A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

Oh We Have OCD....

"What a fun evening this has been," Katherine said enthusiastically as she slid into the restaurant booth occupied by her husband, Harry, and Louis Tomlinson. Going to the movies on Saturday night, then stopping at Mandillos afterward for dinner had become a ritual during the six weeks since Harry had decided to throw himself into life with a vengeance that had them all more alarmed than reassured. "Isn't this fun?" he said, looking around at their bright, smiling faces.

"Terrific," Ted said.

"Great," Louis averred.

He put his arm around Harry's shoulders. "What do you think?" he teased. "Would you say the four of us getting together every weekend is fun, terrific, or great?"

"It's wonderful," Harry decreed instantly. "And did you notice how balmy it is tonight? May has always been my favorite month." In the six weeks since Zayn had been released from prison, more than just the weather had changed. Last month, Ted and Katherine had quietly remarried in the living room of the Cahills' home with Reverend Mathison officiating.

Louis Tomlinson had come to Keaton from Dallas for the wedding, and their weekends had become a ritual. Harry's father, however, was now hinting that he'd be pleased to perform another wedding whenever Louis and he were ready. Louis was ready. Harry was not. Despite his outward gaiety and animation, he had achieved a state of blissful emotional anaesthesia toward any sort of deep feeling, and it was a state of being that he enjoyed. He clung to it and nurtured it with fastidious care. He could laugh and smile and work and play and feel ... very nice. No better than that. And definitely no worse. So strong was his carefully acquired emotional balance, that he had not shed a single sentimental tear during Ted and Katherine's wedding, although he had been very, very happy. He had cried all of his tears over Zayn, and now he had found a peaceful insulation that could not be broken or pierced by anyone or anything.

The waitress wended her way through the tables filled with Keaton residents and pulled out her pad. "The usual, you guys?" she asked. "Four New York strip steaks, medium rare, and baked potatoes?"

"Sounds great, Millie," Ted said.

Harry added a question about her husband. "How's Phil doing with his new job at Oakdale's Garage?"

"Great, Harry. Thanks for putting in a good word for him there. Phil says you practically cinched the job for him."

"He's a terrific mechanic," Harry replied. "He's kept my car running all these years. I did Oakdale's the favor, not Phil."

Mandillos had a juke box with a small dance floor in one corner, tables for diners across the center of the room, and, at the opposite end, a lounge with a bar and big-screen television set, which was especially popular during the football season. "I have some quarters," Louis said, digging into his pocket. "How about helping me pick out songs on the juke box?"

Harry nodded and smiled, sliding out of the booth beside him. In a restaurant filled with people he knew, it took ten minutes to get past the tables, where he stopped repeatedly to talk to friends, and only two minutes to pick out the songs.

"The juke box is turned off because the television set is on," Louis said, as they slid back into their U-shaped booth. "I'll ask Millie to turn the television off," he said, looking around for their waitress.

"Wait about two minutes," Ted said. "The news is on and I'd like to know how the game ended."

As he spoke, all four people glanced up at the television set, idly watching the news.

"Before we switch to sports," the announcer said, "we have a special report from Amanda Blakesly, who's attending a fabulous weekend shindig in Pacific Palisades at the palatial estate of Zayn Malik..."

The mention of Zayn's name shut down conversations all over the restaurant as people glanced with nervous sympathy at Harry's booth, then began talking with renewed force in a futile effort to block out the volume of the set. When Ted, Katherine, and Louis also launched into a diversionary babble of conversation, Harry dismissed their efforts with a wave of his long fingers. "It doesn't bother me in the least," he told them, and to prove it, he perched his chin on his hand and sat there watching and listening, a faint, interested smile fixed on his lips. His eyes wide and unblinking, he watched Zayn talking affably to a throng of reporters while camera flashes exploded and Diana Copeland beamed at him, looking incredibly gorgeous. He was holding a glass of champagne in his hand ... the same hand that had once caressed and intimately explored every inch of his body, and his lazy white smile was as devastatingly attractive as it had been in Colorado—more so because he was tanned now. "He certainly looks nice in a tuxedo," Harry remarked in an impartial voice to his uneasy group. "Don't you think so?"

"Not particularly," Louis said, watching his face lose what little color it had.

"Every man looks nice in a tuxedo," Katherine quickly pointed out. "Just look at the other men at the party. They all look nice. Even Jack Nicholson looks great in a tuxedo."

Harry muffled a laugh at Katherine's needless attempt to disparage Zayn, but he didn't stop watching as the camera slowly panned the crowds of dancing, laughing, talking people, many of them with famous faces. He watched and he felt nothing, not even when someone called out to Diana, "How about a welcome home kiss for him, Diana?"

Unflinching, he watched Zayn grin and oblige, sliding his arm around Diana's waist as she gave him a long, hot kiss that made the guests start to laugh and clap. Harry endured that without reaction, but when he bent his head and whispered something to Diana ... or nipped her ear ... the teasing, affectionate gesture gouged a hole in Harry's emotional barricade. Bastard, he thought with a flash of unjust angry pain that he squelched instantly. Firmly, he reminded himself that he had no reason to be angry with him just because Zayn was happy and he was ... dead inside. Harry liked not feeling anything, it was his choice, after all, and a very comforting choice.

Zayn left with Diana, ending the brief interview, but the reporter wasn't finished. As the camera came in for a close-up, she told the audience with a conspiratorial smile, "There are rumors circulating around here tonight that a marriage between Zayn Malik and long-time friend Diana Copeland might be imminent."

"How nice for him," Harry said brightly, looking around at everyone. "Oh, here's our dinner."

A half hour later, Louis watched Harry and Katherine heading to the washroom, Harry's smile bright again, his conversation animated as they wended their way past the tables, pausing to talk to friends. Pulling his worried gaze from Harry's back, he looked at Ted. "How much weight would you guess he's lost?"

"Too much. He laughs a lot, though," he added with pointed irony.

"He's got a strong will."

"Yep. He's working and playing with a vengeance."

"That's a good sign, isn't it?"

Ted sighed angrily. "It doesn't mean a damn thing, except he's trying to hide from his memories."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Among other obvious signs, when Harry is under stress, he organizes and tidies things up. In the last six weeks, in addition to teaching his classes, coaching his handicapped kids, giving private tutoring lessons, working on every civic and church committee in town, and taking charge of the Bicentennial Celebration, he has also wallpapered every room in his house; rearranged every closet, drawer, and cabinet he has; and repainted his garage. Twice. He has now descended to filing his groceries in alphabetical order in the kitchen cabinets."

Louis choked on a laugh. "He's what?"

"You heard me," Ted said, but he wasn't smiling. "And it's not funny. He's stressed to the max, and he's ready to break. Now I have a question for you," he added, leaning forward. "You got him into this nightmare and so did I. We worked on him, convincing him Malik was guilty until he believed it. You made him go to Mexico City, like a lamb to the slaughter, and I went along with it. I accept my share of the blame. Do you dispute yours?"

Louis shoved his dessert plate aside and shook his head. "No."

Leaning forward, Ted said tersely, "Then suppose you and I come up with something to get him out of this mess!"

Louis nodded. "Let's talk about this tonight, after I take Harry home."