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.”
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
,
