Diary of an Ugly Duckling (14 page)

Or it would have, had it not been for the light

poles dotting the carpet, angling their theatrical

lighting implements toward the table from every

conceivable vantage point.

“Are there going to be cameras?” Audra asked,

raising her eyebrows in surprise.

“Is this
Hollywood
?” Shamiyah shot back and this

time there was no mistaking the anxiety in her

voice. “You read the papers you signed, right? We

tape just about everything—”

“But I thought this was preliminary?”

“If you’re willing to do what they want, it won’t

be,” Shamiyah said cryptically, then took a seat far

away, leaving a gap of at least a half dozen chairs be-

tween them.

Cameras. Audra let the idea sink in. Somehow,

from what Shamiyah had said, she hadn’t expected

there to be cameras at this extremely preliminary

stage . . . but then, as Shamiyah had also said, this

was
Hollywood, and
Ugly Duckling
was a television

show.

“Most of this footage probably won’t get used . . .

but you never know,” Shamiyah said as if she real-

ized the coldness of her earlier comments. “I’d

rather have it than wish I had it, you know? Besides,

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you signed the papers.” She shrugged her shoul-

ders. “We own your image and your story now . . . at

least for a while.”

Audra nodded like she was in the know, even as

another creepy feeling, like a footstep on her grave,

crept down her back. Even the image of her trans-

formed self wasn’t enough to dissipate it. She shud-

dered in spite of herself, searching for an anchor to

banish fear and root her in the present moment.

“Why are you sitting way down there?” Audra

asked, focusing all of her attention on the other

woman. “Did my deodorant quit or something?”

She sniffed at her pits, tossing a smile at Shamiyah.

“I know it’s been a tough morning, but Carla did

douse me in a pool of water just before I came back

up here.”

Shamiyah smiled and opened her mouth like she

was about to answer, but then the door opened and

the sound of other voices filled the room.

The first to enter was a smallish, wiry-looking

white man with dark hair on both his head and his

chin, and a white lab coat over a dress shirt and tie.

His lips quirked into a quick smile as he spotted Au-

dra at her place at the top of the table, but he said

nothing, just quickly took the first seat on her left.

Three more lab-coated professionals followed: a

blonde woman who looked more like a TV soap-

opera version of a doctor than most of the actual

ones Audra had met, then a gray-haired older man

with a tough action-hero physique, and last, a

stocky, barrel-chested black man whose shaved

dome of a head instantly reminded her of Art. All of

the white-coated figures looked familiar . . . but it

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

113

was the black man who locked eyes with Audra in a

protracted stare, as if he could see through to her

skeleton.

She didn’t have time to explore that feeling, how-

ever, because following the white-coated figures was

a whole crew of others. A rangy, muscular woman

wearing the kind of crop top that only a woman

with a flat six-pack of a stomach could carry off

swept in, fussing with a straight mass of shoulder-

length black hair. She was followed by another trim

woman, her short, gray hair worn close to her head,

who seemed more interested in the sheaf of white

paper in her hand than her fellow human beings in

the room. Two more women followed her: a petite

brunette woman wearing a pair of expensive-looking

eyeglasses and a sober blue suit who smiled at Au-

dra as she took a seat by Shamiyah on the left side of

the table, and a Hispanic-looking woman with a

mass of henna-colored hair streaming down her

back. She carried a thick clipboard jammed with pa-

per and was talking a mile a minute to someone be-

hind her. That “someone” turned out to be not just a

single person but an army of young-looking men

and women holding devices of all kinds. Two black

professional cameras rested on the shoulders of two

of the men, while two others carried some kind of

sound devices that looked like sophisticated ampli-

fiers. A set of young women carried what appeared

to be microphones dangling from a couple of long

silver poles. To her surprise, there were several

younger men holding nothing at all, and what ap-

peared to be a small army of young women holding

little black boxes Audra did not recognize until they

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plopped themselves in front of each of the white-

coated figures and proceeded to open them, reveal-

ing a bigger collection of makeup, makeup brushes

and makeup paraphernalia than Audra had ever

seen outside a department store in her life.

“Shamiyah!” The Latina shouted the name, an

edge in her voice that made Audra jump in surprise.

The woman sounded like a furious drill instructor

on a bad hair day. Shamiyah popped to her feet like

an automated soldier, an expression of out-and-out

fear on her face that didn’t jibe with her earlier

confidence.

“Yes, Camilla?”

“I thought I told you to arrange the chairs so that

the cameras can get the entire panel at once—”

“I tried but—”

“I don’t want to hear that! I want to see the chairs

arranged so the camera can pick up the entire panel

at once!” Camilla nearly shouted, snapping her fin-

gers with impatience.

“But—” Shamiyah began again until Camilla shot

her a withering look. Shamiyah folded her lips.

“That’s my fault,” the black-haired doctor said

mildly, rising. “I asked if we could hold this meet-

ing here because my schedule is so tight . . . but the

table’s not long enough for us to get that kind of

shot, Camilla. Do you think we can figure out an-

other way to get what you need?” His eyes flickered

around the room again. “I see you’ve got two cam-

eras, so, maybe we can station one guy at each end

of the room and—”

“Thanks, Alan. I’m sure we’ll figure something

out,” Camilla gave him a warm enough smile, shot

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

115

Shamiyah another evil glance, then addressed the

production crew. “Maybe if we can station cameras

at both ends of the room?” She offered, repeating the

good doctor’s suggestion verbatim. “Don’t worry

about the images on the TV, we can edit them in

later. And for the most part, let’s not worry about

shooting the subject. If we use this footage at all, it

will be for the segment when the panel of experts

discusses the necessary changes, so what she says

won’t matter—”

“Camilla!” Shamiyah hissed, jerking her head to-

ward Audra.

Camilla stared blankly at her like she had no idea

what Shamiyah’s problem might be.

“Uh . . .
this
is Audra Marks,” she offered in a

prompting sort of tone as if to remind the woman

that her “subject” had a name.

Audra prepared her face for greeting . . . but the

woman never even turned in her direction.

“I know who she is,” Camilla said, taking the first

seat on Audra’s right and leaning back to allow a

young makeup artist with blue dye spiking her hair

to do her thing. “We’ll tape an introduction when

she arrives for surgery,” she muttered as the girl dot-

ted and dabbed and swiped colors over her face.

“That’s supposed to be our first meeting, and it’ll be

more authentic that way.”

“But—”

Camilla waved her fingers in impatient dismissal.

“She’s just here for us to look at today,” she snapped.

“If she doesn’t agree to the proposal, we’re not go-

ing to take her anyway, so—”

“So, the sooner we get on with the discussion

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Karyn Langhorne

process, the better for all involved,” interrupted a

sonorous male voice.

The entire table seem to turn as a group toward

the speaker. Audra knew without having heard it

before that the voice belonged to the black doctor.

“You’re absolutely right, Dr. Jamison,” Camilla

said, using her deferential tone again. She shoved

the makeup girl aside and tossed her mane of

thick hair again before opening her notebook. She

snapped her fingers, shooing the makeup crew out

of the room, and summoning Shamiyah to her side

in a single gesture. Taking her cue, Shamiyah pro-

ceeded to dole out several small folders to the men

and women seated around the table as though she

were the secretary, and not a producer in her own

right. Audra watched in confusion, feeling once

again that nagging uncertainty, but she kept her

mouth shut.

“I trust you’ve all had a chance to review the data

from the examination, but we thought it would look

good to have the folders on the table, in the event

any of this footage makes the final cut.” She glanced

at the young man kneeling beside the amplifier de-

vice. “How’s sound?”

“I need a quick vocal of everyone to be sure,” he

muttered, sounding like he, too, was eager for this

session to begin and end.

“You heard the man.” She glanced at Audra, look-

ing her full in the face for the first time since she’d

entered the room. “Say something.”

“Something.”

Laughter filled the room, cutting some of the

tense atmosphere Camilla’s attitude had created.

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

117

“That’s it, Audra,” the doctor to her right—whom

Audra had decided must be Alan Bremmar, one of

the plastic surgeons whose offices these were—

chuckled. “I, for one, really do hope this works

out. It’s always nice to work with women with per-

sonality.”

“Yeah, but once you make me beautiful, I won’t

need a personality anymore, now, will I?” Audra

quipped. “Like I said on the tape: The uglier you

are, the more personality you need—”

“We are not rolling yet, people!” Camilla inter-

rupted, her eyes flashing angrily. “If we could just

do the sound check? Please?” And she glared at Au-

dra like the whole thing was her fault.

“Fine,” Dr. Bremmar said good-humoredly

enough, as though the woman’s shrewish rudeness

meant no never mind to him. “I suggest we check by

introducing ourselves to our guest. I’m Alan Brem-

mar.”

One by one, the experts announced themselves.

The blonde doc was actually a cosmetic dentist

named Katherine Martin, the athletic white man,

the plastic surgeon Herbert Koch, whom, Audra re-

alized with a shock, she recognized from another of

the Beautify! Channel’s many makeover shows. The

only African-American expert was a clinical derma-

tologist named Dr. Reynolds Jamison . . . and from

the way he stared at her, she suspected that

he thought she might be just to the left of crazy, and

that she needed far more than a new nose to correct

what ailed her. Audra felt the man’s eyes still trained

on her face, even after he’d introduced himself and

the process had moved on to the next person.

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Karyn Langhorne

The rangy young woman was Julienne Rapista,

the celebrity personal trainer—also vaguely familiar

to Audra for her various TV projects. The bespecta-

cled woman was a shrink with an expertise in body

image named Anna Goddard. Audra had the feeling

she’d seen her on the talk-show circuit recently, but

she couldn’t be completely sure.

Audra stared at each one for a long moment, com-

mitting their names and responsibilities to memory.

It was weird: on the one hand, she felt like she’d

been asked to audition for an important role, and on

the other hand, she felt like a woman pleading for a

pardon.

How do I play this scene?
she wondered.
What ex-

actly is happening here?
She tried to ask Shamiyah

with her eyes . . . but the woman had her face in her

own copy of the file and didn’t look up.

“Good,” the sound guy said, showing Camilla—

who still hadn’t introduced herself—his thumb.

“You guys ready?” Camilla’s steely gaze swept over

the cameras and lights, and receiving affirmatives, she

smiled sweetly. “Roll cameras, please.” She paused,

and then spoke as smoothly as if reading from a

teleprompter. “This is a preliminary meeting of our

expert panel on the case of Audra Marks, a candidate

for
Ugly Duckling
. Each of our experts has reviewed

medical and personal history information provided

by Audra with an eye toward determining if she is the

right kind of candidate for our unique makeover pro-

gram.” She paused, shooting Shamiyah daggers until