Valentine's Fantasy: When Valentines Collide / To Love Again

Chapter 4

Master interviewer, Larry King, dressed in a starched periwinkle shirt, black suspenders and matching striped tie performed his trademark haunch over the desk and welcomed the audience to the night’s show.

“It’s always a pleasure to welcome Dr. Matthew and Chanté Valentine to the show. Dr. Matt is the host of the highly-rated TV talk show, The Love Doctor. He is the author of four New York Times bestsellers...”

Matt smiled and scratched at his collar.

Chanté drew a deep breath and forced steel into her spine while keeping her smile on full wattage. This interview called for her finest performance.

Matt shifted in his chair, scratched his arm and then jerked the arm to scratch at his back.

Mr. King flashed Matt an inquisitive glance but kept on with his spiel.

“And this little lady, Dr. Chanté Valentine, has quite a résumé as well,” Mr. King praised. “She is the host of her own syndicated radio talk show The Open Heart Forum. Her first book, I Do—I have the book right here—has been on the bestseller list for ten weeks running. Welcome to the show.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and leaned closer toward her husband.

Matt jerked his head back and tried to scratch at his neck, his chest, his back and his crotch.

“Is everything all right, Dr. Valentine?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, just fine,” he panted, jerking this way and that. “I just seem to have a little itch.”

Chanté smiled serenely, thinking about the itching powder she’d sprinkled in his clothes. That’ll teach him to destroy my car.

Off set, Edie and Seth Hathaway took turns experiencing chest pains as they watched the Valentines attempt to charm their host, but watching them was like watching and expecting a train wreck.

“This was a mistake,” Edie whispered and glanced nervously around.

“This is damage control. We needed to do something other than let them continue taking public potshots.”

“Look at her. She looks like a plastic Stepford wife and he...what the hell is he doing?”

“Calm down.” Seth looped an arm around her shoulder. “They’re doing fine. Look, Larry is eating it up.”

“Larry is the least of our worries. It’s the court of public opinion that matters here.” She hid her face in the palms of her hands. “Why did she have to call his TV guests Jerry Springer rejects?”

Seth chuckled. “Because some of them are.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?” He shook his head. “You’re probably the only one who didn’t.”

“Well, we wouldn’t have to do any damage control if your client reined in his jealousy on Letterman.”

“C’mon. If you graduated from a place called Kissessme, you should grow a thick skin.”

Edie stepped away from her husband. “Are you saying all of this is Chanté’s fault?”

Stagehands, cameramen and the director glanced toward them and Edie realized she’d forgotten to use her “inside” voice. “Sorry,” she whispered to the set.

On camera, the Valentines smiled lovingly at each other and their host. But then Matt started raking at his skin like a madman again.

“I’m not saying that it’s anyone’s fault,” Seth resumed the conversation. “But I do think we’re sitting on top of a time bomb. We may be able to fool the public right now, but how long do you think they’ll be able to keep it up?”

Edie thought of Chanté’s constant demand for a divorce. “Not much longer.”

“Right.” Seth’s voice lowered. “Which is why I think it’s up to us to do something about it.”

“Us?” She laughed. “How are we going to help professional psychologists—the top in their field, by the way—mend their own relationship?”

Seth’s lips slid into a wide grin. “An intervention.”

“An intervention?” Edie repeated and turned her gaze back to Chanté and Matt, just as Matt twisted one too many times and fell out his chair, then proceeded to writhe on the floor. “Forget the intervention, I think we need an exorcist.”

* * *

“Oh, hell no,” Chanté snapped at Edie above the den of diners at the prestigious Gramercy Tavern. When all eyes shot to their table, Chanté quickly covered with a bland smile, and then added under her breath, “I’m not going to marriage counseling.”

Unfazed by her friend’s outburst, Edie calmly peered over the rim of her glasses. “If you look me in the eye and tell me that you honestly want a divorce, I’ll back off.”

Chanté opened her mouth to make her daily proclamation, but when the words failed her, she closed it and shifted in her chair.

A triumphant smile bloomed across Edie’s lips. “I didn’t think so.”

“Explain to me how it would look for two relationship experts to seek relationship counseling. Wouldn’t that also put a dent in our precious credibility?”

“The public will never know,” she assured.

“Come on. We live in the information age.” Chanté stabbed at her spinach salad. “Secrets always come out—usually on the Internet.”

Edie slumped back in her chair, thoughtful. “Then we could release the information ourselves.” She bobbed her head, warming to the idea. “Hear me out on this.” She sat up again. “You and Matthew promote counseling. What better way to show that all relationships hit rough patches? Right now, you guys appear to have the perfect marriage. There are a good percentage of people who think you guys can never understand their problems because you have it so good. But if they see perfect marriages being not-so-perfect then we can tap into a few more readers.”

“What are you talking about? People see those marriages all the time. They’re called celebrity marriages.”

“Be serious. No one takes celebrity marriages seriously. We’re talking about two famous love doctors, and when you fix their marriage, it will renew hope.”

“If we can fix our marriage.” Chanté bit into her salad and rolled her eyes. “And that’s a very big if.”

“Okay. We’ll keep it out of the papers for now, but if a leak happens we’ll be prepared.”

Chanté lowered her gaze and stared at her half-eaten salad, remembering the first time she’d laid eyes on Matthew. He’d blown a tire out on the main highway and walked ten miles to Sam’s Café on the edge of Karankawa, Texas, where she waitressed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out with his perfect speech, soft manicured hands and expensive shoes that he wasn’t from around those parts.

Chanté chuckled aloud from the memory, but snapped to attention when Edie’s sharp gaze zeroed in on her.

The last thing she expected today was to be ambushed with an intervention for her own marriage. However, her own solution to surviving the rest of her life with her self-absorbed, self-righteous and pretentious husband had already cost her a new Mercedes.

However, the question was whether she wanted to fix her marriage. As she struggled for an answer, her vision blurred, but she blinked away the tears and forced down another bite of food.