Chapter Text
Kristin doesn’t mean to blow off her agent, but it’s the end of a two-show day and she wants to know what Khloe did to piss off Kim. So when her agent Tory calls and tells her that they want her to host the Tonys, she quickly tells her yes and ends the call before her impending reality-TV coma can be disrupted.
By 1AM, the Kardashians have almost completely erased the conversation from her memory.
“Miss Chenoweth we’re so pleased you decided to host this year! You were amazing in Wicked, and I’m rooting for you this year!” Leslie exclaimed. Leslie was the assistant currently walking her to what she presumed would be the chairman’s office. She had this enraptured glow about her. Kristin supposed that it was the exuberant glow of youth, charmed by the bright lights of Broadway.
“Oh thank you so much!” Kristin replied. She gave a smile, tilting her lips just so, the smile crinkling her eyes slightly. Kristin looked around her, seeing framed posters of Broadway’s finest. She smiled faintly, admiring the original Rogers & Hammerstein posters, the Sondheims, the Comden & Greens. Too many to count, each personalized with the signatures of the original cast. How many greats had walked these halls? How many of them had known they’d be here, immortalized on these walls, today?
And where would she be?
“Miss Chenoweth, we’re here.” Leslie’s voice shook her from her reverie. She glanced around, noticing that they had indeed arrived.
Leslie knocked on the door before opening it, announcing that she was here.
Kristin walked in to the glamorous office. It had a stunning view of Manhattan, a massive window overlooking the towering metropolis. A massive mahogany cabinet took up the entire left wall, displaying records and photos of significant Broadway events. A vintage 1950s phonograph sat in the corner, kept in pristine condition. A large desk, mahogany to match the cabinet, was adorned with more photographs, as well as a large computer monitor and several folders. Two luxurious leather seats had been placed in front of it, the leather black to match the large leather chair behind the desk. More Broadway posters decorated the walls, these particular ones personalized to the chairman himself.
The chairman was standing with two other men, the three of them facing the window.
But Kristin barely noticed any of this. Because, standing to the right in all her chiseled cheeked glory, was Idina.
She wore a black romper with gold detailing. It accentuated her bust, exposing tanned skin in ways that Kristin definitely wasn’t noticing. Dark gold waves beautifully framed her face. But other than the tan, and the hair, she was exactly as Kristin remembered. Perhaps another wrinkle at the corners of her eyes, but still heartbreakingly beautiful. Kristin looked at her face, but couldn’t read the expression she found. After Idina had recovered from her shock, she’d schooled her face into a neutral expression. I used to be able to read every thought.
Everyone in the room was looking at her now. The three men had turned, and Idina hadn’t taken her eyes off her. Kristin squirmed self-consciously under their gaze, smoothing down her blue blouse and nervously combing her hair back. She was glad that she’d worn 4 inch heels today, allowing her to at least meet Idina’s eyes. For an infinitesimal moment, no one spoke. Time stopped briefly, until the abrupt sound of Leslie shutting the door punctured the silence.
“Uhm, hi. And hi.” Kristin uttered shyly, turning her head to look at the three men, then back at Idina.
“Kristin, I’m so glad you could join us this morning. Please, please, take a seat.” Chairman Jeremy Bachman responded. “I trust you know Miss Menzel here?” he finished with a laugh. Kristin sat down, with Idina gingerly joining her.
“Yes it’s great to be here. Dee, it’s good to see you. But I’m sorry I thought I was here to talk about the Tony hosting gig?” Kristin allowed instinct and habit to take over, feeling her smile fall in place. At the last sentence, Idina stiffened, somehow becoming tenser than she already was.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you – both of you – about. You see, you and Idina are going to co-host this year! Fans love you two together, and I think it’s an inspired idea.” The chairman said.
“I –”
“I –”
Kristin and Idina both stuttered at the same time. They turned to look at each other, faint blushes on their faces.
“Go ahead.” Idina muttered softly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I would be presenting with a co-host.” Kristin said.
“Oh? Your agent, Tory, told me that you would be thrilled with cohosting.” The chairman said with a perplexed expression.
Damn it Tory. “Oh sorry it must have slipped my mind!” Kristin laughed, somewhat forcefully.
“Are you two alright with co-hosting? The fans would love it, you know how much they loved Wicked. Leslie couldn’t stop gushing about it when she found it.”
Kristin looked at Idina again, desperately praying that she would be able to read her expression. She found Idina looking back, her face still indecipherable. Seconds ticked by, the three men looking at them with expectant faces.
When the two women still hadn’t responded, the chairman said, “Is something wrong? I thought you two would jump at the opportunity to work together again.”
The two shared another look.
“Okay.” They said in unison, their hesitation only noticeable to each other.
“So…hey. Thanks for meeting me.” Idina said. She’d called a couple days after the meeting in Bachman’s office, asking to meet. She wore red – tight – pants with a loose black blouse. They were meeting in a hole-in-the-wall café, just off the theatre district. Kristin wondered if Idina remembered that they’d been here before.
“Of course! I had time before the evening show so...” Kristin’s voice trailed off. Idina was looking at her with that penetrating gaze, and damn it if it wasn’t all sorts of distracting.
“I’m glad you could make time in your busy schedule.” Idina’s voice wasn’t exactly accusatory, but there was a flinty hardness. Thanks to you.
“Yes…well…uhm, what did you want?”
“Did you know?”
“Sweetie, I –”
“Don’t call me that.” Idina stopped her. She turned away, looking at the warped remnants of the leaf the barista had poured. “You gave up that right.”
“I – I’m sorry.” Kristin softly replied. “I didn’t know about the co-hosting thing…I promise.”
“Okay.”
A pregnant pause. Kristin didn’t dare to break it. Thankfully, Idina did.
“…We should think about what we’re going to do. For the Tonys.”
“Yeah.”
“They’re going to want us to do something from Wicked.” Idina said.
“Yeah. I was thinking…we could adapt ‘What Is This Feeling?’”
At this, Idina gave out a short laugh. “What, ‘there’s been some confusion over the hosting this year?’”
“Well…yeah.” Kristin replied. She didn’t know how to respond to this Idina, didn’t know where the lines were.
“Ha, well isn’t that just fucking hilarious.”
“You could be nicer about this you know.”
“Well sorry if I don’t find our situation funny. Sorry if I’m still a bit pissed off at you for leaving, me, alone.” Idina vehemently stated.
“You weren’t alone, you had Taye to fall back to if it all failed. I would’ve been killed by reporters, by my fans, by my family!” Kristin angrily responded.
“God dammit Kristin I was willing to leave it all. Don’t you see? I didn’t care. I didn’t care about Taye, or my fucking career. I would’ve left it. For you.” Idina finished softly, her anger spent.
“I…I couldn’t. I…I just couldn’t.” Kristin was quiet now too.
A hush settled over the two of them. Idina had a white knuckled grip on her coffee cup. Kristin carefully studied the dregs of her tea. It seemed as if it would be fitting if the world would stop turning, so they could be left alone with their thoughts. But the world didn’t care. Baristas still called out orders, the busy street traffic could still be heard, and the dispassionate sun continued shining through the window. The world didn’t care.
“What are we going to do?” Kristin barely broke the silence.
Idina didn’t bother looking up before responding, “We do the damn song, write a couple lines, and then we don’t have to see each other again.” Her voice was bitter, but not harsh. It almost sounded sad. At least that’s what Kristin hoped it was.
“Okay…I’ll see you next week then?” Kristin stood up to leave. She didn’t know where she would go, but anywhere would be better than here.
Idina barely nodded in response.
Kristin found herself in front of her apartment building, apparently having taken a cab home. Mumbling a greeting to the doorman, she managed to keep herself upright during the elevator ride and drag herself to her door before collapsing on her couch.
Realizing that she was supposed to be onstage in several hours, she dug out her phone and called in sick. To be fair, she had actually been sick for a couple days. But today’s argument with Idina had left her drained. Her mind spiraled in ever deepening circles, gleefully reminding her of just how badly she’d hurt Idina. How she’d promised Idina the world, and left as soon as the consequences became real.
They’d been so happy. Unashamed flirting during rehearsal. Sipping wine in San Francisco during tryouts. Sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms. Dancing together at the opening party. Daring makeout sessions with 10 minutes before curtain. Looking back, it had been a blissful haze, months of incredible euphoria.
Then it had all come crashing down. Idina had said she’d leave Taye. And she’d meant it. She’d said she didn’t care what the rest of the world thought. But Kristin had. God, she still did. Her career would have been finished. She would’ve been the ‘other woman’. The ‘homewrecker’. They would have talked about how she was ‘in the closet’ the whole time. Why she’d never had a long relationship with any men. Her fanbase would have killed her. It was one thing to support gay rights, but being a…lesbian…that was a whole other monster. And her family…Jesus she still didn’t know what her family thought of homosexuals.
Idina hadn’t known all this. Not then anyway. Kristin couldn’t think of a way to tell her that she was worried about public opinion and her career. So she hadn’t. She’d simply nodded along, letting them exist in their bubble. It worked, for a little while. Until Taye had found out. Kristin never knew how he knew, she’d never asked. But he’d found out, and Idina had been forced to choose.
Decisions are interesting. You think that, when you choose someone, that’s the end of it. But decisions are two way. Idina had chosen Kristin. Kristin hadn’t chosen her back.
Kristin ran. She quit the show, running to L.A. They’d talked, and cried, and Idina had begged, but Kristin left all the same.
The next ten years were defined by bitterness and silence. When prompted, neither bothered to feign the ‘friends’ act. ‘We have different work styles’ became le phrase du jour. The occasional twitter message placated fans.
The ringing of Kristin’s phone jolted her from her troubling reminiscences. Scrambling, she saw it was a text from Peter hoping that she got better soon. She fired back a reply, thanking him for his concern. Deciding to waste the rest of the evening away, she put out food for Maddie before grabbing the seldom used bottle of Ambien.
Waking up from sleep medication is a unique experience known only to the sleep deprived. One would think that, after sleeping for over eight hours, one would be refreshed, and ready to start the day anew. One would be wrong. Sleeping pills create a fog behind your eyes, filling the very physical space in your head with wool. Waking up from sleep medication is like that scene from Finding Nemo, where Marlin and Dory come out of the current and find themselves in the great empty ocean, lost and unfocused.
Or at least that’s how Kristin had always felt. She crawled through the haze of her room, fighting the molasses that seemed infused in her body. Judging by the vague sounds of birds chirping, it was roughly five in the morning, meaning that she’d passed out around seven or eight last night. In the background, the television could still be heard, softly playing an infomercial for some blender. The dull gnawing at her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten last night, so she went into her kitchen to prepare breakfast.
After finishing her simple oatmeal breakfast, Kristin sat down with her computer with a cup of tea. After making her presence known on social media, she decided to check her e-mail.
The colour drained from her face as she saw an e-mail from the executive producer of the Tonys, dated to yesterday.
Hey Kristin,
Just a reminder that you and Idina will be on tomorrow morning to announce that you’ll be hosting.
Best Regards,
Glenn Weiss
She vaguely recalled him being present at the initial meeting with the chairman and Idina. She even less vaguely recalled him throwing out a couple important dates, this being one of them.
She wasn’t prepared to face Idina. How could she smile, and talk, and touch her, like nothing had happened? As if the past decade had simply been the work of a cruel demon? As if Idina hadn’t so justly torn her asunder just twelve hours ago. It was one thing to fake happiness, and even distant friendship, but it was a whole other to pretend at genuine affection.
And people would be watching. It wouldn’t be a couple executives in an office overlooking Manhattan, or a tiny café with only several patrons. There would be cameras, cameras that sought to expose them for the world to see.
Perhaps the most pressing question of all however, was this. How would Idina act? She had never been one for avoiding conflict, but Kristin wasn’t quite sure she knew her anymore.
Despite her burning doubt, and the flight instinct telling her to run as far as she could, Kristin knew there wasn’t an easy way out of this. So, Kristin put on her mask, donned her battle armour, and headed out the door.