A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

Jealous

Having suggested the idea, Harry was suddenly determined to dazzle him with as much glamour as he could, and he spent more than an hour getting ready. Hair was one asset he possessed in abundance, and since Zayn evidently gave it special notice, he washed it and blew it dry, then he styled the heavy mass so that it framed his face, falling into casual waves and curls from a side part and spilling over.

All his life Harry craved wearing women's clothing, but it had never been possible for him to fulfil his dreams, because from where he came from. His family was a pious family and he had no idea if they would accept him or not for being more feminine and marrying a man. That was the reason Harry had agreed to go out with the father's daughter, but still couldn't commit to anything permanent.

These past few days Harry had worn clothes of the lady who seemed to be the wife of the owner of the house. He wondered if she was a beautiful woman, he knew the owner was rich, but he couldn't make himself pick up any costly dresses from the wardrobe. The number of dresses hanging made him drool. But tonight, he was going to dress up to his hearts desire and try to glam up as much as he could. He knew he was never going to get another chance to go on a date with Zayn again.

Satisfied that he'd done the best he could with his hair, he pulled off his robe and stepped into a soft knit dress in a vibrant shade of cobalt blue that, on the hanger, had looked rather like a floor-length sweater with a loosely fitted skirt, blousy bodice, and full sleeves with white satin cuffs and sparkling blue crystal buttons. Not until Harry reached behind his back to fasten it, did he realize there was no zipper. Although the dress had a wide cowl collar at the front, the collar draped over the shoulders and left a deep oval of bare skin exposed at the back. The deceptive simplicity of the design, combined with the modest front and dramatic back, was irresistibly beautiful, and it made him feel beautiful, but Harry stepped back from the mirror, hesitant to wear so fine—and undoubtedly costly—a dress that also happened to belong to someone else.

Biting his lip, he decided to wear the wonderful blue dress, and he uttered a silent apology to the unknown woman with the gorgeous wardrobe.

A second foray into the closet yielded a pair of matching blue ballet slippers that were almost his size, but perfectly comfortable. Satisfied that he'd done the absolute best he could with what he had to work with, he fluffed his hair and took a last glance in the mirror. Harry had spent more time getting ready for his "date" tonight than he had for Carl and Sara's wedding, but it was time well spent, he decided. The cosmetics with the foreign names that he'd used tonight were much different than the inexpensive ones he'd bought in the drug store in Keaton and then discarded—these were far softer and more subtle. The muted eye shadow and mascara flattered his eves, even though it looked strange to him, and the touch of blush at his cheeks made his cheekbones seem higher and more prominent, but it was the prospect of seeing Zayn and spending a light-hearted evening with him that made Harry's eyes sparkle and his skin glow. All in all, Harry decided, he'd never looked nearly as nice as this. Leaning forward, he applied some of the lipstick, then he stepped back, smiled at his reflection, and headed for the bedroom door. Harry had to find out the address here, he decided, and send a check to cover the cosmetics he'd used and the cost of dry cleaning the clothes he'd borrowed.

The candles were already lit on the coffee table when he walked into the living room, the fire was burning brightly on the grate, and Zayn was standing at the counter, opening a bottle of champagne. He caught his breath at how handsome Zayn looked in his borrowed dark blue suit that clung to his wide shoulders and contrasted beautifully with his snowy white shirt and patterned tie. Harry was about to say something when he suddenly remembered that he'd seen Zayn dressed up once before—only in his own clothes—and he felt a sharp pang of sorrow for what Zayn had lost. That other time, he'd seen Zayn on television during the Academy Awards ceremony, once when he presented an Oscar and then again when he strode up onto the stage to accept his own Oscar for Best Actor. He'd been wearing a black tuxedo that night with a white pleated shirt and black bow tie, and Harry remembered thinking how gorgeously, elegantly male he was, so tall and sophisticated. Harry couldn't recall what Zayn had said in his acceptance speech, but he remembered that it had been brief and very witty, because the entire audience had exploded with laughter and kept on laughing while he walked off stage.

The fact that he was now relegated to hiding like a hunted animal and wearing borrowed clothes made Harry feel like crying.

Even while he thought it, he realized that Zayn never complained and he wouldn't welcome either Harry's sympathy or his pity. Since this was supposed to be a festive, light-hearted evening, Harry resolved to make certain it was. Feeling a little shy and self-conscious, he shoved his hands into the pockets concealed in the side seams of his dress and stepped forward. "Hi," he said with a bright smile.

Zayn looked up, his eyes riveting on Harry, and the champagne he was pouring began to spill over the side of the glass. "My God," he said in an awed, husky whisper, his gaze moving slowly down his face and hair and body. "How could you possibly be jealous of Glenn Close?"

Not until that moment did Harry realize that was exactly why he'd wanted to dress up and put on makeup and fix his hair: Harry had been trying to compete with the glamorous women he'd known on more even ground. "You're spilling the champagne," he said softly, so pleased he hardly knew how to behave.

He swore under his breath, jerked the bottle upright, and reached for a dish towel to mop it up.

"Zayn?"

"What?" he said ruefully over his shoulder, picking up the glasses.

"How could you possibly have been jealous of Patrick Swayze?"

The glamour of his sudden white smile made it clear he was as pleased by the compliment as Harry was by his. "I honestly don't know," he joked.