When Valentines Collide (4 page)

Seth frowned. “Help me out. Who's the ox in this scenario?”

“Not funny.” Matthew tried to pull his left leg out from the bunched pants leg, but instead lost his footing and fell face forward. “Goddamn it.”

Seth covered his mouth in time to cork his laughter.

By the time Matthew recovered and climbed back to his feet there was no trace of amusement on Seth's face—despite Matt's sock suspenders and Daffy Duck boxer shorts.

Matthew cleared his throat and then launched into an explanation for the boxers. “Chanté burned just about everything in my underwear drawer after the car incident.”

“I think you got off lucky.”

At last, Matthew smiled as he reached for his pristine-white tennis shorts. “I do, too.”

A knock rapped on the door.

“Come in,” Matt shouted.

Cookie peeked inside with a sheepish grin. “Your package arrived, Dr. Valentine.”

Matthew's eyes lit up as he clapped his hands together. “Oh. Bring him in.”

Seth's brows furrowed in curiosity but the feeling was quickly sated when Cookie entered the dressing room with the most adorable brown-and-white puppy.

“There's my little man,” Matt exclaimed, finally stepping free from his trousers to reach for the dog. “Thank you, Cookie.”

“My pleasure. Do you know what you're going to name him?”

“I'm not sure yet.” Matt scratched behind the puppy's ear. “I have to spend some time with him and get a sense of his personality.”

Cookie leaned over and kissed the dog on top of the head. “Well, keep me posted. I love dogs!”

“Will do.”

The intern gave either Matt or the dog a wink, Seth couldn't tell which.

“Call if you need anything,” she reminded him again and then disappeared with another wink.

“Excuse me, uhm,” Seth said once the door closed. “But isn't Chanté allergic to dogs?”

“She's not allergic,” Matt said unconcerned. “She just hates them.”

“I stand corrected.”

Matt sat in his makeup chair and began to coo and imitate baby talk to the bundle of fur.

“What kind of dog is he?”

“Bulldog. Isn't he handsome? Maybe I should name him Buddy? As in
my
Buddy.”

“You know your wife is going to hit the roof when she sees him.”

“Probably.” Matt smiled. “But I'll just keep him on my side of the house. Besides, everyone needs companionship. A fact my wife seems to have forgotten.”

Seth stared at his friend. Finally, he decided to stop pussyfooting around. “Let me ask you something. And be honest if you can. If you and Chanté continue on the way you have been, how long do you think it will be before you finally accept Cookie's invitation?”

A flash of anger returned to Matthew's eyes. “You're out of line.”

“And you're in denial.”

That loud silence returned to the room, but this time it was layered with a tension usually reserved for heavyweight boxers on fight night.

“Look, I'm your friend.”

“You're my agent.”

Seth thrust up his chin at the verbal blow. “All right. I'm your agent. As your agent I think I should warn you that a marriage counselor is better for your reputation than getting caught with your hands in the
Cookie jar.
”

Matthew's heated black gaze snapped up to Seth as he opened the door.

“Think about it, Matt.” His gaze shifted to the puppy. “Good luck, Buddy. Something tells me that you're going to need it.”

“H
ello, Shawanda. Welcome to
The Open Heart Forum.
”

“Dr. Valentine? Oh, Lawd, girl. I didn't think I would ever get through.”

Chanté chuckled as she glanced up at Thad through the glass partition. “Well, I'm glad you did, Shawanda. What's on your heart tonight?”

“Yeah, well, I need to get some advice on what I should do about this (beep!) that's been creeping around with my man.”

“Whoa, whoa, Shawanda.” Chanté laughed. “I got to tell you this isn't one of those trashy talk shows, so I'm going have to ask you to watch the language. You think that you can do that?”

“Yeah, girl. Just tell me what I should do about this…heifa stalking my man 'cause I'm seriously about to catch a case if she calls my house one more damn time.”

“Well,” Chanté shook her head and braided her fingers. “Have you confronted your husband about this woman?”

“Oh, we ain't married or nothing. We've just been living together the last fifteen years.”

Thad slapped a hand around his mouth while Chanté remained composed.

“I see. Before I address your question, Shawanda—do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Uh, well, I guess not.”

“Why have you wasted fifteen years of your life on a man who clearly doesn't respect you enough to marry you?”

“Hey, that's my baby's daddy. The ring will come. I mean, you know, he first has to get his wife to sign the divorce papers.”

“His wife?”

“Yeah, she's been trippin' ever since he chose me over her trifling behind.”

“So let me get this straight—” Chanté straightened in her chair. “You're calling because your man is exhibiting the same behavior you benefited from fifteen years ago when he left his wife for you. Do I understand that right?”

“Look, Rufus left my sister because she didn't know how to treat him right. She never could keep a man, if you know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I think I do.” Chanté sighed. “All right, Shawanda and the rest of you ladies out there who think that hanging on to a man, any man, by any means necessary is the road to eternal bliss. Snap out of it!”

Chanté drew a deep breath and shook her finger at her desk microphone like it was an errant child. “This sort of behavior is unacceptable, despicable and downright counterproductive. It's bad enough that you destroyed one family, but you're calling me to help you stop someone from paying you back for what you put out in the universe. The way I see it, Shawanda, you have two choices, get out or suck it up.

“If you have any sense left you'll do the right thing and crawl to your sister on your hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. Got it?”

A loud click followed by a dial tone filled the airwaves.

“Humph. Another woman who can't take the truth.” She shook her head. “Look, ladies. One of the hardest things you'll ever have to learn is to know when to let go. It's not always healthy to only listen to your heart. Your heart can convince you to give up things you have no business giving up. Trust me, I know.”

Chanté stayed her tongue, realizing that she'd nearly said too much. To her surprise, Thad had already removed his headphones and was stretched out in his chair, shaking his head.

“We cut to Dr. Laura Schlessinger's repeat show about a minute ago.”

“Oh, thank God.” Chanté sighed and dropped her head on her desk. “I was about to experience a serious case of verbal diarrhea.”

Thad stood from his chair and strode out of the control room and into the studio booth. “Hey, what do you say we grab some coffee at our favorite diner? We could talk and…talk.”

Chanté rolled her head to the side and peeked up at him. “Talk?”

Somehow, she managed to lift her head and smile. “Thanks, Thad…but I think I'm going to have to take a rain check.” She removed her headset.

He nodded with obvious disappointment. “All right. But I got to tell you—the rain checks are stacking pretty high. I'm going to start cashing them in soon—real soon.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night it is.” Thad slid the bill of his Yankees cap to the front and winked. “Get some rest. You look like you need it.”

Chanté watched the young producer as he shuffled out of the studio and then felt herself tumble back into a void so complete, she barely had any energy to pack up her belongings. “Sleep,” she mumbled under her breath. “What a novel idea.”

Like a zombie, she headed out to the employee parking lot. Despite exhaustion, Chanté knew when she climbed into bed, sleep would be rationed out in fitful doses. Such had been the case for the past five months. Ever since she'd kicked Matthew out of their bedroom.

She was angry. He was angry. She threw things. He shouted hurtful things at the top of his lungs. Neither apologized. To do so would mean that one of them was wrong. After eleven years of marriage, Chanté was tired of always being wrong.

Chanté's heels clicked louder against the asphalt, renewed anger brewed in her blood. Over the past five months, she'd lamented over every argument they had ever had and not once had Matthew apologized.

Not once.

As she approached her parking space, the sight of the rented Mercedes only fed her anger. Matthew deserved more than just some itching powder sprinkled in his clothes—maybe being thrown into a cage with a wild animal would elicit some sense of satisfaction.

“Okay, maybe that's a little too harsh,” she admitted, but a smile curved her lips all the same.

As Chanté merged into traffic, she wished that she'd taken Thad up on his offer for coffee and a talk. She wanted to talk to someone, but hated feeling pressured to do so. The irony of that didn't escape her.

She drove for hours, most of the time going back and forth over the same stretch of highway—never really ready to make the right exit for her house. No matter the hour, she knew Matt would be waiting up for her in the living room, although he would never admit it. He'd always claimed to be working whether his laptop was on or not. That still meant something, didn't it? What about the other night when he'd nearly made love to her on the floor of the foyer?

Wasn't that a sign that he still wanted her?

At least her body…or what her body should be capable of giving him.

A child.

The white lines of the road blurred at the sudden sting of tears. Why couldn't Matt just let it go? Not every couple had children. Not everyone was meant to be parents.

But in the last six years her husband had grown obsessed. From endless tests to new and innovative positions, Matthew was determined to have a child. Making love had become sex and sex had become a dull, emotionless act that had left her feeling more empty and dissatisfied than when they started.

Matt never noticed. After all, to a man, an orgasm was an orgasm.

Chanté reached the point that she didn't even bother faking it anymore. And if she wasn't enjoying it, then why do it?

Still, the other night, an old familiar spark had flared between them. Or had she imagined it? She mulled the question over a moment, but in the end was no closer to an answer than she was that night.

After a marathon of hot and sweaty sex, Edie and Seth curled into a nice spoon while they waited to catch their next wind.

“God, you're beautiful,” Seth panted, peppering his wife's back with butterfly kisses.

“You just make sure you don't forget it,” Edie purred and wiggled her rump against his growing erection.

Seth laughed but reached over and snatched a white Kleenex, a surrender flag, from the nightstand and waved it in front of his wife. “I give up. I can't go on without the aid of a medic.”

Edie groaned and then inched out of their beloved spoon to roll over and face him. “You know if you keep conking out on me, I just might have to get myself a younger man.”

“Then I'll just have to get myself an older woman. Someone who knows how to roll over and go to sleep after four rounds.”

“Better not.” Edie giggled before she laid another long, hot kiss on him. When she pulled away, she gazed deep into his eyes. “Promise me that we'll always be like this.”

“I promise that we'll always be like this.”

“Even when I grow old and my skin gets all wrinkly?”

“Even then.”

“Even when my hair turns all gray and I'll have to put my teeth in a glass next to the bed?”

“Ooh, no teeth, huh? That could come in handy.”

Edie popped him on the arm. “Promise.”

Seth chuckled and drew her soft body close. “I promise to love you until my dying breath.” He kissed her upturned nose.

Edie released a long sigh and tried to relax against him.

“Something else is on your mind. Out with it.”

“Oh,” she said disconsolately. “It's nothing.”

“It sure doesn't sound like nothing.”

She hesitated a moment, kissed his firm chest, and then tilted her head back so that she met his gaze in the dimly lit room. “Did you talk to Matthew today?”

It was Seth's turn to sigh wearily. “Yeah, I guess you can say that.”

“I take it you ran into the same brick wall I did with Chanté?”

“Unfortunately.” He rolled onto his back, but kept Edie locked in his arm. “I think they're worse off than I originally thought.”

“What do you mean?”

Seth relayed his suspicions about Matt's potentially straying eye and waited for the eruptions he knew that would follow. Edie and Chanté were best friends, after all. Jumping to her girl's defense was only natural.

But she said nothing.

In a way, the quiet was more unsettling than any explosion.

“Baby?”

“Do you think he'll have an affair?”

Seth drew in a deep breath while he replayed what he'd seen in Matt's dressing room and what he knew of his friend's character. He wanted to say “no, absolutely not,” but something kept the words from falling from his lips.

Edie sat up. When their eyes met again, Seth read the sadness she felt for her friend. It had nothing to do with book sales or public image.

“We have to try harder,” she whispered. “Everyone knows they're soul mates.”

“That doesn't mean anything, if they don't know they're soul mates,” he reasoned, caressing her arm. “We can lead deer to water, but we can't make them drink.”

With a slow nod, she turned toward the window. As she gazed out at the full moon, Seth watched as a smile crept across her face.

“We're going to have to do more than just lead them to the water,” she said.

Seth frowned, lost on her meaning.

Edie faced him again. “We're going to have to throw them in.”