Читать книгу When Valentines Collide - Adrianne Byrd, Pamela Yaye - Страница 8

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, IDo—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.

Edie watched Chanté from over the rim of her glasses for a long time before she prompted, “Well? You have to do something before you kill each other or kill yourselves. You know psychologists have the highest suicide rate.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I read it somewhere.”

“Huh. I always thought it was dentists who had the highest rate.”

“C’mon. What do you say? Will you go to marriage counseling?”

Matthew Valentine, handsome in a royal-blue suit, stared over the heads of his studio audience and into the camera. “Today we will be talking about how to take the bitterness out of your marriage.” He smiled, but remained serious. “Oftentimes, it’s not the big things that break a marriage. It’s the small things.” His voice quivered and for a brief moment, Matt appeared to have lost his concentration.

Seth shifted his gaze from one of the monitors to glance at his client on the stage.

The ultimate professional, Matthew recovered and continued with his spiel. The irony of today’s subject matter didn’t escape Seth so he found himself paying close attention to how Matthew interacted with his guests and the advice Matthew gave them.

“Couples tend to argue over something safe or superficial during battle, but they avoid talking about the serious problems.”

Seth nodded as he listened. Everything Matthew said was sound advice. Everything made sense to him—so what were the serious problems between Matthew and Chanté? Where had they gone wrong?

While Matthew continued to mingle with his audience and offer handkerchiefs to sobbing guests, Seth thought back to when he first sensed trouble between Matthew and Chanté. Actually, he didn’t sense, more like he dodged a glass vase when he’d entered the Valentines’ home during a heated argument. Chanté was a small woman but she had one hell of an arm.

Two hours later, with the day’s show finally completed taping and the last of the audience filtered out of the studio, Seth made it to Matt’s dressing room and lingered just outside the door while a young, petite, yet curvaceous intern fawned over her employer.

“Great show today, Dr. Valentine,” she said breathily. “I swear it’s like you really know how a woman thinks and feels.”

Seth lifted an inquisitive brow.

“Thank you, Cookie.” Matt didn’t spare the young girl a glance as he stripped the light coat of makeup from his face.

However, Cookie ignored his indifference and stepped forward until her perky bosom brushed against Matt’s arm. “I know I’ve only been here six weeks, but I have to tell you—working with you has been like a dream come true.” She reached out a hand and gently stroked the side of his face.

Belatedly, Matt flinched from her touch.

“You’re using the cologne I bought you for your birthday.”

“Yeah, I decided what the hell. I’ve been using the same cologne for ten years.”

Smiling like a seasoned temptress, she winked. “If there’s ever anything you need—I’ll be more than happy to help.”

Matt finally met her gaze, but didn’t respond.

Enough was enough. Seth cleared his throat.

Matt jumped again and then his face flushed a deep burgundy. “Seth,” he boomed too loudly. “C’mon in. Cookie, that will be all for today.”

The vixen’s lips managed to spread wider as she demurely cast her gaze down. “If you say so, Dr. Valentine.” She turned and walked saucily toward the door.

“Remember, if you need anything—anything at all—call me.” Cookie winked and disappeared from the door.

“Can you spell trouble?” Seth asked, blinking from the trance her swaying hips induced.

“Who—Cookie?” Matt asked. “She’s harmless.”

“So is a starved lion—as long as you’re not locked inside its cage.” Seth folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Look, Matt. I don’t know how to say this other than to just come out and say it.”

Matt cast a curious glance at the mirror and met Seth’s reflected stare. “All right. Let me have it.”

“I think you and Chanté should see a marriage counselor.”

A silence roared on the heels of his words and judging by the intense glare from Matthew, he expected the vanity mirror to crack at any second.

“Have you lost your mind?” Matthew asked, standing from his chair and storming toward the door.

Seth managed to jump out of the way before Matt slammed it on his arm.

“Chanté and I are fine. The last thing we need is a marriage counselor,” he said and barked a humorless laugh.

Seth glanced around the room and feigned surprise to find there were no other parties surrounding him. “I’m sorry. Are you talking to me—or someone else who hasn’t refereed a few screaming matches at your home?”

“All couples have disagreements,” Matt answered flatly and then exchanged his starched white shirt for something more appropriate for the tennis court. “Of course, they usually refrain from putting itching powder in each other’s clothes.”

“Or cutting each other’s cars in half.”

A wide smile monopolized Matt’s face. “That was pretty good.” He jutted a finger. “Extreme—but pretty good.”

“Come on. What’s the big deal?” Seth shrugged. “You encourage and educate people everyday about the importance of counseling. What’s the big deal in practicing what you preach?”

Matthew unzipped his pants and jerked them down his legs. “The big deal is there isn’t a damn thing that a psychologist can tell us that we don’t already know. We’re both controlling perfectionists with hot tempers. Theories and overblown rhetoric are not what we need. Especially when you’re dealing with someone who is stubborn as an ox.”

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.”