Normally, This Would Be Cause for Concern

by Danielle Fishel

  The next day, my mom broke the news to me that my dad had said, unequivocally, no. I was heartbroken and begged her to talk to him again, and like the wonderful mom she is, she did. That night at dinner, my parents told me they had decided that since Lance spent so much of his time on the road, staying in hotels, they wanted him to feel at home if he was going to come visit me. They told me that I was seventeen and had never done anything that broke their trust, so they were going to give me the benefit of the doubt and let Lance stay at our home. I was so excited and asked if I could be excused from dinner to call Lance and tell him.

  A couple of weeks later, Lance arrived. It was a little awkward at first. We were both nervous, and even though we had spent months talking on the phone for hours every night, we hadn’t been face-to-face since the day we met. Lance told me we were going on our first date that night and that I should dress up in something appropriate for Christmas—even though it was only October. Lance and I retired to our separate rooms and got ready. I had no idea where we were going, but I was excited.

  An hour later, Lance and I met downstairs for our date.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “We are going to watch Celine Dion film her Christmas special These Are Special Times!” he exclaimed.

  Now, I love me some Celine Dion, but perhaps that should have been my first sign that he was gay? I was apparently blinded by “The Power of Love”—my pun game is on point!

  During the next few months, Lance and I were able to spend much more time together. He was working in LA more often, and I went to Mississippi for a few days before Christmas to meet his wonderful family. It wasn’t always easy to date Lance. All of the *NSYNC guys had serious girlfriends—including Chris’s girlfriend, Danielle, who became one of my greatest friends and was a bridesmaid in my wedding—but their management wouldn’t allow them to talk publicly about their relationships. *NSYNC was experiencing major success, and girls all over the world wanted to believe that they had a chance to date Justin, JC, Joey, Chris, or Lance—and publicly acknowledging a girlfriend would instantly crush those dreams. I imagine dating a member of *NSYNC was very similar to dating one of the Beatles during their heyday—absolute pandemonium everywhere they went.

  Young love: Lance and me in LA.

  Luckily for us girlfriends, all of the guys were able to be in LA for Valentine’s Day. They had just come off a European tour, and they enlisted the help of a very good friend, Sarah, to help them plan a romantic day for their lady loves. Lance came to pick me up very early in the morning on February 14. He didn’t tell me what he had planned but said that I should wear pants. (Until now, I never realized how much of our relationship Lance spent telling me what to wear. Oh, how I miss his fashion advice!)

  The first activity he had planned was horseback riding in the mountains. We had a great time, and I was so happy he’d told me to wear pants. We were riding without saddles, and both of us were drenched in horse sweat—hot, right? Wrong. Lance took me home so I could shower and told me to meet him back at his hotel at six P.M. so he could take me to dinner. Unfortunately, Lance didn’t tell me what the dress code was this time. I have no memory of what I wore, so I’m sure it was some craptastic outfit.

  We went to a romantic dinner. We talked about our relationship, all six months of it, and how much fun we had together. I decided that night that Lance was the man I wanted to marry. He was a perfect boyfriend: he was incredibly kind, funny, loyal, smart, and successful, and he had a great family. I knew it would be hard to do better than Lance, so my mind was made up; we were going to get married within the next two years. Did it ever occur to me that I should make sure Lance was OK with this plan? Absolutely not. My mind was made up.

  Lance decided on a casual look for our wedding. Kidding! This is us on the Boy Meets World set the day Cory and Topanga got married.

  After dinner, we went back to his hotel. At Lance’s request, Sarah had come in while we were at dinner and lit the fireplace for us. There was a humongous bouquet of two dozen long-stemmed red roses on the table and rose petals sprinkled from the couch and up the two stairs that led to the king-size bed. My stomach was full of butterflies, and I wasn’t sure what to do, so I went and sat down on the couch. Lance told me he had a present for me, and he came out from the bedroom with a huge box. I pulled off the lid, and there were at least fifteen items inside. They were all gifts that pertained to me or our relationship: a Barbie nightgown because he knew about the Mattel commercials in my past, a book about Taurus birthdays because he was born May 4 and I was born May 5, a Prada makeup bag that he bought in Italy, and so on. OK, that last one didn’t have anything to do with me or our relationship; it was just sweet that he thought of me while he was in Italy.

  After I had thoroughly looked through all of my gifts, Lance asked if I wanted to listen to music. We walked up the stairs to the bedroom, turned on the radio, and “You’re Still the One” by Shania Twain was playing. I silently decided that it would be our first dance song at our wedding.

  In June of my senior year Lance was going to be in Japan, which meant he would have to miss my prom. Being the loyal girlfriend that I was, I decided not to go without him. Unbeknownst to me, the *NSYNC travel schedule changed at the last minute, and he found out that he would be able to make it. Instead of just calling to tell me the good news, he sent Sarah over to my house with a dozen long-stemmed red roses that had a note attached: Will you go to prom with me? Check yes or no.

  There were two little boxes under the message, one titled yes and the other titled no—just like the Do you like me? notes we wrote in elementary school. It was incredibly sweet, so I obviously checked the no box and called him a jerk (not really).

  Lance and I had an amazing time at prom. He enjoyed dancing, he didn’t get upset when classmates asked to take pictures with him, and he didn’t try any funny business at the hotel afterward—a father’s dream prom date for his daughter.

  About a month after prom, I moved out of my parents’ house and moved in with Danielle. One afternoon, Lance called and broke up with me over the phone. He was vague about why he didn’t want to be with me anymore but basically just told me that our schedules were too different and he didn’t have the time or the energy to be a good boyfriend. I tried to tell him that he was a fantastic boyfriend and that even though he had a hectic travel schedule, I felt we had made a solid effort to see each other whenever we could. My attempts were in vain, and at the end of the phone call, I was single and in tears.

  Lance and me in my parent’s front yard before we left for prom..

  I called my mom to tell her what happened and expected her to be shocked and disappointed. Turned out that while she was sad for me and didn’t want to see me unhappy, she wasn’t at all shocked.

  MOM: Danielle, can I ask you a question?

  ME: Of course.

  MOM: Do you think there’s any possibility that Lance is gay?

  ME: What? No!

  MOM: Danielle, I think Lance was a wonderful boyfriend, and he was always good to you, but I think he might be gay.

  Lance and I remained friends, and a few years after we broke up, he came out privately to his friends, including me. I never once felt anything but happiness for him. I didn’t feel lied to or betrayed; I could only imagine how hard it must have been for him to be in one of the most adored boy bands of all time, an object of desire for women all over the world, and to be afraid that if people knew he was gay, it could all go away in a heartbeat. I knew coming out was a major step for Lance and would help make him feel happy, whole, authentic, and honest, and I just wanted to love and support him in any way I could. I’m proud that Lance and I are still friends—and he is still one of the best boyfriends I have ever had.

  In 2007, after a couple of failed long-term relationships, I decided to try out this thing I had heard of called dating. I had never been good at dating. I always got emotionally invested in the first person I went out with after a breakup and ende
d up in another dead-end relationship. This time, I was determined to keep my options open and find someone I could really count on.

  While visiting friends in New York, I met a nice guy named Stan at a mutual friend’s birthday party and we had a short but very nice conversation. (In this chapter, the names of Stan and Mike have been changed, because I’m not a total jerk—only eighty percent jerk.)

  At the time, I was in the middle of planning a bachelorette party for one of my best friends, Brandy, and I told Stan that we were planning to go to Las Vegas. He kindly told me that he owned a home in Vegas and said that if we wanted to go to any clubs while we were there, he could get us a table. I let him know that I appreciated his offer but that none of us was all that into the club scene.

  About a month later, I received a call from Stan, who had gotten my number from our mutual friend. He asked how my bachelorette-party planning was going and if there was anything he could do to help. I didn’t need his assistance, but we ended up talking on the phone for more than an hour. He was really talkative and funny and seemed totally sincere. I couldn’t really remember what he looked like, because the only time we’d met, it was late at night and dark, but that didn’t really matter much to me. I had never been one to be attracted to someone strictly because of his looks, so I decided to keep in touch with Stan and see where things went.

  For the next few months, we continued to talk on the phone a couple of times a week. I learned quite a bit about Stan: he loved traveling, eating, and staying busy; he owned a house in Brooklyn and worked in Manhattan as a senior manager at a private jet company, where he had a nice corner office; he had a young son he was absolutely crazy about and, despite their breakup, had a good relationship with his son’s mother; he used to be a stock broker before he decided to invest all of the money he made into restaurants and bars in New York and Vegas. He was also very generous. He said his mother was currently living with him and his son, because she was lonely and loved spending time with them. He also owned three cars: a Lincoln Navigator, a Jeep Cherokee, and a Cadillac Escalade. When I asked why anyone who lived in New York needed three cars, he said that he drove one to work and the other two were “for friends and family who came to town.” Jeez. I thought I was being nice by giving my guests a clean pillow when they came to visit.

  Even though Stan wasn’t shy about talking about expensive things he intended to buy (he once told me he was thinking of buying a beach house for himself as a birthday present—who does that?), he didn’t come across as pretentious. That would have been an immediate turn-off.

  After a few months of talking on the phone and texting regularly, I got the opportunity to go to New York for work. I called Stan to tell him the good news, and he was very excited. We made plans to spend my first day in New York together, and he said he would plan us a fun afternoon date. He also offered to pick me up at the airport, so I gave him my flight information and told him to meet me at baggage claim. I spent at least an hour trying to figure out what I should wear on the plane. I wanted to be comfortable for the five-and-a-half-hour flight but also look cute when he picked me up. I decided on a great pair of jeans, a cute top, and a pair of knee-high boots. I’ve never called myself particularly creative.

  When my plane landed, I made my way to baggage claim and picked up my bag. I texted Stan to see if he was already at the airport, and he said he was running about thirty minutes late. I wasn’t particularly pleased with that, because I am insane about time management—if I’m not fifteen minutes early somewhere, I feel like I’m late. But I reminded myself that just because I was crazy about being on time, that didn’t mean everyone else was, and I shouldn’t let it bother me.

  What did bother me was what happened next.

  I was waiting for Stan on the curb in my boring but perfectly adorable outfit when he pulled up next to me in his Jeep. All of his windows were down, and he was blasting techno music at a level that could burst eardrums. I was completely mortified. Every person in sight was staring at us, all shaking their heads at the inconsiderate level of his music. He jumped out of the car to help me with my bags, and I noticed that he was wearing a tank top. Apparently, I was overdressed for our first official date.

  As we drove off from the airport, I started looking around his car—it was filthy. There was trash all over the floor in both the front and back, and there was a thick layer of dust over the dashboard. I decided it was best for me not to pay too much attention to the details of his car and instead focus on Stan. I tried to ask him how his day had been, but conversation was hard, because he still hadn’t turned down the volume of his music. My head was hurting. I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Do you mind if I turn this down?” and he nodded that it would be acceptable.

  STAN: What’s wrong? You don’t like techno music?

  ME: No, it’s not that. I’m just happy to finally be able to talk to you in person, but I couldn’t hear you over that volume.

  STAN: Oh, yeah. Sorry. I drive with the radio like that all the time, so it doesn’t sound that loud to me.

  Call me crazy, but don’t people grow out of driving around blasting music with their windows down at, like, seventeen? Stan was twenty-eight.

  Before we could begin our date, I wanted to stop at my friend Julie’s apartment, because I was going to be staying with her while I was in New York and I wanted them to meet. When we got to Julie’s apartment, I introduced Stan and Julie and excused myself to take a quick shower.

  When I came out of the shower, Julie and Stan were sitting in the living room in silence, and Julie had a big smile on her face. That must have gone well, I thought to myself. Stan asked if I was ready to leave for the day, and I said I was.

  We left Julie’s apartment and started walking.

  ME: So! What are we doing today?

  STAN: Whatever you want, babe. The world is our oyster!

  He threw his arms in the air. It was at this point that I was fairly certain that I was taller than Stan (I’m five foot one). I also spotted his gold tooth. His. Gold. Tooth. After a few discussions about what food we were in the mood for, we decided to go to a burger place near Julie’s apartment.

  STAN: How was your flight?

  ME: It was fine. I was able to sleep, so it went by quickly.

  STAN: Oh, good.

  ME: Yeah . . . I always sleep on planes.

  STAN: Looks like you brought the good weather with you!

  Apparently, we were already out of conversation and were discussing the exciting topic of weather now.

  After lunch, Stan asked if I wanted to stop by his work to see his office and meet some of his coworkers. I wasn’t sure why he wanted to go to his office on a weekend but didn’t want to decline his offer. Plus, I wanted to see the corner office he loved so much.

  When we got there, I realized why he wanted to introduce me to everyone. He had apparently been telling his coworkers that he was taking “Topanga” out on a date, because no one there knew my real name. His corner office also turned out to be a cubicle that was surrounded by a hundred other cubicles just like it. I started to worry that everything about Stan had been too good to be true.

  After we looked at his cubicle and took pictures with his coworkers, Stan asked if I wanted to “go hang out in a park.” The way our in-person conversation had been going thus far, I was really hoping we could do an activity of some kind, but this was the date Stan had planned, supposedly, so I decided to go with the flow. He asked which park I wanted to go to, and I told him that since I didn’t live there and was therefore not too familiar with any park other than Central Park, he should probably be the one to pick where we went. He decided on a small park a few blocks from his office, and we grabbed a couple of seats at a table.

  STAN: Wow. I can’t believe this weather.

  ME: Yep. It is a nice day today.

  Really? Back to the weather again? I tried to change the subject and asked him about a topic he loved: softball.

  ME: Don’t you have a s
oftball tournament this week?

  STAN: Yeah, it starts tonight. I’m so glad we’re gonna have nice weather for it!

  OK, this guy was way too into the weather. I told Stan that I was really tired and wanted to go back to Julie’s to take a nap. He said he needed to get back home to get ready for softball but that he would call me later and we would set up another night to go to dinner while I was in town. I thanked him for picking me up at the airport, and we parted ways.

  When I got back to Julie’s apartment, she was anxious to hear how our date had gone. I told her what had happened, and she started laughing uncontrollably. Julie told me that she didn’t want to forget the details of their conversation, so she had written an email to me and saved it in her draft folder. These were the contents of the email.

  Danielle,

  This is a detailed account of my painful conversation with Stan.

  ME: So you have a house in Brooklyn? I work in Brooklyn.

  STAN: Yep.

  ME: Do you live by yourse—

  STAN: YES!

  ME: And Danielle says you’re out in Vegas a lot?

  STAN: Yeah, I have a huge place in Spanish Terrace [no idea if that exists, and I might be wrong, but it was Spanish something] but I’m taking over [forget the company name] so I’ll basically be running forty percent of Vegas nightlife. So I’m gonna sell my place and just buy a sick, huge place, like five bedrooms, off the Strip.

  ME: Oh . . . that’s awesome. One of my best friends’ bachelorette party is out there in July, but we don’t really have an idea where we should go. The other times I’ve been, I haven’t had to plan anything . . . [Willing Stan to jump in!]

  STAN: [Crickets . . .]

  I am now ready to kill you for taking more than forty-five seconds to get ready.

  ME: So, if you have any suggestions, let me know.