Diary of an Ugly Duckling (19 page)

fer that unhelpful comment, Bradshaw continued

with, “Well look at her! Can’t you tell by how she

looks? How thin she is?”

“You like light-skinned, skinny women who wear

great clothes.” Audra lifted a shoulder like it wasn’t

the tiniest skin off her nose. “If that were a crime,

most of the men in America would be guilty. That’s

one of the reasons I’m doing what I’m doing—”

“Esmeralda’s got a drug problem, Audra,” Brad-

shaw murmured. “A bad one.”

Audra blinked at him. “A drug problem? She

can’t have a drug problem! She’s too gorgeous to

have a drug problem.”

“Gorgeous,” Bradshaw rolled his eyes, his lips

hard with suppressed fury. “I used to think so. She

used to be beautiful.” He paused, remembering.

“Curvaceous figure . . . womanly . . .” He shook the

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image away. “But is it gorgeous to steal your daugh-

ter’s presents and run out on her on her birthday?”

he asked, and seeing the shock on Audra’s face, he

added, “Yeah, it’s true. She stole all Penny’s gifts,

most of the money in Penny’s bank account and dis-

appeared. We haven’t seen her since.”

“Said she was clean.” Bradshaw pulled a photo-

graph from his wallet and flipped it toward her from

his seat across from her in a bustling diner not far

from the prison’s entrance. The sun was rising over

Manhattan, but his handsome faced was etched

with a pain so deep Audra had to turn her head to

stop herself from reaching out and grabbing his

hand, or stroking his face—anything to reassure

him that it would be all right.

But instead, from their booth near the window,

Audra pulled the photo toward her across the table

and glanced down at it.

It was much-fingered, dog-eared, clearly carried

and treasured for many years. In it, Audra recog-

nized Bradshaw, Penny and Esmeralda all looking

impossibly young. Audra knew the crisp uniform

Bradshaw wore as the dress blues of the Marine

Corps, and his face blinked out of the photograph

with an almost adolescent innocence. Penny was a

happy toddler on his lap, grinning wide, showing a

mouthful of baby teeth.

But it was Esmeralda who captured Audra’s atten-

tion. She still had the fair skin and that long russet

hair curling against her shoulders, but her face and

arms were rounded with soft, voluptuous flesh.

From her pose behind her husband and their daugh-

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ter, Audra could make out the curves of fleshy hips.

At the very least, she was pleasantly plump. Some

might even have called her fat. Indeed, the Esmer-

alda of this picture was certainly as heavy as Audra

herself was right now. Audra glanced from the

photo to the man before her, a sudden feeling of

hopefulness combined with uneasiness settling in

her stomach.

“Nice,” she murmured sliding the photo back to

Bradshaw, who returned it lovingly to his wallet.

“She said she’d been clean for a year,” Bradshaw

continued in his thrilling low baritone. “Wanted to

apologize to Penny and me for . . . leaving us. Ap-

parently she got a job here in the city—typing for

some law firm . . .” He sighed. “But she didn’t have

a place to stay.”

“And you let her move in with you,” Audra fin-

ished.

“She’s Penny’s mother, for Christ’s sake!” Brad-

shaw exploded, slamming his fist against the table

so that their coffee cups jumped in their saucers.

“She seemed better! What was I supposed to do?”

“I’m not judging you, Bradshaw,” Audra said as

gently as possible. “I’m just trying to understand

what happened.”

The man took a big gulp of air and offered a

pained smile to her shoulder. Audra was turning her

head toward it when she remembered: Except on

rare occasions, Bradshaw seemed to prefer her

shoulder to her face. After the picture, it was a sharp

reminder: Even if Bradshaw didn’t mind a woman

with a few extra pounds, Audra was still no Esmer-

alda Prince . . . at least, not yet.

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“Sorry,” he muttered, and Audra focused her at-

tention on the man again. “I’m furious with myself.

And her. Penny was already all confused and

crazy—”

“How is she? Penny?”

“Miserable. Says she hates Esmeralda, but . . .” His

handsome head wagged from side to side. “Truth is

she wants to be just like her and can’t figure out why

Esmeralda treats her the way she does.” His eyes

found Audra’s again. “I took a few days off, let her

skip a few days of school. Took a little road trip. Out

to the Poconos. To clear our heads.”

“Did it help, you think?” Audra asked, feeling a

strange empathy replace her annoyance with the

girl. “She was already dealing with a lot of stuff—a

new school, being sixteen and tall—she needed this

like a hole in the head.”

“You’re right about that,” Bradshaw agreed.

“Don’t really know what to say about any of this

anymore.” His eyes searched hers. “I want to tell her

mother, ‘That’s it. Stay away from her. From us.

We’ve given you enough chances . . . but there’s an-

other part of me”—he shrugged—“believes people

can change. Stupid, huh?”

“Not stupid . . . but

. . . Bradshaw,” she began

slowly, “can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he said, focusing his amber-eyed interest

on her.

Audra hesitated, searching for the best way to ask

the questions burning in her heart. “Penny shared

something with me as I was leaving. She thinks you

think she’s . . .” she began hesitantly, “too tall. You

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know . . . ungainly.” She paused. “Ugly.” Her eyes

found his. “Do you?”

Bradshaw was silent for a long moment, his big

fingers curving protectively around the coffee mug.

Audra imagined those fingers, cupping his new-

born daughter . . . and then imagined the feel of

them stroking her own skin.

“I think she’s beautiful,” he said bluntly, and Au-

dra read emotion in his eyes. “Just beautiful.” He

frowned. “She knows that. Did I say something?

Something she misunderstood?”

“I’m sure it was something like that,” Audra said

quickly, pretending ignorance. “What about Esmer-

alda?”

“What about her?” Bradshaw growled.

“Well, as angry as you are with her, you have to

admit you think she’s beautiful. I mean, you were

married to her once.”

“Yeah, I thought she was pretty, once. But

now . . .” He shook his head. “Penny says her

mother is ugly on the inside . . . and she’s right.” He

locked eyes with Audra. “Why?”

Audra shrugged. “No reason.” Apparently Penny

hadn’t shared anything of her
I don’t want to be like

you
conversation with her father. With her mother’s

betrayal, Audra suspected the whole incident had

been blown to the furthest corners of her mind.

Somehow knowing that Art had no knowledge of

what had transpired between them and the true rea-

sons for his absence erased the last residue of her

anger toward him. She debated with herself for a

split second, then decided, turning her face up to

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the man with a broad I’ve-got-a-secret smile. “You’ve

heard my news, right?”

Bradshaw shook his big head and waited.

“You didn’t hear about the television crew that

was here yesterday?”

“Oh yeah,” Bradshaw nodded. “One of the female

officers is going to be on some reality show, right?”

Audra let her grin widen across her face until real-

ization dawned in Bradshaw’s eyes.

“You?” The big man sounded awed, impressed.

“What for?”

“I’ve been selected for one of those makeover

shows,” Audra said proudly. “It’s called the
Ugly

Duckling
and basically they take ugly women, do a

lot of plastic surgery and—and—other stuff and

change them into beautiful ones who compete for a

grand prize. I’m leaving in a few weeks. Off to Cali-

fornia, where I’ll be
transformed
into a swan. Isn’t

that a kick?” she said impishly. “Me, a beauty queen.

Can you believe it?”

The smile drained bit by bit from Bradshaw’s face.

“Ugly Duckling?” he said, his brow creasing with

confusion. “Transformed? You? Why? You’re beauti-

ful the way you are—” He stopped, chewing on his

lips like he’d revealed a deep secret.

Audra’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
Beauti-

ful
. . . Had she actually heard that word fall from the

man’s lips . . . with herself as its intended subject?

“But I thought . . . didn’t you want me to talk to

Penny because . . . I mean . . .” Audra tripped over

the words, trying to find her way through her con-

flicting understandings. “I always thought you

thought I was ugly.”

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159

“Never said any such thing,” Art bristled. “And

as for Penny, why wouldn’t I want her to know a

woman who carries herself with grace and humor?

And that’s what makes you—or any woman for that

matter—beautiful.”

Audra stared at him. “Is—is that from a movie?”

“No. Sorry,” he murmured into his big hands

as though too embarrassed to meet her gaze. “I

shouldn’t have said that.” He pulled a few crumpled

bills from his pocket, threw them on the table and

rose, suddenly as nervous as a geeky band nerd. “I

have to go. Gotta make sure Penny gets to school

okay.” He turned toward the street, then turned back,

eyes on a spot just under Audra’s chin. “You’re . . .

good to talk to, Marks. I mean about stuff other than

movies. D—do you mind if I call you sometime?

Maybe we could . . . do something?” And the re-

markable amber eyes slid upward from her chin until

they captured her eyes.

Audra’s heart skipped, irregular and undisci-

plined, doing a sweet-and-low-down in her chest.

“Sure . . .” she said breathlessly. “That would be

great.”

He nodded, and gathering up every millimeter of

his handsomeness, he strode out of the diner and

into the Manhattan morning, disappearing into the

foot traffic of the beginnings of the traditional work-

day.

It took Audra a solid twenty minutes to get herself

together, processing everything she’d learned about

Art Bradshaw, Esmeralda Prince and Penny. When

she finally slid out of the booth, thrust her baseball

cap on her head and stepped out into the cool light

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Karyn Langhorne

of dawn, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of

her too-hot-for-the-weather jacket to conceal them

from the bright morning sun rays, a new feeling had

crept into her heart.

Chapter 13

“Shamiyah . . . it’s Audra.”

It was about 5 a.m. in California, and the

young producer seemed to take calls on her cell

phone no matter what the hour.

“Hi Audra.” She sounded sleepy, but not even a

little annoyed. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you . . . but . . . there’s some-

thing I want you to do for me, if you can,” Audra

said softly into her cell phone. “Someone else, I

want involved with this show. Someone other than

family I want on my contact list . . . and to be invited

to the Reveal—”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” the woman said pertly,

and Audra could imagine her dark curls waving

over her face as she nodded. “Go.”

“His name is Art Bradshaw . . .” she said, sud-

denly hesitant. “He’s a guy I work with—another

corrections officer—”

“Consider it done,” Shamiyah said, and Audra

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could almost see her scribbling away in that note-

book that seemed to be joined to her body at the

binding. “Bradshaw . . . sounds familiar. Didn’t you

mention him in your audition tape? Wasn’t his

daughter the one who—”

“Yes,” Audra interjected before they could go

tripping down that path again. “But it turns out

there’s a whole lot more to that story. But I’m sure

it’s way too early—”

“Never too early for you, Audra,” Shamiyah said,

sounding fully awake. “Tell, tell, girl. I want to hear

it all.”

With a sigh of relief, Audra spilled the story from

start to finish, sparing no detail. She spent some

time describing the picture of a much heavier

Esmeralda—she felt like she’d memorized every

detail of the woman now—to Art’s compliments, to

his last remarks about getting together. Shamiyah

listened, interrupting only for questions of clarifi-

cation, and when the story was told in its entirety,

she absorbed it in silence for a long moment before

asking, “Anything else?”

Audra hesitated. “Tell me I’m doing the right