Diary of an Ugly Duckling (5 page)

profile, the breadth of his football-player-wide

shoulders and the smooth skin of his shaved skull,

wishing in spite of herself that he’d turn so she

could see his eyes. Her heart was doing a vaudeville

soft shoe in her chest: If the man had spoken to

her, she might have had another kind of accident—

and she didn’t have any more uniform pants to

change into right now.

She squared her shoulders, imagining herself en-

cased in one of those big-shouldered suits of the

1940s, concentrated her attention on the deputy war-

den and sat, making a futile attempt to cross her

legs, diva-style, before giving up and folding them

against each other, ankle to ankle. “Sir,” she said,

crisply. “You wanted to see me?”

Deputy Warden Stephen Woodburn looked like

he’d been at work for hours. His desk was cluttered

with papers, and a huge mug, running over with

coffee, sat fresh and steaming on a manila folder,

making a dark stain. On a credenza behind him

were pictures of a brown-haired woman and three

towheaded kids dressed in their Sunday best, an-

gled for maximum visitor admiration.

“Don’t look so nervous, Marks,” Woodburn said,

grabbing the stained folder beneath his coffee cup.

Audra read her name on a white label across its

tab. “I don’t think you have any real reason to be.

But . . .” he paused to skim through the folder’s con-

tents, giving Audra a moment to skim her eyes over

his short, graying hair, very precisely trimmed in a

34

Karyn Langhorne

conservative cut, and the rimless glasses perched on

a straight nose. The man’s eyes left the folder and

found hers again. “We do have a slight problem that

impacts you, and to a lesser degree, Officer Brad-

shaw. That’s why I’ve asked you both to drop by be-

fore assuming your duties this morning.”

He paused the pause Audra knew came before

any climactic bombshell in every movie worth its

salt. Audra had just counted
one, two, three
in her

mind when Warden Woodburn said:

“So yesterday, there was an incident in the day

room. Or rather, a couple of incidents,” he corrected,

pale lips curving into something like a smile. “One

involving a couple of inmates in a scuffle . . . and

the other involving . . .” he coughed a little, as

though suddenly uncomfortable. “Shall we call

it . . . uh . . . a wardrobe malfunction?”

Wardrobe malfunction.
Am I ever going to live this

down?
Audra wondered as, once again, a prickly

embarrassment warmed her cheeks and neck. She

could almost hear her mother in her mind (
What

must he think of you?
) as Woodburn averted his face

from hers as if to spare her shame. She cut her eyes

toward Bradshaw, but got nothing but a stoic profile,

so there was nothing to do for it but sit up a little

straighter and make the most of it, the only way she

knew how. She settled her fist on her hip and leaned

forward.

“Both were contained according to procedure,

sir,” she wisecracked, wiggling a bit and keeping

the Mae West purr in her voice.

Woodburn chuckled a little and Audra whipped

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

35

her head toward Art Bradshaw to gauge his reaction.

Nothing but his profile. Still.

“You’re funny, Marks,” the deputy warden told

the folder. “Humor’s a helpful quality in our profes-

sion, within limits, of course. But unfortunately . . .”

his eyes snapped to her face again. “One of the in-

mates involved . . . a Mr. Haines . . . has filed a brutal-

ity complaint. Apparently he was injured yesterday.

Broken ribs, it appears . . .”

Both humor and Hollywood died the moment the

word
brutality
hit the air.

“A brutality complaint? Against me?”

“A brutality complaint. Against you,” Woodburn

repeated. “Haines alleges you violated his civil

rights and caused him personal injury when you

lifted him bodily off the floor then threw him

against a table—”

“Threw him against a table!” Audra shook her

head, astonished. “I was breaking up a fight—a fight

he probably started!” She peered toward Wood-

burn’s folder. “Does it say that in there? Because

there were about two dozen witnesses.” She nodded

in Bradshaw’s direction. “Officer Bradshaw can tell

you—”

Woodburn lifted his hand, stopping the rest of the

explanation tumbling form Audra’s lips. “He al-

ready has, Officer Marks. In fact, he says your con-

duct was exemplary, both in dealing with the

inmates involved in the altercation, and in handling

the . . . uh . . . wardrobe malfunction. But I’m not the

one who has to be convinced,” he continued briskly.

“I’m sure Mr. Haines’s charges will be dismissed in

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Karyn Langhorne

short order. But Haines is within his rights to file it,

and, as you know, it will have to be investigated by

the Internal Review Board—”

Charges? Internal Review? Me?
Audra swallowed

back an A to Z catalog of emotions: from anger to the

zealous desire to wring Princeton Haine’s sneaky,

scrawny neck.
Only that
would
be police brutality, now,

wouldn’t it?
wisecracked a voice in her head, and for

a wild half-second, Audra wasn’t sure she would be

able to stop herself from laughing—knowing full

well that if the laughter started, the tears wouldn’t

be too far behind.

“But sir, it’s a waste of their time!” Audra insisted.

“It’s utterly groundless—”

Woodburn raised his silencing hand again. “I

know this is frustrating, Marks, but that’s procedure

and we’re going to follow it to the letter,” he said,

and his nonexistent lips disappeared that much

deeper into his face. “The rules require that any offi-

cer accused of misconduct toward an inmate be re-

moved from duty until a cause/no cause inquiry is

completed, so you’re officially on administrative leave

pending resolution of the investigation. Shouldn’t

be more than a week, I would guess.” He curved the

lower half of his face into a grim smile. “Try to think

of it as a well-deserved vacation, not as a discipli-

nary action.”

Audra suppressed a sigh. “I understand, sir.”

Woodburn took a nervous sip of his coffee.

“There’s . . . uh . . . one other thing,” he continued,

licking his lips. “Regarding the . . . uh . . . wardrobe

malfunction? That’s not likely to happen again, is it?

Because it poses . . . uh . . . all kinds of problems. I

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

37

mean, this
is
a men’s correctional institution and—”

“I know, sir. It’s not appropriate for a woman to—”

“Oh, it’s not that,” Woodburn said, dismissing her

femininity behind another quick gulp of his mug.

“It’s a question of maintaining authority and order

here, Marks. This is a prison, not a comedy club. Im-

pressions and wisecracks are fine, but they are sec-

ondary to the realities of what we do. Just lose

weight or buy the right size or . . . whatever . . .” His

eyes found hers. “Right?”

“It won’t happen again,” Audra said quickly be-

fore the man could skip down this yellow brick road

any further. She cut another surreptitious glance

Bradshaw-ward, but if the size of Audra’s ass was of

any interest to him at all, she couldn’t read it on his

face.

Woodburn shifted his attention to Bradshaw, too.

“How are you adjusting, Bradshaw? I suspect Man-

hattan Men’s is a walk in the park compared to Up-

state, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Bradshaw said, filling the room with

his mellow baritone for the first time. Audra turned

toward him, reveling in the sound of his voice, but

again, the man wasn’t looking at her.

He hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t looked at her at

all, not even when she was wiggling her ample hips

Mae West style . . .

Audra frowned, suddenly unsure. Maybe it was

just being in Woodburn’s office. Or maybe he was

concerned about being involved with anyone who

was accused of brutality and now relieved of duty.

Or maybe . . . maybe . . . maybe her mother was

right, and he didn’t like the way she looked—

38

Karyn Langhorne

Audra smoothed a nervous hand over her hair and

then along the crease of her new uniform pants. She

licked her dry lips, wondering if she still had the

nerve to vamp up to him with the lines of a movie on

her lips.
Abort, abort, abort
, something in her brain

was screaming, and Audra was inclined to obey.

“Anything else?” The deputy warden’s eyes

flicked over them both one last time, dismissing

them. “If not . . . thank you, Officers.”

And before she could even turn to glance at him,

Art Bradshaw had unfolded his big, tall body and

made a quick, silent exit.

“There’s a speed limit in this state, mister—uh—I

mean, ma’am.”

Audra stopped short. There was no doubt who

was speaking—there was no one else in this silent

office corridor far from the day-to-day activities of

prison life.

Relieved of duty, after leaving Woodburn’s office

Audra had changed back into street clothes and was

about to leave the building when the big man’s voice

arrested her, not far from the officers’ break room.

Audra whirled around, staring into the man’s

face in surprise.

He was so handsome, with those liquid amber

eyes and perfect bow-shaped lips . . .

“There’s a speed limit in this state. Forty-five

miles an hour,” he repeated, and then paused,

clearly waiting for her response.

Speed limit? There wasn’t a statewide speed limit,

and in the city the limit was more like thirty or

thirty-five.

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

39

“Come on, Marks,” he rumbled at her, a glimmer

of playfulness in his eyes. “
Double Indemnity
, re-

member?”

Audra cleared her throat.

“How fast was I going, Officer?” In her nervous-

ness and surprise, her voice was less Barbara Stan-

wyck and more hoarse whisper, but somehow even

that felt loud in this quiet corridor. Audra could

barely hear herself at all over the knocking of her

heart. Her fingers twitched to reach for her ankle—

checking for that telltale anklet the screen legend

had worn. There couldn’t be an anklet—she didn’t

own one, but if Art Bradshaw had actually tracked

her down to quote
Double Indemnity
, some kind of

magic was afoot, perhaps the same kind that could

produce an anklet where there had been none.

I told you, Ma! I told you
, Audra thought, doing a

happy dance in her head.
I knew he liked me! I knew

it—

As if reading her mind, Art Bradshaw’s perfect

lips curved upward into a shy smile. “I’d say about

ninety,” he said softly.

That was the next line. Audra knew the scene by

heart. Almost without realizing it, she took a step up

the corridor toward him. “Suppose you get off your

motorcycle and write me a ticket?”

“Suppose I give you a warning?” he said, tracking

the dialogue from the movie, word for word.

“Suppose it doesn’t take?” Audra shot back, right

on cue.

Bradshaw’s shy smile had widened into a big grin.

He took a long step toward her, narrowing the dis-

tance between them.

40

Karyn Langhorne

“Suppose I’ll have to rap your knuckles then.”

“Suppose I put my head on your shoulder and

cry,” Audra said.

Bradshaw hesitated. “Next line is Stanwyck’s,

‘Suppose you put your head on my husband’s shoul-

der,’ but that doesn’t fit, does it?” He lifted an eye-

brow over those striking light eyes. “For a couple of

reasons.”

Audra stared at him, the spell only partly broken

now that the dialogue was his own words and not

the words of a movie script. “I didn’t think anyone

knew that scene but me.”

Bradshaw shrugged. “I love movies,” he said, his

deep voice soft. “Had a film noir phase. A few years

back.
Double Indemnity
is one of my favorites.”

“Mine, too,” Audra agreed. “I love the banter.

And it’s kind of a love story—”

“Pretty sour ending, though.” Bradshaw grimaced.

“Not many people know the old black-and-whites.

Nice.”

“Yeah . . .” Audra said, and before she knew it,

her face had gone all gaga and gushy and she was

staring at him like he was dessert and she hadn’t

had chocolate in over a year. “Nice for me, too.”

In the pause that followed, Bradshaw’s eyes slid

off her face and focused so steadily on a spot over

her shoulder that Audra turned. There wasn’t any-

thing behind her but wall.

“What are you looking at?”