Diary of an Ugly Duckling
Page 35
sixty minutes.
As Audra strutted her way through her paces in
gown and swimsuit, she felt the heavy makeup
melting on her body, staining the expensive cloth-
ing. Her mother smeared on more as Audra dashed
from one piece of clothing to the next, but at the
end of the rehearsal every outfit looked white-
streaked and stained. In the chaos of the effort of
getting the contestants here and there, no one said
anything, and Audra breathed easier. They’d get the
streaks out of the fabrics somehow, and later—when
the cameras were rolling—it would be different.
Out front where the audience sat, waiting politely
for their signal to applaud, things probably seemed
calm and organized . . .
But backstage was pandemonium, to such a de-
gree that Audra realized they almost needn’t have
worried so much.
As it was, Audra made her appearance in the wide
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makeup room with the other women, making sure
she’d been seen as present and ready . . . then disap-
peared to the little utility closet Edith had bribed a
janitor into letting them use. It had a tiny little sink
and an even smaller mirror, but it was more than
enough for Audra to wash off the pancake makeup,
strip off the gloves, and sit quietly, while Edith con-
tinued the laborious process of removing the exten-
sions sewn tightly into Audra’s hair.
“We should have started this before last night,” she
told Audra in an evil, stressed-out whisper. “I’m
never going to—”
“We couldn’t and you know it,” Audra replied.
“If you’d just worn that wig—”
“That wig looks like a wig. They’d have figured it
out in a heartbeat.”
“Well, we don’t got time to fight about it. Help
me.” Audra lifted her hands to join Edith’s in releas-
ing the extensions from the tight braids that wound
around Audra’s head. “We have to get them all out.”
“I’ll go with them half in and half out if I have to.”
“You won’t have to,” Edith hissed. “And fix your
face a little bit. You may be two toned, but doesn’t
mean you can’t wear a little mascara and lip gloss.
Pretty up a little—”
She stopped short, realizing what she’d said. Si-
lence reigned in the tiny closet as Audra processed
the words. Pretty Up . . . Pretty Up . . .
Then Audra laughed. Edith blinked at her a mo-
ment, as if stunned by the sound, then, shaking her
head at herself, joined in, so that anyone walking by
at that moment might have wondered just what kind
of party was going on behind the little closed door.
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367
* * *
“Audra! Where have you—” The stage manager
stopped short, staring at her in open-mouthed
amazement. “Oh my God! What happened to you?
You can’t go out there like that.”
“I just heard someone say ten seconds, so I guess
I’m going out there like this,” Audra told her and
hurried on to her spot behind the curtain. In a matter
of seconds, a spotlight would hit, the curtain would
open and Audra would show herself to the world.
“I think we’ve got a problem,” the stage man-
ager was already muttering into her headset. “I’ve
found Audra Marks, but—”
“Five seconds!” someone hissed.
“What do you want me to do?” wailed the dis-
tressed stage manager, but Audra tuned her out. Her
heart was fluttering a mile a minute, but Audra
talked to it, reminding it of their larger purpose.
Shamiyah said I was a messenger for millions of African-
American women . . . and here’s my message. This is my
message right here . . .
The spotlight paused for nothing, not for dis-
tressed stage managers or nervous contestants about
to make their “all natural” debut. The light hit the
curtain and Audra no longer had a choice: She had
to walk the walk.
And walk it she did—down the catwalk like she
was to the runway born, hearing the gasps of sur-
prise from the audience at her mottled, brown-beige
skin, her cornrowed, extensionless head, her rounded,
rubbing-together thighs. She struck her pose, paused
for the judges, and then strode, head up, toward the
host for her question.
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Karyn Langhorne
“Audra, what happened?” he asked, opening and
closing his mouth in stunned surprise, and Audra
knew it wasn’t the prepared question written on the
little card in his pocket.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied in
Bette Davis’s most sweetly guilty voice.
“What happened to your skin—your hair—” the
man stuttered, sounding utterly horrified. Audra
glanced past him into the wings and saw Shamiyah,
her eyes wide in shocked dismay.
“Oh that,” she answered calmly. “I stopped doing
the lightening and the long hair was too hot. I don’t
like living on salads . . . I missed real food. So I de-
cided to accept myself as beautiful, the way I am
right now . . . whether America thinks so or not.”
And she made a little bow and strode past him,
making her exit right on cue, right on time as a smat-
tering of applause reached her ears.
“That’s my baby!” she heard Art shout from
somewhere in the darkness of the audience. “That’s
my girl!”
“Go Audra!” Penny’s voice joined his. “Go!”
“You missed Mickey at Disneyland, Auntie A!
Can we go home now?”
Winning and losing, Audra realized almost im-
mediately, were matters of perception, as much as
beauty and ugliness.
Shamiyah and Camilla were furious at first, hol-
lering in her face about how she’d jeopardized the
show and the reputations of all involved, threaten-
ing legal actions in forty different flavors . . . but that
couldn’t erase the feeling of absolute freedom that
soared in Audra’s heart the second she stepped
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
369
from the lights of the stage into the cool of the
wings.
“I’ve got to go put on my bathing suit,” she told
them simply, and then swung her rounding hips at
them as she returned to the dressing room to
change.
And when America didn’t pick her as their num-
ber one, Audra couldn’t help feeling light as a
feather. Tonight she was an absolute loser . . . but the
happiest one on Earth.
“You did it, girl! You really did it!” Edith swung
herself around her daughter’s neck, hugging and
jumping. “I can’t believe you went out there and—”
“I’m proud of you, Audie,” Laine rubbed her
shoulders. “And I’m glad you’re my cousin. Girl,
that took a lot of nerve.”
Art picked her up and swung her around and
Penny surprised her with a bouquet of flowers. “I
think what you did was great,” she murmured shyly.
“Really great.”
“Me, too,” Kiana said. “But is your skin going to
stay that way?”
Audra shrugged. “We’ll just have to see.”
“Now what?” Art asked.
“Let’s go home—”
“Not so fast!” Shamiyah hustled up to her, a big
smile pasted across her face. “Everyone’s talking
about your look!” She gestured to the cell phone. “I
just got off the phone with the publicity people.
Every show in the country wants an interview with
you.”
“Sorry Shamiyah,” Audra shook her head. “I’m
through.”
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Karyn Langhorne
Shamiyah stared at her like she’d just said she in-
tended to commit suicide.
“What do you mean, you’re through?” she de-
manded. “You can’t be through! How many times
do we have to go over this. We own you until—”
“Until the end of ‘the Big Reveal, if not selected as
winner,’ ” Audra told her, quoting the language ex-
actly. “I wasn’t selected . . . and I’m through.” Au-
dra shrugged. “You can check with your lawyers if
you want. I checked with mine.”
The young producer blinked at her. An expression
like anger crossed her face, then disappeared. “Come
on, Audra,” she said, starting out on a new tact. “This
would mean a lot to me . . . to my career. You can’t
just—”
“Yes, Shamiyah. Yes, I can. Consider it no more
than what you deserve.” She nodded to her family.
“Let’s go.”
“But what am I supposed to do about all these re-
quests for interviews?”
There was a charged moment, as everyone waited
for Audra’s response. Audra put her hands on her
hips, feeling every moment a grand diva—right down
to her evening gown. She leaned close to Shamiyah, a
smile quirking her lips.
“Frankly my dear, Shamiyah, I don’t give a damn,”
she muttered, and swept out of the studio.
There was a car waiting near the studio, and a sol-
dier in desert khakis stood beside it, peering toward
the building like she was lost.
Kiana knew her first.
“Mommy!” she cried, breaking free of Audra’s
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
371
hand and beginning to run. “Mommy! Mommy,
you’re home!”
Audra looked up just as Petra swept her little girl
into her arms. A second later, her husband Michael
emerged from the car and took his turn, swinging
their little daughter into his arms.
Petra swept off her cap. She’d cut her hair short
again, so that it was almost as short as Audra’s, and
her skin was tanned to brown from the desert sun.
“Ma . . . Audra,” she said in a choked voice. “I’m
home.”
Audra didn’t remember who ran to whom, she
just remembered the three of them hugging and
kissing and jumping, and talking all at once.
“You look beautiful,” Petra whispered in her ear.
“Just beautiful.”
“You, too,” Audra replied.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Edith muttered.
And Audra was quick to agree. She tossed back
her head and laughed like a diva, arm in arm with
the people who loved her, making the exit of a life-
time into the California sunset.
Acknowledgments
Idon’t know about you, but I’ve always found
something to hate about the way I look: I’m too
fat, my skin looks funny, and I’m having a bad hair
day that’s lasted for twenty years. My hips are too
big, my boobs are too small, my waist is too short.
My eyes are too close together and my nose is too
flat; I have this funny little ridge around my lips and
absolutely no eyebrows whatsoever. Since I was
about 14 years old, I’ve always found something to
hate.
Then, last year, I came across a stack of photos
taken when I was in college twenty years ago. I was
so cute! True, at the time those photos were taken, I
thought my hips were too big and my boobs were
too small, and my eyes were too close together, etc.
But looking at that girl now, twenty years and forty
pounds later, I think she’s adorable. Only I wish
she’d known it.
The funny thing is, twenty years older and forty
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Karyn Langhorne
pounds heavier, I’m more content with myself now
than I was at 21. And that’s what Diary of an Ugly
Duckling is all about: learning to love yourself, not
for what you are on the outside, but who you are on
the inside.
I get weird ideas like Diary of an Ugly Duckling all
the time . . . but they don’t become books without the
help and guidance of many, many people. I want to
mention a few now.
First, let me thank Paula Langguth Ryan and her
Art of Abundance coaching. Paula is a “life coach”
with whom I’ve worked on and off for the past three
years. She is super at helping you “uncover” your
true self and she has given me some great “life exer-
cises” over the years. I encourage everyone to visit
her Web site at www.artofabundance.com. She’s the
best.
I’d also like to thank my mother, Evelyn S. Lang-
horne. She is nothing like the mother in this story!
She’s a lovely woman—inside and out—and one of
my best friends and role models. Thanks, Mom!
As far as researching and developing this story, I
have to thank Dr. Jan R. Adams. Other than appear-
ing on several television shows dealing with plastic
surgery, he wrote a book I found extremely helpful,
Everything Women of Color Should Know About Cos-
metic Surgery. Any sister thinking about having a
“lift” should find a copy.
Without Esi Sogah and Selina McLemore, my edi-
tors, the story you’re about to read would have
made far less sense. I’m forever grateful to both of
these talented ladies for their guidance—and to my
thoughtful and dedicated agent, James C. Vines,
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
375
who tells me I’m “shaking up” the romance genre
with my weirdo ideas!
My husband, Kevin, and my daughters, Sierra
and Sommer, are the greatest. They put up with the
long hours of “not now, I’m writing”—and they
even love my cellulite.
Last, but not least, I thank you, the reader. Thanks
for reading—and I wish for you a healthy self-image
and, for those of you who haven’t already found
him—the man of your dreams!
About the Author
KARYN LANGHORNE graduated from Harvard
Law School and was
a law professor for several
years. She eventually gave up her practice in order
to devote more time to her husband and two
daughters, and to pursue her writing career. She is
the author of A Personal Matter (HarperTorch
September 2004) and Street Level (HarperTorch
July 2005). In addition, she has written three
nonfiction books, a play that opened off-Broadway,
screenplays, and legal articles.
www.karynlanghorne.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive
information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
By Karyn Langhorne
Diary of an Ugly Duckling
Street Level
A Personal Matter
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters,
incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s
imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING. Copyright © 2006 by
Karyn Wynn Folan. All rights reserved under
International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you
have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable
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