Diary of an Ugly Duckling

by Langhorne, Karyn

  now—”

  “This the same chick!” he said jabbing a finger in

  Audra’s direction. “Remember how dark she used

  to be? Nappy hair, big old tits and big old butt? This

  the same—”

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  “All right, all right,” Audra repeated, feeling in-

  creasingly uncomfortable as the men stared at her,

  some laughing, others shaking their heads in disbe-

  lief. Audra thought she heard, “Like the King of

  Pop!” and “That’s messed up!” along with other

  less-than-flattering comments.

  “Remember when she threw Haines? Threw him

  like a rag doll!” Carlton all but cackled. “Broke two

  of his ribs—”

  Audra’s eyes shot to Haines, who was staring her

  down with a venom that couldn’t signal anything

  but bad news. She let her eyes stray to the other

  COs, but they seemed content to let Audra handle

  the ribbing in any way she chose.

  “That’s enough!” Audra roared, as the murmurs

  reached higher decibels. “Back to your recreation . . .

  or all of you will be back in your cells with plenty of

  time to think about it—”

  “Oh yeah?” In the few months since she’d seen

  him last, Carlton had gained a nasty swagger that

  didn’t become him in the slightest. “You said you was

  gonna kick my ass. Look at you. You couldn’t kick—”

  Audra whipped out her baton, grabbed his right

  arm behind his back and pressed the baton tight

  against his throat. She jerked him to his feet, feeling

  the strain in her body at his weight.

  “I told you to shut up, and I mean shut up!” she

  hissed, dragging him toward the door, thanking

  God and Julienne for the dozens of extra repetitions

  of upper body exercises she’d been forced to endure.

  “And if you can’t shut up then—”

  She stumbled against something unseen—

  something that felt like someone’s foot and leg. She

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  righted herself quickly, but in the tangled moment

  of regaining her equilibrium, Audra lost her grip on

  Carlton. A second later, he’d whirled around, duck-

  ing free of the baton and facing her with a little

  smirk on his face, while she looked around for the

  obstruction . . . or the obstructor. Princeton Haines

  stood nearby, his eyes locked on hers and his usual

  sneer curling his features into ugliness.

  The other COs converged on the situation now,

  and Carlton was handcuffed in an instant, all the

  while loudly complaining that he hadn’t done any-

  thing, hadn’t said anything, hadn’t been anywhere

  near anything ever in his entire life.

  “You want to take him back or—”

  “Yeah, I’ll do it,” Audra muttered, feeling a sudden

  sense of shame suffusing her skin, praying that her

  cheeks weren’t flaming with the emotion, but know-

  ing with her paler complexion, it was highly likely

  that the entire room was witnessing her discomfiture

  at being bested by an inmate, if only for a second. She

  pulled her features into her game face and let her eyes

  skim the room one last time, taking in every face. The

  room was silent now except for the blaring TV and

  the crashes and whines of the video games. Most

  of the men were staring at her blankly, unwilling to

  risk the possibility of being ejected in the same

  undignified manner as Carlton. But Princeton

  Haines was watching her with a funny little smile

  curled on his snide lips . . . and Audra had to talk to

  herself to keep from shuddering under its scrutiny.

  She called Bradshaw that night, but Penny said he

  was “out” and launched into her own conversation,

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  starting into a long-winded series of questions

  about her time in Los Angeles, ending with the re-

  quest to bring a few of the girls from school to Au-

  dra’s apartment to watch Ugly Duckling on the night

  of Audra’s Reveal.

  Chapter 26

  October 4

  Dear Petra,

  He’s not talking to me.

  Okay, he’s talking to me a little. When Penny calls

  (which is often, the girl has adopted us!) he’ll come to

  the phone for a minute. He answers my questions

  “yes” or “no” . . . or he’ll ask me about some movie

  that was on the Classic Channel. He called in sick

  every day I worked the 7-a.m.-to-3-p.m. shift; didn’t

  come back until I was back to nights.

  He’s avoiding me, Petra. He’s avoiding me right

  when we have so much to talk about . . .

  I know I should have told him about the skin

  lightening. I don’t know why I didn’t.

  Okay, so that’s not true: I do know why I didn’t tell

  him. If he’d only let me explain ! All I wanted was to

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  look like you and Ma and Kiana . . . I might not have

  done it at all if I’d known about Andrew Neill . . .

  Speaking of my father—it’s weird to be saying that

  and not mean Daddy—he has a niece here in New

  York. I’m going to meet her this afternoon, just before I

  go to work. Ma is jittery about it, but she won’t talk to

  me, either. Just keeps fussing and mussing, critcizing

  and complaining . . .

  I think it’s her way of telling me she’s scared of

  where all my discoveries might lead. I think she’s

  worried I’m changing so much, I won’t love her

  anymore.

  Do you think Ma could need reassurance? Seems

  impossible, doesn’t it?

  Wish me luck,

  Audra

  Audra knew the woman before she entered the

  diner.

  It was the same little place near the prison where

  she’d sat with Art months and months ago, a differ-

  ent woman from the woman she was now, both in-

  side and out. For one thing, she was almost half the

  size she used to be. For another, her street clothes

  were now designer jeans worn over Shamiyah-style

  heels and a trendy little T-shirt covered by a form-

  fitting jacket. And of course there was the hat, scarf

  and gloves she wore to protect her skin from the

  mottling effect Dr. Jamison had told her about.

  Audra stared out of the window of the booth, ig-

  noring the good smells of the place. Dieting was so

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  much harder now than when she was locked in a

  mirrorless room: there seemed to be temptations

  everywhere. Audra tried to ignore the smell of fresh

  bread and sizzling bacon fat and focused on the

  window, watching the sidewalks fill with evening

  foot traffic and the streets line with cabs as the sun

  sank between the skyscrapers. She glanced down at

  the piece of paper where she’d written the name

  and the woman’s cell phone number, along with to-

  day’s date and the
time, both records of this appoint-

  ment set by Audra with Art’s private-investigator

  friend’s help.

  Laine Neill. That was her name. Audra’s father’s

  brother’s daughter. Her cousin on her father’s side.

  Audra glanced up and out the window again as a

  butterfly of nervousness soared upward from the pit

  of her stomach. Outside, a woman crossed the street

  and began walking up the block toward her.

  She was around Audra’s age, with dark brown

  skin, of medium height and on the chunky side—

  carrying at least thirty to forty extra pounds, mainly

  around the middle and in her butt and thighs—yet

  she wore a fashionable pair of the same kind of low-

  slung jeans Audra wore and a pair of spike-heeled

  boots. She wore a tan suede jacket over a black tank

  top. Her features were utterly unremarkable in any-

  way: not unattractive, just not particularly striking

  or memorable, but she walked with the easy grace of

  a runway model, confidence speaking in every step.

  Audra slid out of the booth as Laine Neill stepped

  into the diner and looked around. She walked to-

  ward Audra with a bright smile on her face and

  open arms—and as Audra realized she was staring

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  into a face very much like her own had been many

  months ago, tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  “Hey cuz,” she said, wrapping Audra in the

  warmth of her hug. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Audra! W—what are you doing?” Edith hissed as

  Audra grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the

  Goldilocks salon. “I’m in the middle of a process—”

  and she jerked her arm free and waved her gloved

  fingers at Audra.

  “Get someone else to finish it for you.”

  “But the client asked for me—”

  “If the choices are have someone else finish it or

  watch her hair fall out, I think she’ll let someone else

  finish it!” Audra snapped. “I have to talk to you, right

  now! And either you come outside with me, or I’m go-

  ing to start talking in front of this whole salon.”

  Edith cut a fearful glance around her. It was a Fri-

  day evening and there was a woman in every chair,

  plus a few waiting in the little alcove toward the

  shop’s front.

  “All right, all right,” Edith grumbled, pulling her

  gloves from her fingers. “I’m sorry, dear,” she called

  in a bright voice toward her client. “Jasmine will fin-

  ish you up and I’ll be back before it’s time to style!”

  Then she followed Audra out onto the street.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” she de-

  manded as soon as they were on the sidewalk. This

  side street was fairly quiet, but Audra could hear the

  rumble of the subway in the distance.

  “You know I’m not due on until eleven.”

  “Well, I can’t believe you would come here on a

  Friday, one of my busiest nights, and—”

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  “And I can’t believe you would lie to me all these

  years!” Audra snapped at her.

  Edith’s face froze for a moment, as her brain ab-

  sorbed the words. “Honestly, Audra!” she rolled her

  eyes dramatically and shook her head. “I know you

  like to have your little movie scenes, but there’s a

  time and place for everything.” She turned back to-

  ward the salon. “I am not about to stand out here in

  the cold and—”

  “You are, Ma. You are, because I’ve waited long

  enough to hear your explanation. And I’m not wait-

  ing anymore!”

  Her mother blinked at her, her composure ripped

  away like a cheap Halloween mask. Audra read fear

  in her eyes now, even as she struggled for self-

  control.

  “There ain’t no reason to shout, Audra.”

  “I just met my cousin, Ma. My cousin! She looks

  just like me—just like I used to look. Do you have

  any idea what that means to me? Do you have any

  idea what it would have meant to know her—to

  know the truth about myself—all these years?”

  “Well, I didn’t know ’Drew had any family in

  New York. Last I heard they were all still on St.

  Croix—”

  “Don’t change the subject, Ma,” Audra shot back.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about him? Why didn’t you

  tell me about my father! Why didn’t you tell me be-

  fore I went on the Ugly Duckling? Before I—” she

  gestured to herself. “Why did you wait until it was

  too late?”

  “Because I didn’t actually think you’d go through

  with it, that’s why!” her mother shouted. “Right up

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  to the very last minute, I was sure you’d back out. I

  was sure you’d come running home like you always

  did and I could save myself some shame—” And she

  burst into tears, hard jagged sobs that had Audra

  not been so determined to hear the story, it would

  have been impossible to listen to.

  “He was a good man . . . a good man,” her mother

  cried. “Why do you have to look so much like him?

  Why—”

  Audra sighed, her anger draining from her with

  every word her mother spoke. “I need to know how

  it happened. I need to know . . .” She rubbed her

  forehead. “How and where and when . . .”

  But her mother just paced away from her and

  sobbed, her face in her hands.

  “Here, Ma—” Audra approached her gently and

  led her to a spot at the edge of the curb. “Sit down . . .”

  Her mother sat, but kept sobbing, her face hidden.

  Audra stroked her shoulder gently, murmuring over

  and over, “It’s okay, Ma. It’s okay . . .”

  “I—I—was a young wife. Petra was just over a

  year old. Your—her father was always gone—

  always running the streets with buddies or . . .” she

  hiccupped a little, “some woman or the other. I was

  from the boonies . . . I didn’t know no one. I was so

  lonely . . . so miserable . . . scared to death of this

  big city. B—but I couldn’t go back.” She looked up at

  Audra with wet, red eyes, her lips twisted with an-

  guish. “There wasn’t nothing for me in North Car-

  olina. Nothing at all . . .” she whispered. “I knew I

  had to make it work here somehow for myself. For

  my daughter . . .” She snuffled and wiped her face

  with the long black smock she wore over her

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  clothes. “I met Andrew at a soul food restaurant. I

  was feeling low, wishing for home and I ended up

  drowning my sorrows in a plate of fried chicken and

  collard greens. Petra was sitting beside me, giving

  me pure D hell and I just . . . started crying.” She

  smiled through her tears. “I guess I’d just had it or

  something . . . but he was sitting at a table nearby,

  and he saw I was losin’
it. He distracted Petra while

  I got myself together and then”—fresh tears formed

  in her eyes—“he asked us both to the Central Park

  Zoo. I almost said no. I was a married woman. True,

  I was married to a man who acted like he wasn’t a

  married man—James Marks wasn’t faithful to me a

  single day we were together—but I knew I didn’t

  have to act like him. But ’Drew was so kind . . . He

  was so nice to me . . . and Petra had never been to

  the zoo.” She sighed. “I said yes.”

  Audra waited while she paused, smiling a little to

  herself.

  “I don’t want you to think I just fell into bed with

  him, ’cause I didn’t. He and his brother were setting

  up a Caribbean restaurant and he was working very

  hard. But when he could, he would call or come

  by and take me and Petra somewhere. Anywhere.

  Sometimes we went to movies, or sightseeing in the

  city. But most of the time I went with him to restau-

  rant supply stores and to City Hall when he got the

  paperwork for a restaurant license. I didn’t care. I

  just . . .” She swallowed, pressing back her emotions

  so that she had the breath to continue. “He talked all

  the time about how important it was to ‘do your

  own thing’—it was the seventies, you know. That’s

  how people talked. And when I told him I liked to

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  do hair, he encouraged me to get my cosmetology li-

  cense. Even gave me the money to take the test.”

  She paused again.

  “I fell for him, mind, body and soul,” she whis-

  pered. “And one thing led to another . . .” She

  turned to Audra. “We had it planned. I was going to

  get a divorce from James and we were going to get

  married and raise Petra—and our own children—

  together. I was going to open this salon”—she ges-

  tured behind her—“and we were going to be happy.

  And it would have happened, too, but . . .”

  “He was killed,” Audra finished. “I read it in the

  stuff the private investigator sent me. Hit by a car

  over on Ninth Avenue. April fifth—”

  “And you were born in December,” her mother

  finished with a sad and heavy sigh. “I know I

  should have left anyway . . . I should have divorced

  James then and gone on.” She shook her head. “But

  I was a different woman then. I didn’t have any

  money. I had a cosmetology license but no experi-

  ence using it. I wasn’t sure I could make it on my

  own. And when I found out I was pregnant, I really