Free
Indigo
***
Hotel room. Early morning, around sevenish. The sun's up, but the occupants of the room are not. One dreams peacefully, the other tosses fitfully, developing a thin film of slick sweat on his pale forehead. It's not an unusual scene, at least for these two. They've been through a lot. They're about to go through a lot more.
***
Later in the day. Mid-afternoon, close to 2. Enter James Lance Bass, Lance to his friends, "honey" to his man, whose name we have learned is...
Joshua Scott Chasez. JC to the world, Josh to HIS world, whom he calls honey. "Sorry we're late," he says casually, to a room of about twenty people, all present for one of a thousand photo shoots starring these two young men, along with a trio of their friends.
Joseph Fatone. Justin Randall Timberlake. Christopher Kirkpatrick. "S'okay" "I was late, too" "What WERE you two doing the whole morning? *wink wink*". Lance blushes furiously as JC grins and embraces him.
"Glad you decided to show up." The tone is casual as well, but suggests an undertone close to annoyed.
"Sorry, Johnny." Lance speaks for the first time, then wanders over to the buffet table to eat. JC watches him go with a loving look.
"Didn't you guys just have lunch?" Justin always has something to say.
"He's a growing boy." The photo shoot begins.
***
"This is nice." JC reaches across the table to touch Lance's hand, softly, gently, but Lance pulls away and glances around the room fearfully.
"Josh, not here. We're in public." The name of the restaurant is unimportant. Suffice it to say that it is the usual romantic place, with dim lighting, candles at every table, a string quartet playing in the background and red roses in abundance. Their table is hidden in the shadows playing on the walls, the floor, the ceiling; unnecessary as it is, since the other pairs of customers only have eyes for each other. Precautions, however, must be taken.
JC's eyes grow hard as he pulls his hand back as well. "Lance--"
He cuts him off before he can begin. "JC, don't say it, not now. It's not the right time. Our fans, our careers--"
"Don't mean a thing if we have to feel like we're in a cage every day of our lives." JC has suggested this many times before, and Lance has obstinately refused to listen every time. Yet he tries again, hoping that this time will be the last: "Lance, why don't we just come out? No matter what the reaction of the public is, it has to be better than this...this emotional prison."
Lance sighs. He wants it, too, wants it so badly that he dreams of it almost every night. Dreams of holding JC's hand as they walk down a street in broad daylight, feeling the eyes of passersby as they talk to each other, laugh, kiss even, all without the sickening sensation of fear...
But it's always just a dream, and a dream is what it will always be. At least Lance believes so. But JC holds on, and as a great writer once said, a dream held is a dream realized...sooner or later.
***
Late evening, around ten-thirty. The streets are fairly deserted, though a few drunken stragglers hug the curb as they purge what's left of a Wednesday night drinking jaunt. Our two young men emerge from the restaurant where they have spent the better part of three hours, giddy, happy, slightly tipsy with champagne and overwhelming love. Perhaps it's the champagne, perhaps it's the atmosphere, or the fact that the moon is out in full tonight, kissing the sky with a silvery glow. Whatever it is, they decide to link their arms, both enjoying the chill and each other. They even go so far as to steal a kiss or two, and as they enter into the dull yellow warmth of a hotel lobby, they are contented--at least for tonight.
***
Early morning, around sevenish. The sun is up but the occupants of the room are not. Until a loud banging on their hotel room door startles them out from under the covers.
"JC! Lance! Open up! NOW!" Both sit up, groan, hold their heads in their hands as they shake off sleep. JC pads to the door and swings it open to find three of his groupmates--and a very upset-looking manager--on the other side.
He steps aside as they march into the room, not unlike a troop of soldiers preparing for battle. Without a word, Johnny flings a copy of the day's newspaper at Lance's head.
He leafs through it, searching for the inevitable, searching for what he knew would one day be printed in black and white, staring back at him as if with cold, beady, knowing eyes...and finds it.
"JC and Lance of *Nsync..." His already huge eyes widen, and silently he hands the paper to his waiting partner.
"Gay?? Seen together last night, captured in these unmistakable photos...oh my god. Oh my god, Lance..." He sits on the bed and holds on to Lance as they cry softly. The others look on, silent, uncompassionate for the moment.
But, as only the two of them know, these are tears of joy. Finally, they're free.
***
fiction