Oh, Nikki.
Nikki, Nikki, Nikki!
When you showed those cops what’s what, I loved you.
When you were incarcerated, I loved you.
When you were explosively angry, I loved you.
When you trothed your undying devotion to that middle-class princess who somehow seemed beneath you, I loved you.
When she left you, I loved you.
When you were crazed with despair, I loved you.
And how could I not? You were volatile. You were excessive. You were dangerous. You were a multi-faceted (representation of a) woman in a place where that is not appropriate, or advisable. And lord, woman, but you had style! How on earth did you get those outfits in that place?
And yes, you were beautiful, the most beautiful person I have ever seen in that media form you too-briefly inhabited…
This time, it's spelled "Nikki"
As a dear friend said of the lead character in a film whose name I can’t quite recall, you were “A pied piper for the bewildered to lead us out of our misery.”
So, here’s to you, Nikki Wade, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, and whoever you’re doing it with! You will forever be the queen of my televisual heart.
And for the rest of us, the moral of this story? Don’t play butch. Not too successfully, and especially not in that first big role. You’ll be forever typecast. You’ll be tainted in the tiny public mind. In the tiny public mind that unlike some of us does not like butch lesbians.
Trust me, it’s a career killer.
