A Little Bit Wicked by Kristin Chenoweth Read Online (FREE)
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Los Angeles, California
February 8, 2008
I face myself in the full-length mirror, stability in one hand, sex in the other.
The white Armani gown is the dress every little girl dreams of. A lot of big girls, too. A line of blushing attendants, all picture-pretty, clutch their bouquets of roses and baby’s breath, each on the arm of a dashing, tuxedoed counterpart. My best always-a-bridesmaid buddy Denny Downs is looking at me with wide, moist eyes, telling me how perfect it all is…but suddenly I’m not sure.
A moment ago, I was ready to commit myself to the faithful friend who’s supported and stood by me all these years. Then Jimmy showed up, and everything became a question. Now, here I am at the eleventh hour, wondering what might happen, who will I be, if I allow my passion to be swayed by this dangerous bad boy. Crystallized moments like this one arise in every woman’s life. Moments of truth in which she makes the choices that guide her destiny. Moments that ultimately write the story of her.
Sugar or spice? I agonize. Naughty or nice?
Sensible angels whisper in my ear, but the runaway bride in me is getting restless. I am a type A “leap and a net will appear” risk-taker, and if I trust that God made me this way for a reason, then I have to believe that the risk will be worth it in the long run. Experience has taught me that we all stumble and fall; faith assures me that He’ll be there to catch me when I do. My heart speaks, and I listen.
I chose Jimmy.
Jimmy Choo, that is. A fabulous pair of four-inch platform sling-backs. Setting aside the safe-and-sane character shoes I was planning to wear onstage tonight, I cast my lot with the bad boy. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, and, yeah, it’s not exactly Sophie’s Choice. But this is Oscar night. I’m about to step out onstage in front of thousands of people—friends, colleagues, peers, people I hope and dream of working with—plus my parents and everyone else watching the live broadcast on television.
People keep reminding me that billions—with a b as in bombastic and boy howdy!—yes, billions of people all over the world will be tuned in. Even in the coziest venues, performers can and do get hurt onstage all the time. There’s a broken toe for every light on Broadway. But I’m not as concerned for myself as I am for the burgeoning cast of backup dancers. This is a huge shot of résumé adrenaline for most of these kids; I don’t want it to turn into some tragicomic YouTube video labeled “Cheno Falls on Ass.” On the other hand, when you’re four feet eleven inches you get pretty comfortable in heels.
“A nice pair of Jimmy Choos never hurt anyone,” I tell my friend Denny, but I take the precaution of having the soles rubbered for slip-resistance. (Faith is fine, but the Lord helps those who help themselves, right?)