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Coming
Clean Lance Bass stared with no small amount of trepidation at the poised woman sitting across from him, as various staff and crew surrounded her and applied dabs of makeup and hair products. He stared rather without really seeing, his own entourage of stylists attempting to make the blond in his hair better pick up the stage lights, to make his skin "project a youthful glow," or something like that. Anything to make him look innocent. If he was innocent, he was vulnerable. And if he was vulnerable, then perhaps... well, perhaps then the fallout would not be quite so bad. He shook himself out of that particular thought process and glanced behind the middle-aged lady, to the two individuals whom he had brought with him for this occasion. They stood side by side just off the set -- one whom he would rather die than disappoint; the other, the person for whom some might say he was jeopardizing both his career and that of his friends. Upon his making eye contact, they each gave him their secret smiles -- two different faces, two different smiles, but each expressing the same sentiment: 'You're doing the right thing. You'll be okay. I'll be here for you.' Lance returned their expressions with a tiny smile of his own and blinked, his eyes feeling a bit moist. He would have to talk about this for sixty minutes? It was time to think about something else again. He focused
his gaze on the woman once more, trying to guage her age. Didn't they
publish that kind of information? He couldn't remember ever reading it
anywhere. He wondered if she as old as his just-past-middle-aged grandmother.
Makeup and television angles were well capable of making a 60-year old
look 40, after all. 'Ms. Walters', he called her. He liked to be polite
that way, and she had never given him permission to call her 'Barbara'.
He didn't mind, really; he didn't particularly want to befriend her, anyway.
She could, and would, either make him or break him tonight.
Barbara's staff was, to their credit, unmoved by the lure of a powerful mogul-slash-manager's threats and pleas. "Ms. Walters does not reveal her line of questioning to anyone until the night of filming," they had hissed, steadfastly clinging to their byline. Lance would be on his own tonight, but thinking fast on his feet was his strong point. Sometimes. He was purposely occupying his mind, thinking of routine, everyday things, filling his head with some sense of normalcy to avoid being overwhelmed by the whirlwind of events that had surrounded him -- and others -- all week. The photos. The hasty, ill thought out press statement. The attempts at avoidance, which were always hindered by the ever-curious media. Both his stylists and hers were withdrawing now, and Barbara was glancing over her notes one last time before shooting. Lance felt a mild wave of panic come over him and tightly gripped the wooden arms of the chair in which he sat, only realizing his actions when his ring clashed loudly with the material; he clasped his hands in front of him and began to rub circles in his left palm with his thumb in an attempt to soothe himself. Barbara began speaking gently from her seat, filming her introductory voiceover, and Lance took one final glance at his support crew before tearing his gaze away. He would not look at them again until this was over. He was too afraid of what he might do if he risked it. Her introduction recorded, his interrogator leaned towards him in a gesture that would later seem intimate on a television screen, but was hardly so in person. "I realize that this is a difficult subject for you to have to address in such an open manner," she was saying with her unique dialect, as he gave her his best interested look. "I want to thank you for taking the time to clear things up for everybody," she went on. "I'm sure your fans are very grateful." 'Grateful' wasn't the word I had in mind, he thought, as he smiled and nodded at her anyway. "I just wanted to come clean and set everything straight, so..." he heard himself say, trailing off. He was on autopilot; he hadn't planned that comment. Nice choice of words... straight. "Let's go back to where this all started. Or rather," she amended, probably thinking herself very clever, "when things started to become public." Lance was beginning to think that he would find Ms. Walters to be rather annoying by the time the night was over. She went on. "How did you become aware of the article in The Globe? What was your reaction?" Lance drew a slow breath as she finished her question, preparing in his head how to narrate the story. He had recounted it enough times over the past few days, he supposed, so he ought to be grateful that the question wasn't more challenging. He was awakened at 6 a.m. a week earlier, only an hour after falling into bed, by a phone call from Johnny. "Lance," his manager began, speaking gravely, "There's an article about you in The Globe." Lance paused in the midst of rubbing his eyes, propped up on his arm in bed. "What?" he asked, yawning. "So? You called me to tell me this?" He was beginning to feel like he'd slept through a part of the conversation. Making it into a tabloid was not exactly news for a member of *NSYNC. The stuff was usually less than 10% true and more like 100% laughable, anyway. Certainly not warranting a phone call at six in the morning. "The article's about you and Jason." Lance allowed his hand to fall back on to the comforter, more awake now. He licked his lips before he answered. No need to get over-anxious unless he knew where things stood. "People say stuff all the time. It doesn't matter, though, right? I mean, no one--I mean, how bad--" he sighed. "What did.... what did the article say?" His manager sighed on the other end of the line. "What you'd expect it to say. 'Sex scandal'. '*NSYNC member "in sync" with new boy toy'. Someone spotted you two outside an elevator." Lance's mind was racing. That couldn't be all there was to it. Lance himself could think of a hundred logical explanations for standing next to a male friend in front of an elevator. And Johnny.... well, Johnny could explain damn near anything away. Something was missing. "There's more," he managed to prod numbly. "They've got pictures, Lance." A sick feeling washed over him before he could stop it. Pictures. Pictures meant proof. What kind of pictures could they have? Lance searched his memory for any forgotten indiscretion, any moment when he had thrown caution to the wind in a semi-public place. A hotel. In front of an elevator? What had they done in front of an elevator? He felt his breath start to quicken; he couldn't remember. It was 6 a.m.; his mind was drawing blanks. Why was Johnny stalling with him? "Tell me how bad it is, Johnny. Just tell me." "Well," the other man declared, "we'll have to see how things go this morning, but... we might have to issue a statement." By "we," Lance knew, with an ache in his chest, that Johnny meant "you." "So, you know, we had people monitoring the *NSYNC messageboards and some of the clubs and websites to see how people were reacting," he said, finishing up, "and at, like, about one in the afternoon, we realized that there were a lot of questions being asked, so, um, we thought we should probably say something." As he completed the retelling, Barbara was giving him a sympathetic look that could easily be picked up by the cameras. It hadn't been completely intolerable, he had to admit, although his stomach was still churning slightly. "And so you made a statement," Barbara prodded. Lance nodded slowly with as animated an expression as he could muster. In the airing of this interview, he had been informed that they would take this opportunity to play a clip of his "official statement." It had been the longest three minutes of his life. Between Johnny, himself, and the rest of the group, they had agreed that Lance would stick to one, standard statement: "Yes, I am involved in a relationship right now, and I'm very happy." "What
is the nature of your friendship with the man in those pictures, Lance?" "How
long have the two of you been dating?" "Is
it serious, Lance?" "Does
this mean you're coming out as homosexual, Lance?" "Will
the two of you be making public appearances together?" Johnny, sensing his discomfort, helped security to press the gaggle of reporters out of his little window of private space. "Lance!
Are you gay?" Script be damned. He never wanted to do that again. So he was doing the Barbara Walters Show instead. More pressure, maybe, but at least he could say it all once and never have to look back. If it went well. If it went well. "So
probably," Barbara was saying, "what a lot of people are wondering
is, were you ever planning on telling the public about your relationship,
or did you have to be forced?" She had pulled back away from him,
the gestures of compassion long gone. She was hitting her hard-line questions
now. But then again, he'd given this topic a lot of thought lately. He wasn't as nervous, now, but kept up the gentle massage on his palm, overly attuned to the fact that his every gesture and every word would be scrutinized. He could still screw this up; he had to keep it together. "Um... actually, I wasn't gonna say anything... like, I hadn't planned on it, because I feel that, uh... a person's relationship is a personal issue. I mean, I know that, you know, being in *NSYNC means that you give up a lot of that privacy. And I've even had to talk about other relationships I've had in the past, so on the one hand it's sort of expected." He unclasped his hands because he realized that he had begun twisting his fingers, and allowed himself to gesture freely as he spoke. "But obviously, this is kinda different," he laughed slightly, "so I felt like..." he paused, waiting for the words to come to him. "I felt like, you know -- no one needs to know. And I just thought this was too personal for me to talk about." He didn't know what else he could add to that, so he hoped that she would let it drop. "So when you were forced to make a public statement and reveal this relationship," Barbara pressed on, "was this when you also had to tell your family and the other members of *NSYNC as well?" He was shaking his head before she had finished her question. "No... no, I... the other guys, I told almost right away, after the two of us started seeing each other," he said, choosing his words carefully, "because, you know, we're on the road all the time and everyone was hanging out together all the time. So they would know anyway." "And how did the boys react, when they found out?" Lance raised his eyebrows, slightly caught off guard by her interjection. "Oh! Um, they were... they were fine with it," he responded with a grin. "Like, we've always been okay with..." he trailed off, feeling a bit derailed. He didn't want to say "gays" or something equally stupid. What had they always been okay with? "Um.... like, we never cared if someone on the, you know, crew or whatever, was dating a guy or a girl," he said, gaining confidence as he spoke. "It just never mattered. So I knew that the guys would be okay with it. And they were totally supportive of me. So..." "They weren't concerned about the group's career?" Lance recoiled slightly. There it was; that ugly issue. If *NSYNC's popularity dwindled, would it be his fault? He couldn't say that he'd never considered the possibility; rather, he thought about it almost constantly. He knew that it had to have crossed the other guys' minds as well, though they said nothing about it. "No, we just decided to... you know, focus on getting the music out there and to keep challenging ourselves, and, uh, we hoped that everyone would see that and know that's what we're about, and... not think about the little things." "You said your parents knew as well." "Well, I told them when-- we had a few days off on the tour to just take a break, go back home, whatever... and I went home, and, um... Jason went with me," he began, glossing over the name quickly. He hadn't wanted to mention it at all during the interview, and was slightly disappointed that he had set up his statement in such a way as to make it unavoidable. "My parents knew that we were friends, so it wasn't really weird or anything hanging out with him, but when he came home with me, everything just kinda... came out into the open." He chuckled a little at the pun. "How did they take the news?" That would be harder to answer. Lance pursed his lips, trying to come up with a way to answer both truthfully and tactfully. He began to massage his palm again. "They didn't.... like, reject me," he said lightly, rolling his eyes as though that were an utterly ridiculous notion. "Yes," Barbara put in, somewhat impatiently, "but they didn't have plans for your future? Your sister was married at twenty-one; they didn't want to see another wedding? They didn't want to see the 'family name' carried on? Were they disappointed? Hurt?" "We cooked all of your favourites," Diane Bass was saying excitedly, taking his hand in hers and attempting to tug him to the kitchen. "We barbecued, we made desserts--" she gasped, unable to contain herself. "I made shepherd's pie, Lance. Two dishes full!" Lance smiled at the mention of one of his favourite dinner dishes. As his mother took a breath to say something else, he had to cut her off. "Mom. Mom, sorry. I'm really looking forward to it. But I have to tell you..." he inhaled deeply, making eye contact with both parents. "I invited Jason home for the break." On cue, Jason opened the screen door and stepped quietly into the foyer, offering a polite smile and nod. Diane's smile wavered only slightly. "But... I would think that Jason would want to see his own family over the break. It's only three days long as it is." Lance nodded. "I know. He's gonna catch a flight to Houston tomorrow. But he wan-- I wanted him to be here tonight...." He held on to his mother's hands, but focused on his father as he spoke. He could feel Jason move closer to him for support; he could feel Jason's body heat on his back. "Because... because we're seeing each other," he finished, trying not to rush the words so that he wouldn't have to repeat them. Lance didn't have to see his mother's face crumple to hear the tears in her voice when she spoke. "Oh, honey..." she whispered, sliding her hands up his arms and pulling him into a fierce embrace, as though she wished to singlehandely protect him from all of the negative aspects of life to which he would be exposing himself. Jim Bass, whose features his son had generously inherited, currently wore a look of bewilderment as he attempted to process what had been revealed. "Are you telling us you're gay, Lance?" he asked, after a pause. He shook his head, still holding on to Diane. Jim didn't press the issue, and for that, Lance was grateful. No, they certainly hadn't rejected him. His mother had cried, but she had not rejected him. She had come to the taping tonight to offer moral support, hadn't she? His father had had to go for a long drive "to clear his head and think some things through," but hadn't rejected him. In their shock they had forgotten to welcome Jason -- who was, after all, putting himself on the line as much as their son was -- to their home... but reject him? Never. "I think they were surprised, yeah," he finally said. "And, I'm sure they had their dreams about what I was gonna do with my life; I mean, I saw myself getting married and having kids--" She cut him off. "When did you know that wasn't going to happen?" He smiled. "When I first felt like our friendship... was going beyond friendship." "So, the next logical question. It's known by *NSYNC fans everywhere that you have been linked to different girls in the past. You've dated... and you dated women only, am I correct?" At his nod, Barbara went on. "Then, were any of these relationships merely..." she paused dramatically; he wanted to roll his eyes in frustration. "...For convenience's sake?" His answer was abrupt and simple. "No." Feeling the need to amend, he forced himself to say more. "Like, whenever I was with anybody, I really had feelings for them. I mean, I was there because I wanted to be there." "So, would you say that you're... bisexual? Or have you attempted to define yourself?" Lance shrugged, shaking his head. "No, I haven't. I can't even say... like, 'oh, I like guys now', or anything like that. I don't know if I do. I just know that... I'm happy in this relationship, and that's all I know," he concluded, falling back on his stock statement for no reason other than he simply could think of no better way to articulate his feelings. "You're in love?" He should have seen that coming. He and Jason had never really discussed it. Jason, being gay and having come out several years earlier, had understood Lance's need to take things slowly as he grew accustomed to the general "weirdness" of being involved with another man. That was to say, the mere notion of having a "boyfriend" rather than a "girlfriend" was strange enough without muddying things further with confessions of undying love. Not to say that their relationship depended purely on the physical; far from it. But neither had brought up the subject, and both seemed content to leave it that way for the time being. His mind worked for several moments before he could form a response. "You know, I've been in relationships and thought I was in love, but then when it's over I realize that... it was just a crush. So I don't know if it's supposed to be like, I just get hit over the head or something, and suddenly I know it's love," he said, laughing. "But all the times before, when I thought I was in love... I feel more strongly than that now." It was the truth. "So would you say," Barbara began, beginning to wind down the interview, "that this relationship has been worth everything you've been through this past week -- and what you'll face in the future? How have the fans reacted to this news?" "Well, there are always gonna be people who don't... I dunno... like... the way I feel," Lance gave a small gesture of helplessness, his hands fluttering smoothly as he spoke. He had been receiving incredible volumes of mail since the "story" had broken. Some threats; some were downright scary. "I mean, I've gotten... some negative responses from people, but for the most part a lot of fans have been writing and making web campaigns and stuff, to say that they stand behind *NSYNC, and that they didn't care about what's been happening. So, we think that most of the fans who are there for the music are okay with everything, and, you know, if they're not, we can still respect that." With the interview completed, a crew member approached to help him remove his microphone, and Barbara's entourage had engulfed her once again. As he rose from his seat, Lance wanted to think that Barbara was regarding him with a quiet respect now. He couldn't be sure. But he might grow to like her in time, after all.
Author Notes: This is another fic I wrote based on a dream I had recently. Yes, I have bizarre dreams, but hey, if they spawn fanfic that someone can enjoy, who am I to complain? "Jason" is a real life guy I know, who is gay and gorgeous, and, if Lance were interested, would probably be perfect for him. :) But that's just my opinion. [back] |