Diary of an Ugly Duckling by Langhorne, Karyn (general ebook reader .txt) 📕

Monday and I usually would have

gone to work, I found this video place, made a tape and

mailed it before I lost my nerve. It came out rather

good, if I do say so myself.

I didn’t tell Ma about it—and don’t you do it. She’ll

just say “They’ll never pick you,” and tell me to stick to

my diet. She’s right: They’ll never pick me, I’m sure of

it . . . but I don’t need to hear her say it.

When they clear up this stuff with Haines at work,

I’m going to change my shift to graveyard. I’d rather

give up sleep than have to look at Bradshaw again.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if they did pick me? I’d ask

them to make me look just like you!

Be careful out there,

Audra

PART TWO

Light, Bright and Beautiful

Chapter 7

Thursday, May 11

Petra,

The news reports we’ve been getting are kinda scary.

Are you sure you two are alright? Kiana hasn’t had a

note from Michael in a long time—not since his unit

entered Basra. It’s hard to reassure her that her

Daddy’s okay when there’s no word. She’s doing okay

though. Don’t worry, for all our differences, Ma and

I agree on our love for her.

Still no word from Ugly Duckling . . . Remember I

told you they called? They said they’d call back, but I

haven’t heard a thing. If the show comes on in the Fall

and I’m not on it, I guess that means “no!”

Be careful out there,

Audra

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“Audra, it’s Shamiyah Thomas again, from the

Ugly Duckling show?”

The young woman spoke fast, her voice holding a

hopeful edge as though she expected Audra’s im-

mediate recognition. “We spoke last week about

your tape?”

“Yes, I remember,” Audra said, her own tones

coming to immediate attention. “But you said there

were problems—”

“Problems aplenty, girl,” the young woman said.

Audra pictured her: some energetic twentysome-

thing, probably as cute as she was perky. She talked

fast, in the crisp college tones of a Seven Sisters edu-

cation, but there was enough ethnic in her voice for

Audra to believe this child might actually be black—

and not just playing black for TV. Besides, Audra

suspected there weren’t very many white women

named Shamiyah in the world. “Is this a good

time?”

“Sure,” Audra said. “But I’ll be getting on the sub-

way in about five minutes—”

“Won’t take that long. Listen, we don’t normally

do this, but the show wants to fly you out. You

haven’t been selected yet, understand, but the doc-

tors want to meet you in person. To assess you as a

candidate for plastic surgery. See, I been lobbying

that we have at least one sister on this show—to

keep the finale from looking like Barbie dolls on pa-

rade, you know what I’m sayin’?” She chuckled,

sounding worldly and girlish all at once. “But the

docs keep saying there’s all these additional issues

with black skin and plastic surgery. Make it sound

like it’s a plague or something.” Shamiyah’s voice

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

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reached a level of good-humored indignance. “Now

what kind of signal is that sending in this messed-

up, racist, sexist culture of ours, I ask you?”

Audra hesitated, not sure at all what the appropri-

ate response to that question might be. In the end,

she decided on diplomacy and changed the subject.

“You want me to come out to Los Angeles? When?”

“Tonight,” Shamiyah said. “Tomorrow at the lat-

est. We’ve got decisions to make here. This show’s

supposed to air during November sweeps. You re-

member the rules—we need at least three months

for the surgeries and healing time. Not to mention

the weight loss and body sculpting.” She lowered

her voice conspiratorially. “I’ve heard they think

you should drop about eighty pounds. And there’s a

lot of doubt you’d be able to lose that much in the

time we’ve got—”

“I’ve lost about twenty since I sent the tape,” Au-

dra muttered. “Maybe twenty-five. I haven’t had an

Oreo in—”

“You’ve lost twenty-five pounds! That’s great!”

Audra could hear the girl scribbling down the infor-

mation. “That could make a big difference, Audra. A

big difference around here. See, I’ve got to tell you.

We all love the tape you sent. So funny. The way you

did all those imitations of old movie stars—a real

smart way to play to the Hollywood crowd. You’re

such a character!”

“Yeah, well. We ugly girls strive for character,”

Audra quipped again, not entirely joking, but

Shamiyah laughed like she was an audience of one

in a tawdry comedy club.

“See? That’s exactly the kind of stuff I’m talking

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about. You’d be a hoot on the show. Just a hoot. And

I love that you’ve got a serious side, too. The story

about what the girl said to you, about not needing

any advice from any ugly woman—Oh!” Shamiyah

inhaled dramatically. “So heartbreaking! Did that

really happen . . . or do you just have the ear for the

kinds of stories people want to hear?”

Before Audra had decided whether to admit to

the truth of that encounter, Shamiyah continued

with, “It doesn’t matter either way. It would work

great on the show. Really moving. Really . . .” she

paused, searching for the word to get the italics that

were so much a part of her manner of speech. She

found it in: “emotional. I’ve got to tell you, Audra.

You’re the definite front-runner for the African-

American spot on the show. I mean, we just love

your story. The woman wearing the top you were

too fat to squeeze into at the party. The stuff about

your pants ripping on the job in front of the hottie

you had a crush on—” she enthused onward, pluck-

ing the most painful events of Audra’s life with del-

icate enthusiasm. “It just boils down to whether the

docs think they can do a dramatic job on you.” She

paused just long enough to inhale, then barreled on

with, “So, if we make all the