Diary of an Ugly Duckling (30 page)

anger . . . and a few other things, if you’re so in-

clined.”

“I don’t want to hurt myself. I’ve been hurt

enough!” Audra sputtered, shocked by the violence

of the unexpected admission. “I mean . . . with all

the surgeries and stuff . . .”

Julienne stared at her for a long, silent moment.

“It’s going to hurt, Audra,” she said quietly. “I’m

sorry, but it just is.” She patted Audra on the arm, a

soothing sisterly gesture that made Audra long for

Petra’s presence so deeply, she had to swallow hard

to keep from crying. “You know my story, right? I

used to weigh almost three hundred pounds. You

think I don’t know about rejection? You think I don’t

know about hurt? Making it better hurts, too. But it’s

a different kind of hurt . . . and when it’s done, you’ll

be able to see the results. And feel them. If you’ll

just—”

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“Surrender to the process?”

She nodded. “It’s a circle, Audra. Your body, your

mind, your heart. Start changing any one of them

and you open the door for changes in the others.

That’s why I don’t put much stock in people who

criticize shows like this one. What difference does it

make if some people start with their outsides first?

They’ll get to the insides soon enough. They have to.

It’s—”

“A circle,” Audra finished. “Got it.” She rubbed

the still sore muscles of her belly and donned her

best Eliza Doolittle in
My Fair Lady
. “All right,

guv’nor. You gonna teach me to walk and talk and

act like a reg’lar laaaa-dy, you is.”

Julienne patted her shoulder. “No, that’s not my

job. But I can help you
work
that Reveal dress, girl,”

she said snapping her fingers like a sister. “Now, I’ll

let you hold off on abdominals one more day”—she

showed Audra a single skinny finger—“then it’s

over. We’ve got to work those muscles pretty hard to

see the kind of results you’re going to want for the

Reveal. It’ll also throw your metabolism into gear

and make it easier to drop the last twenty-five or

thirty pounds. Okay?”

No. No it’s not okay. I don’t want to I don’t want to I

don’t want . . .

Julienne must have read it in her face because as

added incentive she said, “I think you’ve got a shot

to win this thing: the money, being in the film, the

modeling contract, the whole Ugly Duckling she-

bang—”

“Okay,” Audra agreed. “Okay. Tomorrow. Right

now, I just want to hit the showers and—”

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Karyn Langhorne

Julienne rubbed her shoulder, in a gesture that

Audra interpreted as pride and support. “Sure, the

showers. But give me thirty more minutes on the

treadmill first.”

“Yeah, I can dig what she’s saying,” Art rumbled re-

assuringly into the phone. “I never thought of it

quite like that—that the mind, body and spirit work

like a circle—but yeah, I can dig it.”

“I thought you would,” Audra murmured. “Seems

like you should be here, not me.”

Art chuckled. “If I wanted to come on a show that

transforms you into a beautiful woman, I’d have

some pretty big issues, don’t you think?”

“But at least you know what they’re talking about.

I mean, all I wanted was to come here and get made

over. Try to win that Grand Prize package. The

money and . . . the part in the movie. I could even

get
discovered
—”

Art laughed. “Discovered? You mean like Lana

Turner in Schrafft’s drugstore?” Audra could almost

imagine his shaved head wagging from side to side.

“Money, I can understand . . . but discovered?” An-

other gale of booming laughter filled her ears. “You

wouldn’t really want that life, would you?”

“Why not?” Audra bristled. “You like movies as

much as I do.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be in them.”

“I bet it’s great.”

“I bet it’s not. I’ve heard it’s really boring. Lots of

standing around . . .”

“There’s a lot of standing around at the prison,

too,” Audra shot back.

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253

“Touché.”

Audra considered. “You mean you really wouldn’t

want to be a film star, if you had the chance? To live

out your fantasy—”

“I don’t have those kinds of fantasies,” he said in

strangely seductive tone, and in an instant, Audra’s

mind went to a place lit by candles and strewn with

rose petals, and with Art Bradshaw’s long, powerful

body laid out a like a feast . . .

“Audra? You still there? I asked you more about

your workout today—”

“Lots and lots of abdominal work,” she said

quickly. “And lots of fat-burning cardio. I must have

walked the treadmill an hour and a half . . . and it

was just the first day . . .”

And she kept talking, keeping it easy and breezy

while the image of those rose petals and herself in

Art Bradshaw’s strong and powerful arms swirled

in her brain.

That night, she dreamed of him.

In her dreams, she covered his long muscular legs

and thick proud chest with kisses, pausing to suckle

his manhood with her lips. It was as long and strong

as thick as she would have expected from a man of

Bradshaw’s size and as she engulfed it in the cool of

her mouth, she heard him groan his pleasure as

though he were right there in the narrow bed beside

her. His breath grew ragged but he whispered her

name, guiding her with one massive hand while the

other stroked her breasts, bringing her nipples

erect, igniting an even deeper desire inside her.

“Enough,” he muttered gruffly, pulling her slowly

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Karyn Langhorne

up the long length of milk chocolate skin until her

face was level with his own. Audra read fire in his

eyes and an instant later, her lips were covered by

his own and she was drowning in a sensation she’d

never felt before, as every nerve in her body strained

toward unity with his. Shameless with desire, she

straddled him, pointing herself at the center of his

need, filling herself with him.

Art lifted his hips, as she gripped his chest, riding

him like a bucking bronco, a smile coursing over his

face. “Take what you want, girl,” he said. “Take it!

All of it!”

“I’m taking it,” Audra breathed, as a dizzying

sense of pleasure tightened inside her. “I’m—I’m—”

She came awake with a start, gripping the sheets

between her fingers, her heart pounding in her

chest, an uncomfortable tension wet between her

legs.

“My God,” she muttered in the darkness of the

tiny bedroom far away from New York, far away

from the familiar, far away from Art. The dream

floated before her eyes, playing itself out again in

vivid detail, and she could see Art’s body, imagine

its smell and feel and taste—

But of her own body’s appearance in the dream,

she could recall nothing at all—not the size of her

breasts or the length of her hair or even the color of

her skin. It was as though she were making love to

the man without a body of her own at all . . . just

making love with her spirit and soul.

“But he likes you, right?”

“I guess so.”

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255

“Let me get this straight. He’s called you almost

every day for nearly six weeks, offered you support

above and beyond the call of duty . . . but you’re

not sure he likes you?”

Audra sighed. “Okay, I know he likes me . . . but

does he
like me
like me?”

Dr. Goddard rolled her eyes. “Please don’t do this

to me,” she sighed. “I’m too old . . .”

“Okay,” Audra admitted, letting a grin crease her

face. “That was juvenile. But you know what I

mean.”

“I don’t see—”

“He didn’t like me before .. . before I came

here . . .”

“He didn’t
know
you before you came here. You

were co-workers, but you really didn’t know any-

thing about each other.”

“We had the movies.”

“Yes, you had the movies. But you still didn’t re-

ally know anything about each other.” She

shrugged. “Now you do.”

“But he didn’t like the way I looked.”

“How do you know that?”

“He wouldn’t look at me if he could help it.”

“And how do you know why that was? Did you

ever ask him: ‘Hey Bradshaw, why don’t you

ever look me in the eye?’ Ever say that?” Her eye-

brows shot up, giving her serious, bespectacled

face an almost comical air. “Maybe he’s got a lazy

eye.”

“He doesn’t have a lazy eye.”

“The point is you don’t know
what
he’s got. Be-

cause you didn’t ask. And you didn’t ask because

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you’d rather guess. You’d rather assume you know

the reason than find out the truth.”

“And what if I’m right? What if he didn’t like the

way I looked?”

“All right.” Dr. Goddard uncrossed and recrossed

her legs. “I’ll bite. What if he didn’t? What if he

thought you were the fattest, blackest and ugliest

woman he’d ever seen? Then what?”

Audra blinked at her in surprise. “I—I don’t

know—”

“Well, would that change or explain or erase all

the help and support he’s given you?”

“No.”

“Would that mean he couldn’t like you—or even

love you?”

Audra shook her head. “No.”

“And what if you were the most beautiful woman

in the world? Would that change or explain or

erase all the help and support? Would he suddenly

have ulterior motives? Would you say he was only

being your friend because you’re beautiful and he’s

hoping for something more from you than just

friendship—”

“No!” Audra exclaimed.

“Then maybe, just maybe, this doesn’t have any-

thing to do with what you look like, Audra.

Maybe—just maybe—you finally dropped your de-

fenses long enough for the man to get to know

you—really get to know
you
, beyond the movie lines

and diva dames. And maybe he’s found something

he values in the process.”

Audra considered. “I don’t know. You should see

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257

Esmeralda. I mean, I know she’s got her issues

but . . . “ She sighed. “She’s really pretty. And he’s re-

ally pretty. I can’t see what a man who was with a

woman that pretty would want with—”

“Audra.” The doc leaned forward to pat her on

the knee. “Don’t you get this yet?” And when Audra

shook her head, she continued, “The people who re-

ally love you—the people who matter—love
you
for

who you are on the
inside
—”

“But—” Audra interrupted. The whole light-skin,

dark-skin thing was swirling in her brain again.

“Yes, I know it’s a cliché. And I know you don’t

believe it. And certainly people are attracted to

beauty, there’s no denying that. But at the end of the

day, what makes one person beautiful and another

ugly?” She tapped her forehead. “Perception, Au-

dra. Beauty is the ultimate head game. I might find

a person gorgeous—a person you think of as

homely, or utterly unremarkable in every way. But

when I look at him, I see stars. Why? Because I see

something you don’t, or I see through the lens of

love.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Audra mut-

tered.

“More than that. Beauty is in the
brain
of the be-

holder. What you think dictates how you see it. So,

back to Bradshaw. The question isn’t really what he

sees . . . it’s what he thinks. And that’s an easy one

to answer.” She settled herself back into her arm-

chair and beamed a warm smile at Audra. “All you

have to do to find out what a man thinks is screw

your courage to its sticking place.”

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Karyn Langhorne

“Screw my courage . . . ?”

“
Ask
him, Audra,” Dr. Goddard said. “Not as

Bette Davis or Mae West. As yourself. Just ask him.”

Audra fixed the doctor with a small smile. “Easy

to say, doc. Easy to say, hard to do.”

Chapter 22

August 30

Dear Petra,

Things have settled into a rather dull routine: workout,

sessions with Dr. Goddard and other experts, phone

conversations with Art, emails to you. Other than

that, I watch TV, work in my journal, try to get my

head around all the changes I can expect when I get

home.

I think I’m close to your coloring, skinwise. And I

know I’m pretty thin. Even without mirrors, some things

are hard to miss. I know I must look really different . . .

but I feel really different, too. I’m trying hard to “be

myself

” as they say. It’s surprisingly difficult. Who

knew? I’m still scared of all kinds of things—like

working it out with Ma, figuring out how to handle