HeartWorks

by Charmaine Gordon

Chantal cast her gaze up on Grace.

  “Is that true? No one else takes good care of you?!”

  “Well, I…I didn’t mean it that way, Snowflake.” Chantal stuttered.

  “No, you did.”

  Grace stood up. “Let’s be honest. She walks on water as far as you’re concerned. It doesn’t matter that I’m here more than she is. It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent my time talking to your doctors, working with your physical therapist, or even learning how to give you the therapeutic massages. The fact that I am sitting here doing your laundry is completely irrelevant. None of that matters. Doing all of that. Giving my time and effort. Doing my best for someone I never met because my sponsor asked me to, doesn’t count. No one else is as good as or important as Desiree.”

  She walked over and stood right next to Chantal. “You know, this really pisses me off, Chantal. I really thought we had a nice relationship. I enjoyed spending my time here; I was happy to help you out. You’ve seemed grateful, but now I know that’s not true. You don’t care. You don’t care about me, you don’t care about my time, you don’t care about my feelings.

  “You think Desiree is just so fucking perfect. Well, I have news for you. She’s not. She’s just as human as you and I. And I know you think this will somehow bring you two back together again. Let me tell you something: it won’t. It’s not gonna happen. So get it over it!” Grace huffed strongly. “You know, you really should give other people a try.”

  Grace stormed out of the room, swung open the door, and slammed it shut, leaving Chantal in a bitter emptiness.

  “I really don’t want to do this,” Grace said in a low, quiet tone as she walked through the door.

  “I know. But you need to. We need to.” Desiree answered.

  The two of them walked in. Chantal was on the couch. Sharon was seated near her.

  “Thanks for coming, ladies.” Sharon said.

  Grace and Desiree sat in perfect unison.

  “We might as well cut to the chase here,” Sharon began. “We’re all here to discuss some hurt feelings, some very mixed messages, and to repair some wounds and move forward. Desi, would you mind starting us off?”

  She inhaled deeply. “No,” Desiree replied. “Chantal, honey, I’m sorry that I sent you mixed messages. I didn’t mean to confuse or hurt you.

  “I know you love me, and I do love you too. But I also know that at least right now, we’re not meant to be together. We’re in two different places in life. We’re just not good together. For right now, anyway.

  “I want you in my life. I love you, I love our history, I love our friendship. That’s all I can give you right now. I’m sorry that I hurt you, and I hope that we can still keep going as friends.”

  Chantal rubbed a tear out of her eyes.

  “Thank you,” Sharon said softly. “Grace, are you ready?”

  “Ready?” She squeaked. “No, but I’ll try.

  “Chantal, I’m sorry about blowing up the other day. I overreacted. I didn’t mean to be so angry or hurtful. I’m sorry for saying such mean things.

  “I…like you. In the short time we’ve known each other, we’ve built up a great relationship. And I was starting to wonder if there was more to it. I was just so confused and so hurt. You went from teasing me one day about jungle fever to telling me how great Desiree is the next. That really hurt me. It really did.”

  Grace cast her gaze on the floor.

  “Snowflake, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or make you mad. I…” Chantal looked at everyone around the room. “I’m sorry, but can I talk to her alone for a minute?”

  Sharon and Desi looked at each other for a moment before standing up and leaving the room.

  “Look at me,” Chantal quietly beseeched Grace.

  Grace looked over at her.

  “I’m sorry. I felt the same thing you did. But I was starting to get scared. I didn’t feel that way about anyone other than Desi before. I was afraid you might laugh at me or never come back or whatever. I don’t even know.”

  Chantal paused for a few moments. “You’re a good person, Snowflake. You really are. You’ve been really good to me, and I don’t deserve it. And I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t want to get hurt myself, you know? But I do like you, too. I think we got something good here. And if you’re willing to give old Broke Back Chantal over here another chance, I wanna do right by you.”

  A smile slowly crept its way onto Grace’s face. “Broke Back Chantal?” She giggled.

  Chantal started to chuckle. “Shoot. Yeah.”

  “I would like that.”

  Chantal’s eyes lit up. “Me too.”

  Grace came over and knelt down in front of the couch. She leaned over and gently kissed Chantal.

  Feeding Romance

  by Tamara Philip

  EXCERPT from

  The Trouble with Playing Cupid

  by Tamara Philip

  Chapter One

  “I can't believe I let Trace talk me into singing on his show on such short notice. Doesn't he know I have to perform at the Critics' Awards tomorrow in LA? And not just once but twice! I'm going to be exhausted. That's like an eight hour flight from Vancouver!” December whined as her stylist fussed over her rapidly wilting curls.

  Terrence smiled sympathetically at her reflection in the mirror but kept quiet otherwise. He knew how she got when she was ranting. God help him if he tried to soothe her. It would only lead to her being snippy with him, and he really didn't need the hassle today.

  December Brown was a contrary sort of person. A successful singer in her prime, she was charming, warm, and generous to a fault. She was also a tireless defender of the downtrodden. Acutely aware of social issues, she supported as many charities and foundations as humanly possible. According to the media, she was a regular bleeding heart. Yet in her personal life, the incredibly private twenty-eight year old was more of a couch potato, choosing to spend evenings on the internet for hours at a time rather than go to the countless parties and non-fundraising events she was invited to. She was one of life's 'refusers'. She wasn't a quitter, since she usually couldn't even be bothered to try. If it seemed like a competition in any shape or form, she would opt out long before she knew the odds. There was only one reason she was in the limelight now, and it wasn't a secret ambitious drive. It was because her PR agent, who was also her best friend since adolescence, insisted on it.

  If Clarissa Gregory hadn't pulled her up by her bootstraps and forced her to utilize her talents, Terrence feared December would still be trying to save the world, one homeless shelter at a time. Probably while wearing bright orange sweatpants and the rattiest pair of ballet flats he'd ever laid eyes on, just like she wore the day they'd met and he saved her by befriending the biggest fashion misfit that walked the earth. He later found out she'd traded her sneakers for the holey replacements with a teenager whose family resided in the shelter. The fourteen year old was skipping school to avoid the bullying her predicament brought to her. Back then, December couldn't afford to buy new shoes for the girl, so she gave the pair on her feet. Nowadays, she generously donated both time and money to Backpack America and various other charities to ensure no other child suffered like that girl did.

  Sadly however, the orange sweatpants were all December.

  “Eight hours on the plane, then maybe three hours of sleep, only to start rehearsing for like four more hours until my actual performance…Oh God I'm going to miss my soap operas,” she lamented, looking more and more irate.

  “Girl, hush! You're ruining your make-up with all that frowning.” Terrence interrupted, retouching her glossy petal pink lipstick. “Now the reason you're on this show is because Trace is your friend and you adore him. Remember?” He looked at December's still frowning face expectantly. She nodded reluctantly, but her mouth remained firmly closed. Still, she pinched him for good measure.

  “…and Clarissa would murder you if you didn't perform tonight.” Terrence continued eve
n as she sighed in exasperation. “This is good publicity, Dee! ‘Trace Randall Tonight' is the most watched talk show in North America. Anybody who is anybody wants on here, and you were invited.”

  December rolled her eyes in acceptance. She knew Terrence was right. Especially about her murder at the hands of Clarissa, her best friend slash publicist slash manager slash evil overlord.

  “Fine, Okay. But I want IHOP after this. And don't look at me like that, Terry. I'm getting my pancakes, thighs be damned!” She stood up and adjusted her leather mini skirt, with as much attitude as one could muster while doing such a thing. Terrence sucked his teeth, and smoothed down the iridescent pearl colored sequins of her tank top.

  “Deal! Now go sing the hell out of that song.”

  “Wait, who are the other guests on tonight? I forgot to ask earlier.” December asked as she teetered on six inch stiletto heels towards the stagehand that was waiting patiently for her.

  She received no reply from Terrence, who’d disappeared into the back of the dressing room with a pile of clothes for wardrobe. The stagehand didn't seem very forthcoming either as he pushed her towards the Green Room to await her cue. December shrugged, swallowing down the butterflies in her tummy that never failed to show up when she had to sing in front of a live audience.

  “Alright folks, you're in for a treat tonight. The ever glorious songstress, December Brown, will be performing her latest chart topper,” Trace Randall announced, smiling proudly as the crowd went wild. “…and that’s not all, she'll be joining us on stage here for a special chat after!”

  Once the applause died down, he continued on with his announcement “But first, let's welcome all the way from Hollywood by way of Great Britain, the insanely handsome, Tom Elmswood.”

  In his expertly tailored steel gray suit, Tom smiled and waved as he walked over to Trace, hugging him tightly before they both sat down on the big dark blue couch.

  “Tom, it’s great to see you. I'm so glad you could make time for us what with being named 'The Sexiest Man in the World' and all.” Trace laughed as the ladies in the crowd screamed their appreciation.

  Tom grinned sheepishly. He ran his hand through his neatly cut, short black hair nervously. “Thanks for having me, Trace. I don't know about the sexy stuff but…thank you all for the support.”

  “Isn't he dreamy, ladies? Look at how pink his ears are!” Trace teased mercilessly. “Anyway, Tom, you've been busy this year with all those movies and interviews and everything, right? I bet you're sick to death of having to talk about that stuff?”

  Tom eyed Trace warily. Everyone knew that Trace Randall never asked the normal questions. Since the show was only a half hour long, he always aimed for the most personal and uncomfortable stuff, which left his guests reeling, but his fans talking. Tom inwardly groaned, knowing how much he didn't want to do this show, but his manager had insisted, citing that he needed as much publicity as he could get.

  “No, I love talking about the movies I'm so lucky to be a part of. I don't think I could ever get sick of being able to entertain people.” He responded, earnestly.

  “Aw, that's sweet! But I don't care about the movies right now. Neither does my audience, right people?” Trace nodded to the sound of audience approval. “So let's talk about Tom Elmswood. You lead a pretty private life, don't you? I mean, we barely see you in any of the magazines or tabloids. Tell us about you.”

  Tom licked his suddenly dry lips. “Well, um, I'm a little too old to be out partying all the time, so I like to stay close to home when I don't have to work.”

  “Old? Tom, you’re only thirty four! If you want to talk about old, I'm nearly forty five and I look sixty five.” Trace quipped genially, putting Tom at ease.

  “So tell us, where's home these days?”

  “Well I'm originally from Northampton, England and I have a small country house there where I spend each summer. But while in America, I have a condo in Manhattan. It's not home yet but it serves its purpose.”

  “So, let's see… you're a homebody and you lead a quiet existence. Okay, now it’s time to get to the juicy stuff. Is there a special lady in your life?” Trace leaned closer, his deep brown eyes twinkling mischievously.

  “Uh, no…not at the moment…” Tom gulped. The look of triumph Trace gave him did not bode well.

  “How sad…” Trace looked anything but. In fact, his blindingly white grin spread to epic proportions. “Tell me, why aren't you dating any of your glamorous co-stars?”

  “Oh they're entirely too lovely to be stuck home with the likes of me.” Tom admitted truthfully. The audience swooned at his words.

  “Ladies, did you hear him? Could we vote for him all over again please? Tom Elmswood, folks! Let's give him a round of applause!” Trace implored, clapping enthusiastically himself. “When we come back from the break, December Brown will be singing for us!”

  December lost herself in her music as she sang and danced to the beat her band played. She always put her all in each of her performances and 'Trace Randall Tonight' was no different. The audience gave her a standing ovation as she blew them kisses and walked backstage at the end of her set.

  She was sweaty and probably looked shiny and gross. All she wanted to do was find Terrence and go get her blueberry pancakes.

  “Change of plans, Dee. Trace is doing a short interview with you first. Don't argue, Clarissa agreed to it. So stand still so I can fix you up,” Terrence demanded as he blotted her face roughly. He kept his gaze averted. He knew if he made eye contact with December after telling her that news, she would go ballistic. He continued talking rapidly, intentionally ignoring her attempts to interrupt him. “Clarissa said she'll have a big hot pile of blueberry pancakes waiting in your hotel room, if you do it. She'll explain later.”

  December huffed and puffed but there was no house to blow down so she quietly fumed. She fumed while Terrence applied fresh deodorant spray to her underarms, and she raged as another stagehand directed her towards where Trace stood with his arms outstretched, waiting for her to walk into them.

  All her anger melted away once Trace folded her into a warm embrace. When his large, muscular body blocked out the view of the stage, and muffled the loud sound of applause, December remembered she liked Trace. She liked the way he always twirled her dark copper locks as if it was spun gold whenever he came over for coffee, and that with his bright red hair and big brown eyes, he never failed to look excited about life. When she’d met Trace four years ago, at an awards show after-party, they became instant friends. So many text messages and lunch dates later, December could forgive Trace just about anything.

  “December Brown, you never fail to look magnificent.” Trace said as he pulled away to grin at her, before kissing her sweetly on each side of her face.

  “Thank you for having me, Trace. I missed you.” December suddenly felt misty-eyed and a little foolish. How could she have been so grumpy about this interview when it was Trace doing it?

  “Did you hear her, people? She missed little ol' me!” Trace beamed happily, as he ushered her over to sit down.

  “Have a seat next to Tom, sweetheart.”

  December turned to say hello to her co-guest. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Tom Elmswood sitting there, smiling gorgeously at her. Her heart flip-flopped heavily in her chest. She was going to kill Clarissa. And probably Trace. It was going to be on the 10 o’clock news.

  December must have looked alarmed, because she watched Tom's smile falter at the sight of her face, but then it was replaced with a sympathetic one. Ugh, now he thought she was pathetic. And so very sweaty. Oh God, it was high school all over again.

  December felt hot and itchy with nerves, but hauled her game face on. You smile and greet. That's what you do when you meet a new person. Even if that person was your secret celebrity crush. Well, ‘crush’ really wasn't the word. It was too light and friendly. Tom Elmswood was her secret celebrity boyfriend. And on some days her secret fiancé. Clarissa knew. And T
errence knew. Oh God, now she had to kill Terrence too. Did they have the death sentence in New York State? Never mind. It would be worth it.

  Hopefully Trace didn't know. That's what fortified December's resolve. She straightened her smile out until she thought it looked friendly, and walked over to where Tom sat. Where she was supposed to sit - next to him. Her scalp tingled with warmth at the thought. Tom stood up and took her hand, pulling her into a half hug.

  “It’s so lovely to meet you, Miss Brown.” He whispered, followed by a gently placed kiss on her cheek. December whimpered in reply. He smelled amazing.

  Tom smiled and helped her to her seat. He sat so close she could practically run her hands through his impeccably cut raven locks. She nearly had to sit on her hands to keep from doing just that.

  “December, we're so glad that you could join us. Folks, this woman is something special, isn't she? What a fantastic voice!” Trace blathered on but December's mind was still on the fact that Tom's lips touched her cheek. “So December, I have the pleasure of being one of your closest friends, don't I?”

  “Err. What? Yes, duh. I adore you.” She quickly remembered where she was and tried to be as normal as possible.

  “See guys, I wasn't lying. She does know me.” Trace joked while his audience laughed. “So I don't need to ask her all about her life, since I pretty much know it all. P.S., she's as bad as Tom. Obviously she loves her privacy too, since she, like Tom, is never in a magazine unless it’s a photo shoot or interview. Did you know that, Tom? Are you a fan of hers?”

  Tom looked embarrassed, but said diplomatically, “This was the first time that I‘ve heard her sing but I'm already a fan.”

  “Tom lives under a rock, people. You heard it here first.” Trace said looking merrily shocked.

  “I don't really listen to the radio.” Tom admitted, bashfully.