Diary of an Ugly Duckling (34 page)

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hoping to ease him back into the connection that

had lived so vibrantly between them on the phone

for the past several months. “It’s a present from

Dr. Koch—the plastic surgeon who did the body

work.” He said he picked it because it reminded

him of the dress Barbara Stanwyck wears in the be-

ginning of
Double Indemnity
. He rented the movie

after he watched my audition tape; he’d never seen

it.” Audra chuckled. “I seem to have introduced a lot

of people to the glory days of film.”

“
Mmmfph
,” Edith muttered, making her first

sounds since they’d left the studio. “I thought
they

was supposed to be changing
you
, not the other way

around.”

“That’s the funny thing about people, Ma. We all

impact each other in ways we can’t always antici-

pate.”

Edith rolled her eyes. “Here we go! Here goes the

blame game. I swear, Audra, if this is how it’s gonna

be with you day after day, I am
not
—”

“What? I didn’t say anything!” Audra shot back.

“Don’t be so—”

“If this is how it’s gonna be—” Edith repeated

even louder and more stridently than before.

“Okay, okay,” Audra said briskly. “Forgive me. I

only meant—”

Her mother looked up at her, smoky eyes agi-

tated. “No, never mind. I guess I’m . . . just not used

to seeing my daughter this way,” she admitted.

“They did a good job on them extensions. Is that the

same stuff Oprah got?” But before Audra could an-

swer, she turned her head toward the window,

pulling the shade and closing her eyes as though she

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Karyn Langhorne

were exhausted. “I thought sure that girl Shamiyah

said they would at least put us up for the
night
. . .”

“Are you really my Aunt Audra?” Kiana asked,

staring at her with big eyes from her place beside

her grandmother.

“Really,” Audra said, leaning toward her with a

smile on her face.

“You sound like her . . . but you don’t look like

her,” she said with a frown. “You don’t look like her

at all.”

“Don’t you like the way I look?” Audra asked.

The little girl stared at her for a long while. “You

look nice . . . but you just don’t look like Aunt Au-

dra. Aunt Audra had skin like midnight and eyes

like fire. And she was soft all over when she hugged

me.” She sighed. “I miss her.”

The words stung like a lash and Audra felt tears

prickling behind her eyes. She was about to say

something, something reassuring and familiar that

might regain Kiana’s trust, when Penny Bradshaw

interrupted with, “Did he give you the shoes, too?”

She nodded at the emerald green pumps on Audra’s

feet. “The plastic surgeon—”

“Oh . . . no. The shoes were from Dr. Bremmar.

He did my face. They work together—they’re part-

ners. I guess they must shop together, too!” Audra

laughed like maybe someone else might find the im-

age of the two doctors shopping together amusing,

but got no takers. They didn’t know either man . . .

and you had to know them to get the joke. “No,” she

said not bothering to explain. “I’m sure they had

their assistant shop for them or something. Actually

I got gifts from all of them—all the experts,” and she

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proceeded to tell them about how her old black duf-

fel had been emptied of the things she had brought

at the beginning of her Ugly Duckling journey and

every item replaced by a trinket from each of the

people she had worked with over the past three

months. There was a pair of tiny black yoga pants

and three crop tops in different colors from Juli-

enne; a lovely wide-brimmed hat and gloves from

Dr. Jamison; the clingy silk dress and shoes from

Drs. Koch and Bremmar; the black handbag she was

carrying from Shamiyah, and a gold necklace from

Camilla. But the most unusual gift by far was from

Dr. Goddard: a delicate hand mirror, edged in gilt,

on which the word beholder was engraved in fili-

gree.

“Beholder?” Edith frowned. “Why ‘beholder’?

What kind of message is that?”

“It’s a reminder,” Audra said quietly. “That beauty

is in the eye of the beholder . . .” She glanced in

Art’s direction, but to her dismay, he lowered his

eyes almost as soon as she captured them. “And that

my own perception of myself is the most important

one of all.”

“Amazing,” Penny Bradshaw breathed again, in

the same tone of absolute wonder. Then silence

reigned in the car again.

“I want to know all about it . . . everything. Did it

hurt? How much of the hair is yours? What did they

do to your skin to get it so . . . so . . .” Penny Brad-

shaw settled herself into the seat Audra had been

hoping her father might take and started talking a

blue streak. “Light?”

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They had first-class seats . . . which should have

provided a prime opportunity for them to talk, but

Art must not have wanted that. Audra glanced at

him: he leaned over the seat ahead of them, helping

Kiana buckle her seat belt. With that accomplished,

he excused himself for the lavatory, keeping his

head down.

Audra stared after him, confused and let down, a

vague feeling of depression replacing the elation of

only hours ago. For months, she’d been at the center

of her own little Ugly Duckling universe, where

everything and everyone had been about her. Cam-

eras had followed her every move . . . and everyone

in her life had been focused on one thing: her trans-

formation, her Reveal. And now, with the flash of a

bulb and the yank of a curtain, it was over. No cam-

eras, no Shamiyah, no experts to question and an-

noy. Not even Bradshaw was acting right.

“So did it?” Penny was asking, and Audra turned

to find Art’s deep-set amber eyes staring back at her

from his daughter’s face. “Did it hurt?”

“What do you think?” Audra smiled. “Like hell.”

“What was the worst part?”

“Being away from home.” Audra answered im-

mediately. “I was pretty lonely. Bored, too.”

“No, about the surgery!” Penny corrected, waving

aside Audra’s loneliness and boredom aside with a

slender brown hand. “What was the worst?”

Audra frowned with the effort of remembering.

Now that it was behind her, none of it seemed so bad

anymore. “I guess the nose job,” she said slowly. “But

the tummy tuck wasn’t a picnic either.”

“Yeah,” Penny reached over and turned Audra’s

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head, inspecting her nose at every angle like a

surgeon. “But they did a really good job. I’d love to

get my nose done—”

“There’s nothing wrong with your nose, Penny.”

The girl pinched at her nostrils. “They’re too wide,

and here . . .” She rubbed at the bridge. “It should be

higher here—”

“There’s nothing wrong with your nose.”

Penny’s lips scrunched together in disagreement.

“I wish I were eighteen. Then I could send a tape to

Ugly Duckling
and—”

Art Bradshaw emerged from the lavatory at that

moment and began making his way slowly towards

them. Audra smiled up at him, but he kept his

head turned in the other direction, taking a seat

ahead of them on the opposite side of the plane. He

slid close to the window and reached for a pair of

headphones, blocking the sound of Audra and

Penny as well as the sight.

“What’s wrong with your father, Penny?”

The girl shrugged.

“Is he feeling okay?”

Penny glanced toward the seat ahead, her eyes

sweeping over the man’s inert form as if looking for

danger signals. Finally she lifted her shoulder in an-

other shrug. “Looks fine to me. Why?”

“He’s barely said two words to me—or anyone

else, for that matter.”

Penny whipped a fashion magazine from one of

the pockets of the heavy-looking shoulder bag she

carried and began turning the pages quickly as if

looking for something. “I guess he’s pretty sur-

prised. I mean you do look a lot like
her
,” Penny told

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the magazine. She stopped abruptly, thumping her

finger against the image of an emaciated-looking

white woman modeling clothes in a high-fashion

spread. “I like her nose. Think it would look good—”

“Like who?”

“What?”

Audra made the girl look at her. “You said I look a

lot like
her
. Who’s
her
?”

Penny stared at her for a long moment as though

she were wearing a loincloth. “Who else? My

mother.”

Audra blinked at her, shock reverberating from

her ear drums to the tips of her toes.

“Your mother?” she sputtered. “B-but I don’t look

like your mother. I look like my sister, Petra—”

“
And
like my mother. Or like she looked the last

we saw her. At my sweet sixteen party.” She fixed

her eyes on Audra, running through a checklist

from top to toes. “I noticed it as soon as that curtain

lifted . . . and I’m sure he did, too. Whatever else she

is . . . or isn’t,” she said the words with a kind of

dark unpleasantness, “she’s always pretty. Always.”

She shrugged. “Of course, up close you can tell your

face is different. But the hair and the skin, and

you’re awfully skinny now. Really
thin
—” Her voice

had a tone of great admiration that made Audra

suddenly sick to her stomach. “Well, I think Dad

thought you would look like you did before . . . just

a little thinner and with prettier clothes and more

makeup, or something. I kept telling him this was

different, but . . . you know how
men
are,” she said

breezily, as though she’d had a lifetime of experi-

ence. “Even I was a little surprised by your color,

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295

though.” She touched Audra’s forearm gently, drag-

ging her fingers against the skin as though she ex-

pected something to rub off. “How’d they
do
that? Is

it some kind of makeup or—”

“Where is your mother now, Penny?”

The girl shrugged again, but her eyes hardened

and her lips seemed to disappear into her face.

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Is he . . . upset . . . ?”

“Dad?” Her lips collapsed onto each other in an

expression of teenaged disinterest. “Who knows?

Ask him.”

Ask him
. Dr. Goddard was sitting on her shoulders

like the little Martian character in a cartoon she used

to watch on Saturday mornings many, many years

ago.
I told you to ask him . . .

“No . . . not now.” Audra sighed, administering a

swift mental kick to her own taut, round behind. “If

I’d asked him when I should have, I wouldn’t be in

this mess.”

Chapter 25

Monday, September 24

Dear Petra,

I feel like I’ve been suddenly dunked in cold water. Dr.

Goddard warned me that coming home would be a

shock to my system after all these months. She said

I’d had an experience that no one back home had

shared, that no one would relate to. She also said

some people would be resistant to the change and

treat me differently. They’d project their own ideas

about what they believe is beautiful on me . . . and not

all of it would be positive.

Is that what’s happening with Bradshaw?

Ma is tiptoeing around me, walking on egg shells. I

know she hasn’t gotten used to looking at me: She

starts a little when I walk into a room, and I’ve caught

her just staring at me when I’m not looking. We still have

a lot to talk about, her and me. I’m just not ready yet.

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Kiana’s a little distant still. It’s okay: she’s a child.

But it’s almost like starting over with her from zero.

She’s called me “Mommy” a couple of times. I

consider that the highest compliment I can get.

I’m not any more used to “me” than they are. I keep

catching glimpses of my reflection and it always

surprises me. I have to remind myself that it’s me I’m

looking at and not someone else.

Today is my first day back on the job. I know it’s

going to be a little weird to take my new look and my

new awareness back to a place where people were

used to dealing with me as a totally different person,

inside and out. I have to say, I’m nervous. But I’m

pretty sure no one will call me a “dude with tits.”

Are you still on track to be home in November?

They’re not going to delay your homecoming
again
,