Diary of an Ugly Duckling (31 page)

Bradshaw face-to-face—but at least I know why I’m

afraid. The truth is Ma loves me and I love her, so no

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Karyn Langhorne

matter what, we’ll be okay. And if Bradshaw’s meant

for me, he’ll let me know. If not . . . I guess I’ll have to

dust off my evening gowns and make like a starlet until

I find Mr. Right.

No . . . that’s a lie. The truth is I’ll be crushed. I

really like him, Petra. I haven’t even been able to work

up the nerve to ask him if he likes me. And I never

told him about the skin lightening. I don’t think he’d

like it

.

.

.

and it makes me feel

.

.

.

ashamed of

myself.

I know I should tell him . . . but I can’t. I just can’t.

Anyway, it’s only a few weeks until the Reveal, and I

guess I’ll have to deal with all of these things soon

enough. I’m really hoping you’ll be able to be there—

that would be the best part. I can’t wait to see all of

you—even Ma. No matter how I look, it’s good to

know that I have you guys.

Be careful out there,

Audra

“Okay, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Shamiyah bounced into the gym specially

set up for
Ugly Duckling
participants and stood near

Audra as she pounded out her second hour on the

treadmill in front of a dull gray, mirrorless wall.

“Which do you want first?”

“Good, always the good news first,” Audra

panted, grabbing her towel to wipe the sweat rolling

down her face.

“Okay . . . God, Audra.” Shamiyah leaned closer

to her. “You’re starting to look . . . really, really

good.”

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261

“Oh yeah?” Audra panted. “According to Julienne

I’ve got about fifteen more pounds to lose.” Audra

looked down at herself. The rolls of skin were long

gone, replaced by taut flesh. “Though I can’t imag-

ine from where—”

“I can,” Shamiyah said, peering toward Audra’s

rear end. “Let’s just say all of your troubles are

behind you.” She shook her mass of curly hair off

her face, dismissing the subject before Audra could

object. “Anyway, I’m talking about your face! I

mean . . . you look—you look—” The curls wagged.

“Gorgeous. I can’t explain it. Really different and yet

still
you
. . . and that’s before we even get to

makeup.”

Her face
. Audra felt the sudden twinge of high

anxiety that any mention or thought of it always

brought these days. It was looking good, all the doc-

tors and experts kept saying. No,
good
wasn’t the

word they used. The words were usually
startling
,

beautiful
,
amazing
. She had the feeling that the sur-

geries had exceeded their expectations by more than

the doctors were willing to admit.

“Well, that’s about what we were going for, wasn’t

it?” She glanced at the peanut-butter skin of her

hands and arms. “There’s still a lot of dark scar tis-

sue in some places, if you know where to look.”

“Your evening gown will cover it for the show—”

“And there are places where I’m a couple of dif-

ferent colors.” Audra huffed on. “I look like a patch-

work quilt on my stomach and legs—”

“The evening gown will cover it for the show.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Do you want to hear the good news or not?”

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Karyn Langhorne

“Fire away, Shamiyah.” Audra gave her a devilish

grin. “What’s stopping you?”

Shamiyah sighed frustration. “Audra, you’re a

piece of work.”

“Glad to hear it. I was beginning to worry my out-

side had changed my inside more than I wanted it

to.” She sighed in mock relief. “Now what’s the

good word?”

“I’ve gotten you Ishti!” Shamiyah said, doing a

happy dance around Audra’s treadmill. “Ishti! Ishti!

Ishti!”

Audra tugged on the pin in her sweatpants, mak-

ing sure they wouldn’t slide off her newfound hip

bones and give the world a free sneak peek of the

doctors’ and experts’ hard-won efforts. She wiped

her face with the towel draped over the handrail of

the treadmill and rubbed her head, feeling the wiry

springs of her too-long hair rough against her fin-

gertips. Whatever other changes, her hair was still

nappy as it ever was, and long, too. Too long for the

short Afro style she had been accustomed to wear-

ing it in. Thank God today’s schedule included fit-

tings for gowns and, at long last, a trip to a beauty

salon.

Audra stared at her companion. “Her name is

Ishti
? What kind of name is
Ishti
? You expect me to

put myself in the hands of someone named
Ishti
?”

God help me
, Audra thought, conjuring the image of

hair arranged like a tribal headdress, with a built-in

altar in the center. Doubt welled up in her heart and

mind as the memory of her many trips to salons

back in New York surfaced. Every trip began with

the hopeful promise of a “beautiful new Audra” . . .

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

263

and every trip had ended with the crushing weight

of heavy disappointment.

Just because this was a ritzy salon in Beverly

Hills didn’t mean she couldn’t end up with the

same near-disastrous results. “Who’s Ishti?” she

asked.

Shamiyah laughed. “ ‘Who is Ishti?’ ” she mim-

icked. “It figures you don’t have a clue. Just don’t

let Ishti hear that. She takes herself very, very seri-

ously. Ishti . . .” she said, pausing for dramatic ef-

fect, “is only
the
stylist for African-American

celebrities!”

Audra thought of her mother trying time and

time again to tug a straightening comb through her

unruly naps and smiled.
Good luck, Ishti. You’re

gonna need it
.

“And there’s more,” Shamiyah was saying. “I’ve

just finished making the final arrangements. Your

mother’s changed her mind: She’s coming to the

Reveal.”

Audra stumbled a bit on the treadmill as her legs

seemed to stop pumping of their own accord. She

recovered herself and her stride and jogged on, star-

ing at Shamiyah in silent expectation.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Shamiyah squealed, practi-

cally jumping up and down with pride in her ac-

complishment. “We’re going to fly her and your

niece—”

“What about my sister? You got the Army to let

Petra and Michael come home, didn’t you?”

Shamiyah sighed. “That’s the bad news. They

won’t be coming. The military wouldn’t grant

them leave. They say it’s too close to their discharge

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Karyn Langhorne

date or something.” Another shake of the head.

“It sucks, really. Nothing like a couple of good-

looking folks in uniform to boost ratings.” Audra

turned toward her, a hard glare on her face, and

Shamiyah immediately continued with, “Well, of

course I know what it meant to you, but you know

what I mean.” She smiled, as if that erased her ear-

lier callousness. “But Art Bradshaw and his daugh-

ter are coming.”

Audra forgot all about the treadmill and stopped

short. A second later, she found herself flat on her

bottom on the floor, staring up at a startled

Shamiyah and, a second later, a concerned Julienne

who must have sprinted a new world’s record to get

across the room that fast.

“Are you all right?” they asked simultaneously.

Audra ignored them, their concerned faces and

outstretched hands. “Bradshaw’s going to make it?”

she demanded from her seat on the floor, feeling her

cheeks flush hot with something more than exer-

cise.

Shamiyah and Julienne exchanged glances.

“Why are you surprised? It was your idea to in-

vite him, right?” Shamiyah put a hand on her curvy

hip and twisted her neck, girlfriend style. “You talk

to him almost every night. Looks to me like now that

you’ve taken matters into your hands, you’ve finally

gotten his attention—”

“I wasn’t trying to get his attention, Shamiyah.”

Audra spat out.

“Don’t kid a kidder,” Shamiyah laughed. “Be-

sides, I was there, remember? Listening to you

whine about he’d promised to call, but he hadn’t.

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

265

Well, look who’s calling now! Another
Ugly Duck-

ling
success story, I’d say. Clearly he’s dying to see

your finished product,” she gushed. “I have a feel-

ing that he’s going to take one look at you and

you’re finally going to have a boyfriend.”

“If that’s the only reason he’s interested, I don’t

want him,” Audra declared. “I swear I don’t.”

Julienne grinned, elbowing Shamiyah like she

had a secret. “Methinks the lady doth protest too

much.”

“Oh, shut up,” Audra muttered, pulling herself off

the floor with a wince. She rubbed her behind ab-

sently. There was a lot less back there to cushion a fall

than there used to be, and she suspected she’d find a

nasty blue-purple bruise on her tailbone later on.

Art Bradshaw. Coming Here. For real
. A shivery feel-

ing, one part anticipation, one part fear tingled

along her spine. When she left New York, the man

had been just a co-worker she’d built a fantasy

around, a co-worker she’d dreamed of knowing bet-

ter. Now, he was a friend—but in the form of a dis-

embodied voice of someone who knew her as she

had been. And in her dreams—and every now and

then in her realities—he’d say something to make

her hope he could be something else. Something

warm and real and permanent . . .

Still, bringing him here was like inviting her old

fears into this safe and mirrorless existence and

making them breakfast.

Shamiyah and Julienne were still staring at her,

waiting for her to say something.

Audra shrugged her shoulders with the noncha-

lance of a forties film star and climbed back aboard

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Karyn Langhorne

the treadmill as though she were already wearing

an evening gown. She gave them a dismissive smile.

“So when do I meet the famous Ishti?”

The overpowering smells of relaxer, hair oil, hair-

spray and the distinct aroma of hot hair on the boil

met Audra’s nose the second Shamiyah steered her

into the spacious salon overlooking a Beverly Hills

corner. To Audra’s surprise, the place was bustling

with attractive black women—more of them than

Audra had seen in her entire visit to L.A.—but

then, she had been so cloistered, she hadn’t seen

much of anyone.

Toward the center of the shop, Audra counted

six stylists in long, black aprons bustling around

customers in every chair. They were all beautiful,

stylists and customers alike, all carrying them-

selves with the comfort and ease of those who

knew they were pearls of great price. They ranged

in tones from sepia to mahogany, weights from

slender to thick, hair in every style and color from

Afro puffs to sleek. Audra looked around. Two

more women—older than most of the others in

the room, but both exquisitely dressed—sat in the

small, cool reception area set in a small alcove

away from the window opening to the street. They

were flipping the pages of fashion magazines and

chatting amicably.

“A
lot
of celebrities come here,” Shamiyah whis-

pered, guiding her into an empty seat. She needn’t

have bothered: Even Audra recognized a few of the

faces as familiar from television commercials and

movies. Audra felt on edge in their presence—in the

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267

presence of all these women. They were confident in

their beauty, sure of themselves. But in spite of the

baggy clothes, the vanishing scars and the light

color of her skin, Audra knew nothing of her own

ranking in the beauty department. It was still sight

unseen.

Snippets of beauty-shop conversation floated to-

ward them from the main salon.

“Girl, no he
didn’t
,” a woman roared, laughter on

the left edge of her tone.

“Yes, he
did
!” her stylist exclaimed, and the two of

them fell against each other, chuckling in a way that

reminded Audra of New York and the Goldilocks

salon. She thought of her mother with a sudden

longing.

“Looks like the joint is jumping.” Shamiyah

sounded neither disappointed nor surprised. “Hope

we won’t have to wait for too long.”

Audra glanced at her watch. “I thought you said

we had an appointment.”

“We do! But Ishti’s an artist, Audra. She has to

make every style perfect, and perfection can’t be