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Diary of an Ugly Duckling

Page 34

by Langhorne, Karyn

Audra laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

  “How long do we have?” Art asked.

  “About three weeks. The live show is November

  thirteenth—”

  “Sweeps,” Penny muttered like some old-hand in-

  dustry rep. “Shows that get the most viewers during

  sweeps ratings period can command higher adver-

  tising fees,” she explained at Audra’s questioning

  look.

  “So it’s really just about the money,” Art offered.

  “That explains why they’ve scheduled all this media

  attention. To keep the controversy alive.”

  “But are you sure you want to go out there like

  that?” Edith asked. “I can pull out that weave, but

  you’ve barely got any hair under that. And depend-

  ing on what happens with your skin”—she shook

  her head—“Penny’s right. Are you sure you want to

  do that in front of the whole world?”

  Audra considered their concerned faces for a long

  moment, and then smiled.

  “In the words of Norma Desmond, from that

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  great Hollywood classic, Sunset Boulevard . . .” She

  struck a dramatic film star pose of batted eyelashes

  and pouty lips. “Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my

  closeup.”

  Chapter 29

  November 13

  Dear Petra,

  It hasn’t gone exactly as I planned . . . but then I

  knew that. The good news is, the live Duckling starts

  in a few hours. It’s been really hard, but it’s almost

  over. There’s probably going to be some media—and

  some backlash—but unless I win, the lawyer we hired

  says I’m a “private citizen” again right after the show

  ends.

  I hope like crazy I don’t win.

  I’ve decided to resign from the prison. I might go

  back, I don’t know. But for now, it’s not where I want to

  be. I have too much to learn about myself. Too much

  to figure out. Laine invited me to join her in the Islands

  for Thanksgiving—to meet the other side of my

  family—and I’m going. I’ll meet my father’s brothers

  and sister and their families. I’m also going to meet my

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  grandmother. My grandmother! Laine says she’s going

  to love me. I hope she’s right.

  Art has asked me to move in with him and Penny. I

  might. I don’t know. I might look for my own place.

  We’ll see.

  They’re all here for the TV show: Laine, Art and

  Penny, Ma and Kiana. The only thing that would make

  it perfect for me was if you were here, too.

  Here’s hoping you’ll make it home by Christmas . . .

  Be careful out there,

  Audra

  “What’s going on with your face?” Shamiyah

  asked, peering at Audra.

  Hours in the tanning bed, Audra almost replied, but

  she bit her lips at her recent efforts to increase her

  sun exposure.

  “I’ve had a reaction to the hydroquinone,” Audra

  lied.

  Shamiyah’s brow furrowed in consternation as

  she studied the dark brown patches of skin along

  Audra’s jaw and cheeks. “This is terrible. Just terri-

  ble. We’ve got to get you to Dr. Jamison—”

  “I’ve already spoken to him,” Audra said, truth-

  fully enough, omitting the part about how she’d

  called to ask him his advice on the fastest way to re-

  verse the skin lightening process or mention of his

  eagerness to assist, provided she did not reveal his

  role. “He sent me some medicine, but I’ve had to

  wear more makeup to cover the worst of it.”

  The worst of it. As she had feared, Audra’s skin

  had started to transition, but not into an even brown

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  Karyn Langhorne

  or beige or any other color in between. Instead, it

  was a mottled mess of blotches: part light, part dark,

  part in between. The effect was a patchwork of col-

  ors that hardly looked camera-ready. Audra and her

  mother had spent a good deal of time coming up

  with a foundation that would conceal it, but the re-

  sult was a thick powdery mess in the style of the old

  pancake makeup worn by the grand divas of the

  forties. The kind of makeup that looked utterly un-

  natural anywhere but on a soundstage.

  She would need it for all of her encounters with

  Ugly Duckling people, right up until the dress re-

  hearsal, if there was going to be a second “Big Re-

  veal.”

  “Okay, okay,” Shamiyah said quickly, hustling

  Audra toward the airport exit. “It looks funny in

  person, but on camera it’ll probably be fine.”

  Audra stopped short.

  “What?” Shamiyah asked impatiently. “I’ve got a

  car waiting right out front—”

  “You don’t expect me to go without my luggage

  do you—and my entourage?” She pointed to where

  Edith and Kiana stood, watching the metal wheel

  for their bags. As a familiar piece of luggage made

  its way slowly around the concourse, Art Bradshaw

  leaned over to hoist it easily onto a cart held tightly

  in place by his daughter. As if feeling their eyes,

  Edith turned, shooting Shamiyah an evil glare and

  an even more evil hand gesture.

  “W—what’s all this?” Shamiyah stuttered, her

  eyes widening with shock. “Really Audra,” she con-

  tinued, recovering some of her careless attitude, “I

  remember when you traveled with a toothbrush and

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  a spare pair of panties! I told you not more than two

  guests could join you for the Big Reveal—”

  Audra shrugged. “And I told you, Shamiyah, if

  you want me, you get them. We don’t mind bunking

  up together. We’re family.”

  Shamiyah’s brown eyes narrowed slightly and

  Audra read her suspicions in her face.

  “Look, Audra,” she hissed. “Like I’ve told you a

  thousand times, you signed the papers. If you’re still

  mad about how you came off on the show—”

  “I’m not mad,” Audra said sweetly. “I just

  brought my family out to California for a little R and

  R, that’s all.”

  “But you’re here to work. The live show is in two

  days! We don’t have time for—”

  “Then do what I asked you to do and get their

  Disney passes,” Audra told her in a steely voice that

  would have made the late, great Joan Crawford

  proud. “You won’t have to see Art and the girls

  again until the Big Reveal. Ma’s going to help me

  with a few things.”

  Shamiyah’s eyes strayed back to Edith, who was

  still mad-dogging her with determination. “This is

  just great,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re

  not listening to me, Audra,” she said when she

  could tear her eyes away from Edith’s scowling face.

  “They don’t have tickets for the Big Reveal. There’s

  no room for them.”

&nbs
p; “Kiana can sit on Art’s lap—she doesn’t need a

  ticket,” Audra said, pretending for Shamiyah’s sake

  to care about the effects of the sun on her delicate

  skin by wrapping a scarf around her neck and face.

  “And Ma’s helping me with my Reveal.”

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  Karyn Langhorne

  “Since when were you two close?” Shamiyah de-

  manded.

  “Since always,” Audra snapped back, making it

  clear in her tone that if the girl said another word

  about her mother, she might just be tasting her own

  blood. “She’s been helping me deal with covering

  up this skin issue for weeks, so I need her. Back-

  stage. With me.”

  “Audra—”

  “Look, according to the contract,” she put a nasty

  emphasis on the word. “This final Reveal is sup-

  posed to be like a beauty pageant. The contestants

  are responsible for their own look—we’re supposed

  to show how we’ve integrated our new appearance.

  How we’ve maintained it in our daily lives. To put

  it your way, you’ve sold the concept as showing

  the contestants as individuals, not cookie cutters

  pressed out of the same mold. I’m expressing my

  own identity here, Shamiyah. And after all the shit

  this show’s put her through, is it too much to ask for

  her to be the one who helps me?”

  “Audra—”

  “Shamiyah!” Audra snapped back, finding a

  power of certainty deep within herself. “This was

  my makeover . . . and the Big Reveal is mine to

  win . . . or lose . . . my way!”

  For just an instant, Shamiyah looked on the verge

  of launching into either a stream of questions or a

  vehement refusal. Her eyes swept over Audra and

  Audra suspected that in spite of the baggy sweat-

  pants, she noticed the pounds Audra had gained

  curving in round lumps on her rear end and around

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  her waist. She opened her mouth to comment, but

  didn’t get a chance.

  Instead, the woman’s cell phone rang and she

  snapped it off her belt in exasperation. “What?” she

  snapped into the phone, giving Camilla a run for

  her money in terms of sheer imperious nastiness.

  “Okay, I’m on my way. Yes, I have her.” She cast a

  sidelong glance in Audra’s direction, then continued

  into the phone. “She says she has her own stylist—

  her mother.” She gave the word stylist a dubious em-

  phasis, but paused again for the caller’s next

  comment. “Oh, all right. I suppose it’ll be all right.

  We’ll be able to tell during full dress on Wednesday,

  anyway. Yeah, see you in a bit. Bye.” She turned

  back to Audra. “You’re in luck. The stylist we hired

  to work with you was in an accident, so now we’re

  in a little bit of a bind. You can have your precious

  mother backstage . . . but your look’s got to pass

  muster on camera, or we’re going to use one of the

  professionals.”

  “It’ll pass muster. And I bought my own dress.”

  “Now wait just a minute, Audra—”

  “Do I have to read the contract to you or—”

  “But what about—”

  “Don’t worry about your precious ratings,

  Shamiyah,” Audra muttered. “Even I see how you

  can spin this to your advantage. You tell the press

  something dramatic, like, ‘One contestant refuses

  the help of professional and goes it alone,’ or some-

  thing cryptic like that. Hell, tell them it was me, if

  you think it makes a better hook. Doesn’t matter to

  me . . . besides, you all own me for a few more days.

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  Right until America votes, right?” And Audra tried

  to smile in a way that would engender confidence

  and certainty.

  Shamiyah wasn’t paying attention to either Audra

  or the smile. Audra could almost see the wheels in her

  brain turning, trying out Audra’s suggestions, testing

  their marketability and finding them acceptable.

  “Okay . . .” she said at last. “We’ll try this your

  way.” She waved a delicate finger under Audra’s

  nose, shaking her head until her black curls swayed.

  “But I’m not stupid, Audra,” she hissed. “I know

  you’re thinking up some kind of sabotage . . . espe-

  cially given what I—what you think I did.” She

  wagged a finger under Audra’s nose. “But you won’t

  get away with it, so don’t—”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of sabotaging

  you, Shamiyah,” Audra said with so much sweet-

  ness, her teeth began to ache. “You can see my gown

  ahead of time, and I’ll be in full makeup, as prom-

  ised for both dress rehearsal and the Big Reveal,”

  Audra told her.

  Again, Shamiyah’s expression conveyed such a

  depth of doubt that Audra expected her to back up

  and reevaluate the whole plan. Before the other

  woman could speak, Audra fluttered her fingers

  dismissively as though the clothes and hair and

  makeup were the least of her concerns. “Now, on to

  more important matters. Disney?”

  Shamiyah studied her for a long even moment,

  sighed, then whipped out the phone and dialed.

  After checking in to the hotel, Audra was shuttled

  off with two other women to a small theater where

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  the Big Reveal would be held. Camilla Jejune was

  there, along with Shamiyah and a couple of other

  young women Audra recognized as producers but

  was uncertain of their names. None of the doctors

  was present, nor were any of the other experts.

  “They’ll be present for the Big Reveal,” Camilla

  said, “though they won’t be featured as they were

  for each of your episodes. Now, this is how this is

  going to go.”

  She launched into a long overview of the pro-

  gram. A short clip of each woman’s “journey”

  through the Ugly Duckling program would be

  shown, then each woman would be re-Revealed.

  “You’ll walk down the runway behind me, pose,

  pause and turn, giving our judges a chance to evalu-

  ate you on your runway presence. Then you’ll return

  up the runway, branching off to stand upstage

  here,” Camilla demonstrated. “Next, our host for

  the evening—we’ve got a commitment from Josh

  Nash, the singer—will ask you a question about life

  after your Ugly Duckling experience, and you will

  respond with the appropriate enthusiasm. The au-

  dience will clap and then you will exit, here, where

  you’ll immediately change for the bathing-suit

  segment—”

  A woman with a thick wave of russet tresses

  raised her hand. “Do we have to do the swimsuits? I

  mean, is it necessary?”

  “Of course it’s necessary,” Camilla snapped. “Do

  you know how much confidence in your body you

  have to
have to walk around on stage in a swimsuit?

  When you step out in a bathing suit, you’re saying

  you’re proud of your body . . . proud in a way that

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  never would have been possible before the show.”

  She glared at the redheaded woman in a way that

  made it clear she hadn’t appreciated the interrup-

  tion. “Okay, when all the contestants have been pre-

  sented . . .”

  Audra sighed. She knew what she had to do . . .

  but that didn’t make it any easier. She’d be out there

  half-naked as far as clothes went . . . but fully naked

  in terms of her heart and soul.

  The dress was a black sheath with a halter collar

  made of cowrie shells, which would have been stun-

  ning on any woman, whatever her height or weight.

  It fitted snugly on Audra’s bottom—the first place

  the weight seemed to be returning—giving her fig-

  ure a bottom-heavy curvaceousness.

  Audra grabbed the flesh on her behind and

  squeezed it. “I like you, bottom,” she whispered,

  thinking of Art and the odd therapy they’d been en-

  joying. “I like you, thighs.”

  “What are you doing, there?” her mother called.

  “Talking to yourself?”

  “I guess you could say that,” Audra agreed. “I

  love this dress, Ma. Thank you.”

  Her mother beamed. “I didn’t do nothing,” she

  said, but her thin face flushed with pride. “You look

  like a queen,” she said, helping Audra roll gloves up

  her arms, covering some of the darkest browning,

  then grabbed a heavy pot of beige pancake makeup

  and started smoothing it into the exposed skin on

  Audra’s face, shoulders and neck.

  “This might bring a whole new rain of trouble

  down on your head,” the older woman muttered.

  “These show people gonna be plenty mad, us tricking

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  them this way. Two wrongs don’t make a right, Au-

  die. I taught you better than that.”

  “I know it,” Audra sighed. “But long time ago,

  Shamiyah told me to give the people a show . . . and

  that’s what I’m gonna do.” She inspected her face in

  the mirror. “That looks good, Ma. Now I guess I’d

  better go take my place. It’s going to be an interest-

  ing afternoon.”

  It was hot under the lights as they walked slowly

  through the stages of the Big Reveal, then again, at

  live TV speed, timing it down to the last second to

  be sure the program could be aired in its entirety in

 

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