Diary of an Ugly Duckling

by Langhorne, Karyn

  everything and everyone had been about her. Cam-

  eras had followed her every move . . . and everyone

  in her life had been focused on one thing: her trans-

  formation, her Reveal. And now, with the flash of a

  bulb and the yank of a curtain, it was over. No cam-

  eras, no Shamiyah, no experts to question and an-

  noy. Not even Bradshaw was acting right.

  “So did it?” Penny was asking, and Audra turned

  to find Art’s deep-set amber eyes staring back at her

  from his daughter’s face. “Did it hurt?”

  “What do you think?” Audra smiled. “Like hell.”

  “What was the worst part?”

  “Being away from home.” Audra answered im-

  mediately. “I was pretty lonely. Bored, too.”

  “No, about the surgery!” Penny corrected, waving

  aside Audra’s loneliness and boredom aside with a

  slender brown hand. “What was the worst?”

  Audra frowned with the effort of remembering.

  Now that it was behind her, none of it seemed so bad

  anymore. “I guess the nose job,” she said slowly. “But

  the tummy tuck wasn’t a picnic either.”

  “Yeah,” Penny reached over and turned Audra’s

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  head, inspecting her nose at every angle like a

  surgeon. “But they did a really good job. I’d love to

  get my nose done—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your nose, Penny.”

  The girl pinched at her nostrils. “They’re too wide,

  and here . . .” She rubbed at the bridge. “It should be

  higher here—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your nose.”

  Penny’s lips scrunched together in disagreement.

  “I wish I were eighteen. Then I could send a tape to

  Ugly Duckling and—”

  Art Bradshaw emerged from the lavatory at that

  moment and began making his way slowly towards

  them. Audra smiled up at him, but he kept his

  head turned in the other direction, taking a seat

  ahead of them on the opposite side of the plane. He

  slid close to the window and reached for a pair of

  headphones, blocking the sound of Audra and

  Penny as well as the sight.

  “What’s wrong with your father, Penny?”

  The girl shrugged.

  “Is he feeling okay?”

  Penny glanced toward the seat ahead, her eyes

  sweeping over the man’s inert form as if looking for

  danger signals. Finally she lifted her shoulder in an-

  other shrug. “Looks fine to me. Why?”

  “He’s barely said two words to me—or anyone

  else, for that matter.”

  Penny whipped a fashion magazine from one of

  the pockets of the heavy-looking shoulder bag she

  carried and began turning the pages quickly as if

  looking for something. “I guess he’s pretty sur-

  prised. I mean you do look a lot like her,” Penny told

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  the magazine. She stopped abruptly, thumping her

  finger against the image of an emaciated-looking

  white woman modeling clothes in a high-fashion

  spread. “I like her nose. Think it would look good—”

  “Like who?”

  “What?”

  Audra made the girl look at her. “You said I look a

  lot like her. Who’s her?”

  Penny stared at her for a long moment as though

  she were wearing a loincloth. “Who else? My

  mother.”

  Audra blinked at her, shock reverberating from

  her ear drums to the tips of her toes.

  “Your mother?” she sputtered. “B-but I don’t look

  like your mother. I look like my sister, Petra—”

  “And like my mother. Or like she looked the last

  we saw her. At my sweet sixteen party.” She fixed

  her eyes on Audra, running through a checklist

  from top to toes. “I noticed it as soon as that curtain

  lifted . . . and I’m sure he did, too. Whatever else she

  is . . . or isn’t,” she said the words with a kind of

  dark unpleasantness, “she’s always pretty. Always.”

  She shrugged. “Of course, up close you can tell your

  face is different. But the hair and the skin, and

  you’re awfully skinny now. Really thin—” Her voice

  had a tone of great admiration that made Audra

  suddenly sick to her stomach. “Well, I think Dad

  thought you would look like you did before . . . just

  a little thinner and with prettier clothes and more

  makeup, or something. I kept telling him this was

  different, but . . . you know how men are,” she said

  breezily, as though she’d had a lifetime of experi-

  ence. “Even I was a little surprised by your color,

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  though.” She touched Audra’s forearm gently, drag-

  ging her fingers against the skin as though she ex-

  pected something to rub off. “How’d they do that? Is

  it some kind of makeup or—”

  “Where is your mother now, Penny?”

  The girl shrugged again, but her eyes hardened

  and her lips seemed to disappear into her face.

  “Don’t know, don’t care.”

  “Is he . . . upset . . . ?”

  “Dad?” Her lips collapsed onto each other in an

  expression of teenaged disinterest. “Who knows?

  Ask him.”

  Ask him. Dr. Goddard was sitting on her shoulders

  like the little Martian character in a cartoon she used

  to watch on Saturday mornings many, many years

  ago. I told you to ask him . . .

  “No . . . not now.” Audra sighed, administering a

  swift mental kick to her own taut, round behind. “If

  I’d asked him when I should have, I wouldn’t be in

  this mess.”

  Chapter 25

  Monday, September 24

  Dear Petra,

  I feel like I’ve been suddenly dunked in cold water. Dr.

  Goddard warned me that coming home would be a

  shock to my system after all these months. She said

  I’d had an experience that no one back home had

  shared, that no one would relate to. She also said

  some people would be resistant to the change and

  treat me differently. They’d project their own ideas

  about what they believe is beautiful on me . . . and not

  all of it would be positive.

  Is that what’s happening with Bradshaw?

  Ma is tiptoeing around me, walking on egg shells. I

  know she hasn’t gotten used to looking at me: She

  starts a little when I walk into a room, and I’ve caught

  her just staring at me when I’m not looking. We still have

  a lot to talk about, her and me. I’m just not ready yet.

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  Kiana’s a little distant still. It’s okay: she’s a child.

  But it’s almost like starting over with her from zero.

  She’s called me “Mommy” a couple of times. I

  consider that the highest compliment I can get.

  I’m not any more used to “me” than they are. I keep

  catching glimpses of my reflection and it always

  surprises me. I have to remind myself
that it’s me I’m

  looking at and not someone else.

  Today is my first day back on the job. I know it’s

  going to be a little weird to take my new look and my

  new awareness back to a place where people were

  used to dealing with me as a totally different person,

  inside and out. I have to say, I’m nervous. But I’m

  pretty sure no one will call me a “dude with tits.”

  Are you still on track to be home in November?

  They’re not going to delay your homecoming again ,

  are they? I hope not. You’ve done your time, now it’s

  time for the Army to honor its end of the bargain and

  bring you home. Michael, too. Enough is enough.

  I’ve gotta go or I’ll be late. Not a good thing for my

  first day back.

  I’ll let you know how it goes.

  Be careful out there,

  Audra

  “You’re gonna need a new badge, Marks,” Dar-

  lene Fuchs said when Audra clocked in.

  “That’s the only way anyone’s going to know you.”

  The uniform was brand-new, in some tiny size

  called only “petite small” on the uniform sizing chart,

  and it fit her trim hips and brand-new bodacious

  behind in a way that the designer probably never

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  intended the drab fabric to do. She wore a crisp,

  white, fresh-out-of-the-box shirt with every button

  flat, including those outlining the high peaks of her

  new breasts.

  “Real or fake?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at

  Audra’s hair.

  “Extensions,” Audra answered, checking over the

  duty roster. There was only one name she was look-

  ing for . . . and it wasn’t there. “Where’s Bradshaw?

  He’s still working this shift, right?”

  “Called in sick,” the other woman said, still eye-

  ing Audra interestedly. “How much weight did you

  lose?”

  “In all?” Audra calculated. “About eighty-five

  pounds of fat . . .” She made a mental note to thank

  Julienne as she made a bicep pop for the woman.

  “But I’ve built up a good deal of muscle, too, so it

  looks like more.”

  “Amazing. I wouldn’t have known on the street if

  I fell on you, seriously, Marks.” She stretched the

  bare forearm emerging from the short sleeve of her

  uniform blouse toward Audra. “You and I are nearly

  the same color, since it’s summer and I have a tan.

  How did they do that anyway?”

  “Do what?” Audra asked innocently, grinning

  broadly.

  Darlene laughed. “You don’t actually plan to pre-

  tend like you were born that color, do you?”

  Audra shrugged. “ ‘Hey, if it works for Michael

  Jackson, it might work for me.” She paused. “Did . . .

  did Bradshaw say what was wrong?”

  “Nope,” Darlene shook her head casually enough,

  but her expression said she was quickly reaching

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  conclusions about the reasons for Audra’s interest.

  “You’re doing day room patrols today . . . in fact, all

  week. Next week you’ll switch back to the night

  shift. That all right?”

  “Fine,” Audra said, checking her weapon and

  strapping on her holster and trying most unsuccess-

  fully to feign the most casual of interest as she

  asked, “Bradshaw still have that detail? When he

  gets back, of course . . .”

  “Of course, Marks,” Darlene said sweetly. She

  leaned close and smiled. “The way he’s been talking

  about you for the past three months, I’d say you’d

  have to screw up big time to keep from reeling him

  in,” she whispered. “Congratulations.”

  Audra felt her face go numb. Darlene was con-

  gratulating her, but Art was evading her, it was obvi-

  ous. It was beginning to look like she’d already

  blown it, big time . . . right when she finally had a

  chance. “Thanks,” she mumbled in Darlene’s gen-

  eral direction and turned away with a heavy heart.

  “You boys are going to lose all your privileges if you

  don’t cut it out,” Audra shouted, but it was hard to

  keep the ghost of a smile from the corners of her lips

  with the hoots and catcalls answering the swing of

  her hips as she strode ahead along the line of con-

  victs moving in a slow formation toward the day

  room. “Keep it up and you’ll all be in your cells for a

  week with no rec time at all.”

  They reached the day room and Audra counted

  them in, watching the men’s faces as they passed her,

  registering their appreciation. Some addressed her

  in low voices—she heard “baby,” “flower,” “sweet

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  thing”—while others addressed her with their eyes,

  clearly enjoying the carefully crafted arrangement

  of flesh. Not one of them seemed to know her, even

  though—with the exception of a few unfamiliar

  faces—Audra knew she could call each one of them

  out by both number and name. Even Haines saun-

  tered by her, his lips losing their habitual sneer of

  disdain long enough for him to look her over and

  leer something that in his twisted universe was

  probably considered a smile. Audra doubted he’d

  have given her more than his usual cursory glare if

  he had recognized her.

  Nothing like that was ever likely to happen again.

  She’d worked too hard to lose the weight to ever risk

  gaining it back, and instead of brute strength, she’d

  already signed up for refresher self-defense classes

  to insure her skills were still sharp enough to subdue

  a prisoner if necessary. And fortunately, she still had

  brains . . . even if she’d lost a bit of her brawn.

  “Officer,” Haines greeted her in his sneering way

  and there was a touch of awe in his voice that Audra

  had never heard before. Apparently, there were

  other ways to subdue a man, Audra realized. Ways

  that had nothing to do with force.

  Pride swelled inside her, along with an intense

  hopefulness. This is what it felt like to be beautiful—

  to have the appreciation of men and the envy of

  women. She inhaled deeply, drinking in the feeling,

  bursting to share it with Bradshaw . . . if he’d ever

  come out of hiding long enough to let her.

  The last man came through the doorway, all slink

  and slither, pimp rolling along like he thought he

  owned the joint.

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  “Hey there, mama,” he murmured, batting his

  curly black eyelashes at her. “You new here? Be

  happy to show you the ropes—”

  “Carlton?”

  He blinked, hearing his given name come out of

  Audra’s mouth.

  “Listen, sweet thing, only my mama calls me

  that—”

  “You were paroled in March, Carlton,” Audra

  snapped, ignoring him. “It’s mid-September! What

 
; are you doing back in the joint that fast?” Audra

  shook her head. “I tell you what, boy. I’ve got an ass-

  whipping with your name on it.”

  The kid’s face vacillated between titillation and

  confusion.

  “Baby, do you know me?” he said in a voice full

  of sweetness.

  “Yeah, I know you,” Audra muttered. She nodded

  to her fellow CO as he brought up the rear and

  closed the day room’s doors behind him.

  “You been checking me out, huh, pretty lady?”

  Carlton muttered, all seduction and zero seriousness.

  “That’s all right—but when do I get to know you?”

  “Not so fast, Casanova. There’s a speed limit in

  this state,” Audra said, for a moment forgetting

  about the surgery and the changes in her look since

  she’d last laid eyes on this kid. She jerked her head

  at Carlton, nudging him toward a chair in the corner

  of the room. “It’s forty-five miles an hour and you’re

  doing ninety. Go sit down over there and—”

  He was staring at her like she had suddenly

  sprouted horns. Audra watched recognition dawn

  in his eyes. A second later he burst into laughter.

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  “Holy shit! Holy shit—” he cried, laughing. “I

  don’t believe this shit! You’re—you’re—that butt-

  ugly chick—”

  “Yeah, I’m the ugly chick.”

  His laughing and pointing was attracting atten-

  tion in the room. Audra glanced around and

  found the noise to have stolen some attention from

  the television show some of the men were watching,

  along with several checkers games and more than a

  few of the quieter conversations around the room.

  Only the video rivalry continued without interrup-

  tion.

  “Damn, girl! What did you do!”

  “What I did is irrelevant. The point is what did you

  do to—”

  “I mean I can understand losing some weight . . .

  fixing your hair up a little . . .” He squinted at her,

  unsure of how to explain the other changes he was

  seeing. He dismissed them anyway by guffawing

  and pointing. “But you’ve changed yourself into a

  white woman!” He must have felt the eyes of the

  room on him, because he shouted out, “Hey y’all,

  check this. Remember that fat, ugly chick that used

  to work here? One that threw down with Haines

  and ripped her pants—”

  There were a few nods and murmurs of assent.

  “Settle down!” Audra roared over the little swell,

  grabbing Carlton’s shoulder. “That’s enough