Diary of an Ugly Duckling (42 page)

Audra

“What’s going on with your face?” Shamiyah

asked, peering at Audra.

Hours in the tanning bed
, Audra almost replied, but

she bit her lips at her recent efforts to increase her

sun exposure.

“I’ve had a reaction to the hydroquinone,” Audra

lied.

Shamiyah’s brow furrowed in consternation as

she studied the dark brown patches of skin along

Audra’s jaw and cheeks. “This is terrible. Just terri-

ble. We’ve got to get you to Dr. Jamison—”

“I’ve already spoken to him,” Audra said, truth-

fully enough, omitting the part about how she’d

called to ask him his advice on the fastest way to re-

verse the skin lightening process or mention of his

eagerness to assist, provided she did not reveal his

role. “He sent me some medicine, but I’ve had to

wear more makeup to cover the worst of it.”

The worst of it. As she had feared, Audra’s skin

had started to transition, but not into an even brown

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or beige or any other color in between. Instead, it

was a mottled mess of blotches: part light, part dark,

part in between. The effect was a patchwork of col-

ors that hardly looked camera-ready. Audra and her

mother had spent a good deal of time coming up

with a foundation that would conceal it, but the re-

sult was a thick powdery mess in the style of the old

pancake makeup worn by the grand divas of the

forties. The kind of makeup that looked utterly un-

natural anywhere but on a soundstage.

She would need it for all of her encounters with

Ugly Duckling
people, right up until the dress re-

hearsal, if there was going to be a second “Big Re-

veal.”

“Okay, okay,” Shamiyah said quickly, hustling

Audra toward the airport exit. “It looks funny in

person, but on camera it’ll probably be fine.”

Audra stopped short.

“What?” Shamiyah asked impatiently. “I’ve got a

car waiting right out front—”

“You don’t expect me to go without my luggage

do you—and my entourage?” She pointed to where

Edith and Kiana stood, watching the metal wheel

for their bags. As a familiar piece of luggage made

its way slowly around the concourse, Art Bradshaw

leaned over to hoist it easily onto a cart held tightly

in place by his daughter. As if feeling their eyes,

Edith turned, shooting Shamiyah an evil glare and

an even more evil hand gesture.

“W—what’s all this?” Shamiyah stuttered, her

eyes widening with shock. “Really Audra,” she con-

tinued, recovering some of her careless attitude, “I

remember when you traveled with a toothbrush and

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a spare pair of panties! I
told
you not more than two

guests could join you for the Big Reveal—”

Audra shrugged. “And I told
you
, Shamiyah, if

you want me, you get them. We don’t mind bunking

up together. We’re family.”

Shamiyah’s brown eyes narrowed slightly and

Audra read her suspicions in her face.

“Look, Audra,” she hissed. “Like I’ve told you a

thousand times, you signed the papers. If you’re still

mad about how you came off on the show—”

“I’m not mad,” Audra said sweetly. “I just

brought my family out to California for a little R and

R, that’s all.”

“But you’re here to work. The live show is in two

days! We don’t have time for—”

“Then do what I asked you to do and get their

Disney passes,” Audra told her in a steely voice that

would have made the late, great Joan Crawford

proud. “You won’t have to see Art and the girls

again until the Big Reveal. Ma’s going to help me

with a few things.”

Shamiyah’s eyes strayed back to Edith, who was

still mad-dogging her with determination. “This is

just
great
,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re

not listening to me, Audra,” she said when she

could tear her eyes away from Edith’s scowling face.

“They don’t have
tickets
for the Big Reveal. There’s

no room for them.”

“Kiana can sit on Art’s lap—she doesn’t need a

ticket,” Audra said, pretending for Shamiyah’s sake

to care about the effects of the sun on her delicate

skin by wrapping a scarf around her neck and face.

“And Ma’s helping me with my Reveal.”

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Karyn Langhorne

“Since when were you two close?” Shamiyah de-

manded.

“Since always,” Audra snapped back, making it

clear in her tone that if the girl said another word

about her mother, she might just be tasting her own

blood. “She’s been helping me deal with covering

up this skin issue for weeks, so I need her. Back-

stage. With me.”

“Audra—”

“Look, according to the
contract
,” she put a nasty

emphasis on the word. “This final Reveal is sup-

posed to be like a beauty pageant. The contestants

are responsible for their own look—we’re supposed

to show how we’ve integrated our new appearance.

How we’ve maintained it in our daily lives. To put

it your way, you’ve sold the
concept
as showing

the contestants as individuals, not cookie cutters

pressed out of the same mold. I’m expressing my

own identity here, Shamiyah. And after all the shit

this show’s put her through, is it too much to ask for

her to be the one who helps me?”

“Audra—”

“Shamiyah!” Audra snapped back, finding a

power of certainty deep within herself. “This was

my makeover . . . and the Big Reveal is mine to

win . . . or lose . . . my way!”

For just an instant, Shamiyah looked on the verge

of launching into either a stream of questions or a

vehement refusal. Her eyes swept over Audra and

Audra suspected that in spite of the baggy sweat-

pants, she noticed the pounds Audra had gained

curving in round lumps on her rear end and around

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361

her waist. She opened her mouth to comment, but

didn’t get a chance.

Instead, the woman’s cell phone rang and she

snapped it off her belt in exasperation. “What?” she

snapped into the phone, giving Camilla a run for

her money in terms of sheer imperious nastiness.

“Okay, I’m on my way. Yes, I have her.” She cast a

sidelong glance in Audra’s direction, then continued

into the phone. “She says she has her own
stylist
—

her mother.” She gave the word
stylist
a dubious em-

phasis, but paused again for the caller’s next

comment. “Oh, all right. I suppose it’ll be all right.

We’ll be able to tell during full dress on Wednesday,

anyway. Yeah, see you in a bit. Bye.” She turned

back to Audra. “You’re in luck. The stylist we hired

to work with you was in an accident, so now we’re

in a little bit of a bind. You can have your precious

mother backstage . . . but your look’s got to pass

muster on camera, or we’re going to use one of the

professionals.”

“It’ll pass muster. And I bought my own dress.”

“Now wait just a minute, Audra—”

“Do I have to read the contract to you or—”

“But what about—”

“Don’t worry about your precious ratings,

Shamiyah,” Audra muttered. “Even I see how you

can spin this to your advantage. You tell the press

something dramatic, like, ‘One contestant refuses

the help of professional and goes it alone,’ or some-

thing cryptic like that. Hell, tell them it was me, if

you think it makes a better hook. Doesn’t matter to

me . . . besides, you all own me for a few more days.

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Karyn Langhorne

Right until America votes, right?” And Audra tried

to smile in a way that would engender confidence

and certainty.

Shamiyah wasn’t paying attention to either Audra

or the smile. Audra could almost see the wheels in her

brain turning, trying out Audra’s suggestions, testing

their marketability and finding them acceptable.

“Okay . . .” she said at last. “We’ll try this your

way.” She waved a delicate finger under Audra’s

nose, shaking her head until her black curls swayed.

“But I’m not stupid, Audra,” she hissed. “I know

you’re thinking up some kind of sabotage . . . espe-

cially given what I—what you
think
I did.” She

wagged a finger under Audra’s nose. “But you won’t

get away with it, so don’t—”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of sabotaging

you, Shamiyah,” Audra said with so much sweet-

ness, her teeth began to ache. “You can see my gown

ahead of time, and I’ll be in full makeup, as prom-

ised for both dress rehearsal and the Big Reveal,”

Audra told her.

Again, Shamiyah’s expression conveyed such a

depth of doubt that Audra expected her to back up

and reevaluate the whole plan. Before the other

woman could speak, Audra fluttered her fingers

dismissively as though the clothes and hair and

makeup were the least of her concerns. “Now, on to

more important matters. Disney?”

Shamiyah studied her for a long even moment,

sighed, then whipped out the phone and dialed.

After checking in to the hotel, Audra was shuttled

off with two other women to a small theater where

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363

the Big Reveal would be held. Camilla Jejune was

there, along with Shamiyah and a couple of other

young women Audra recognized as producers but

was uncertain of their names. None of the doctors

was present, nor were any of the other experts.

“They’ll be present for the Big Reveal,” Camilla

said, “though they won’t be featured as they were

for each of your episodes. Now, this is how this is

going to go.”

She launched into a long overview of the pro-

gram. A short clip of each woman’s “journey”

through the
Ugly Duckling
program would be

shown, then each woman would be re-Revealed.

“You’ll walk down the runway behind me, pose,

pause and turn, giving our judges a chance to evalu-

ate you on your runway presence. Then you’ll return

up the runway, branching off to stand upstage

here,” Camilla demonstrated. “Next, our host for

the evening—we’ve got a commitment from Josh

Nash, the singer—will ask you a question about life

after your Ugly Duckling experience, and you will

respond with the appropriate enthusiasm. The au-

dience will clap and then you will exit, here, where

you’ll immediately change for the bathing-suit

segment—”

A woman with a thick wave of russet tresses

raised her hand. “Do we have to do the swimsuits? I

mean, is it necessary?”

“Of course it’s necessary,” Camilla snapped. “Do

you know how much confidence in your body you

have to have to walk around on stage in a swimsuit?

When you step out in a bathing suit, you’re saying

you’re proud of your body . . . proud in a way that

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Karyn Langhorne

never would have been possible before the show.”

She glared at the redheaded woman in a way that

made it clear she hadn’t appreciated the interrup-

tion. “Okay, when all the contestants have been pre-

sented . . .”

Audra sighed. She knew what she had to do . . .

but that didn’t make it any easier. She’d be out there

half-naked as far as clothes went . . . but fully naked

in terms of her heart and soul.

The dress was a black sheath with a halter collar

made of cowrie shells, which would have been stun-

ning on any woman, whatever her height or weight.

It fitted snugly on Audra’s bottom—the first place

the weight seemed to be returning—giving her fig-

ure a bottom-heavy curvaceousness.

Audra grabbed the flesh on her behind and

squeezed it. “I like you, bottom,” she whispered,

thinking of Art and the odd therapy they’d been en-

joying. “I like you, thighs.”

“What are you doing, there?” her mother called.

“Talking to yourself?”

“I guess you could say that,” Audra agreed. “I

love this dress, Ma. Thank you.”

Her mother beamed. “I didn’t do nothing,” she

said, but her thin face flushed with pride. “You look

like a queen,” she said, helping Audra roll gloves up

her arms, covering some of the darkest browning,

then grabbed a heavy pot of beige pancake makeup

and started smoothing it into the exposed skin on

Audra’s face, shoulders and neck.

“This might bring a whole new rain of trouble

down on your head,” the older woman muttered.

“These show people gonna be plenty mad, us tricking

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365

them this way. Two wrongs don’t make a right, Au-

die. I taught you better than that.”

“I know it,” Audra sighed. “But long time ago,

Shamiyah told me to give the people a show . . . and

that’s what I’m gonna do.” She inspected her face in

the mirror. “That looks good, Ma. Now I guess I’d