Valentine's Fantasy. Janice Sims

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      But СКАЧАТЬ