full weight of the box and kept moving—certain that at any moment someone would stop her.

“Sorry about that,” Cookie said as she caught up and directed her the rest of the way to Matthew's dressing room. Once they got him inside, they removed the towel and crammed more dog biscuits into the box, and quickly got the hell out of dodge.

 

Chanté arrived at the studio lot, breathing fire. She received more than her fair share of stares when she climbed out of her new Mercedes and marched into the studio, mainly because she still wore her satin pajamas and matching pink robe.

She didn't care. She just wanted her dog back.

The moment she walked through the back door of the sound studio she heard the thundering applause echoing throughout the place. She had hoped to reach Matthew before taping began, now she would have to wait for the next commercial break to grab her husband's attention.

“Chanté.” Seth walked up and joined her by one of the camera monitors. “What are you doing here?” He glanced around.

“I just need to speak to Matthew for a minute. I'll stay out of the way.” She tapped her foot impatiently.

Seth cleared his throat and made another glance around—when he spotted Cookie a few feet away. When she gave him the thumbs-up, he relaxed and waited for the drama to unfold.

On stage, Matthew turned to address one of his guests but caught sight of Chanté offstage. For the first time in his professional life, his mind drew a blank.

“Dr. Valentine?” His guest, a sixty-year-old man who claimed to be addicted to Viagra, waved his hand before Matthew's line of vision and brought him out of his trance. A few minutes later, Matthew cut to a commercial break and quickly exited stage left.

“Chanté, what are you doing here? And why aren't you dressed?”

“Don't play games with me! You know why I'm here. Where's Buddy?”

Matthew stared at her while he waited for her words to make sense. When that didn't happen, he ventured to ask, “Why would I know where Buddy is?”

“Don't play stupid with me. I know you broke into the house this morning and took him,” she hissed.

“What? Don't be ridiculous! Plus, who ever heard of breaking into one's own house?”

“Dr. Valentine?” A stage assistant approached cautiously. “We're back on in thirty seconds.”

“You don't have the right to take him. You abandoned him, just like you abandoned me!”

More heads whipped in their direction.

“Will you lower your voice,” Matthew seethed. “Do you want the whole damn studio to hear you? And I did not abandon you.”

“I don't give a damn who hears me. I want my dog back.”

“Dr. Valentine?” the assistant urged again.

“I'm coming,” he snapped over his shoulder. He returned his attention to Chanté and waved a finger at her. “Stay put. I'll be right back.”

Chanté reached for his finger as if ready to snap it off, but he jerked it back in time and rushed out onto the stage.

Seth shrank back but kept his eye on Chanté as she paced around like a caged tiger.

“I thought you said this was going to help them get back together,” Cookie whispered into his ear.

“Patience, my dear. There is a method to my madness.”

The rest of the show went without a hitch and Matthew thanked his guests for appearing on the show with a wide plastic smile and then rushed off the stage to see what the hell his wife was babbling about.

“Unhand me,” Chanté growled when he gripped her arm and proceeded to direct her away from his crew.

He ignored her and continued to tug while flashing his curious crew his famous television smile.

“I just want Buddy back,” she growled.

“I don't have him.”

“Liar!”

Matthew reached his dressing room and pitched her inside as fast as he could. When he entered behind her, he was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. The entire room was ransacked and in the center of his cot was Buddy ripping the feathers out of his pillow.

“Buddy!” Chanté exclaimed, rushing over to the dog.

Matthew glanced around the place. “What in the hell is he doing here? And look what he did to my dressing room.”

“Payback is a bitch.” She smiled triumphantly. “Isn't that what you told me?”

“You did this on purpose?”

“Oh, will you just give it a rest. I know you were on the property this morning. Roger said he saw you.”

Matthew felt like he was tumbling through the Twilight Zone. He couldn't imagine old man Roger lying on him.

“Chanté, I'm only going to say this one more time. I did not take Buddy.”

“Then how did he get here? Fly?”

“You must have brought him here,” he concluded.

“You're delusional.” She picked Buddy up and headed toward the door. “I'd appreciate it if you'd call before you come over. No more just popping up or dropping in.”

“Wait a minute. That's my house, too. I'll show up whenever I feel like it.”

“I wouldn't try it if I were you.” She snatched open the door. “File your damn divorce but stay the hell away from me and Buddy. You don't deserve us.”

Buddy barked in agreement.

When she stormed out of the room, Matthew tried to review what had just happened. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make sense of it. Nor should he understand why the memory of rubbing warm body oil all over Chanté kept playing in his mind while they were arguing.

 

Seth and Cookie had jumped out of the way when Chanté stormed out of her husband's dressing room.

“The method to your madness isn't working,” Cookie said.

Seth nodded. “I hate to say it, but I don't think these two are going to make it.”