Diary of an Ugly Duckling by Langhorne, Karyn (general ebook reader .txt) đź“•
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from the examination, but we thought it would look
good to have the folders on the table, in the event
any of this footage makes the final cut.” She glanced
at the young man kneeling beside the amplifier de-
vice. “How’s sound?”
“I need a quick vocal of everyone to be sure,” he
muttered, sounding like he, too, was eager for this
session to begin and end.
“You heard the man.” She glanced at Audra, look-
ing her full in the face for the first time since she’d
entered the room. “Say something.”
“Something.”
Laughter filled the room, cutting some of the
tense atmosphere Camilla’s attitude had created.
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
117
“That’s it, Audra,” the doctor to her right—whom
Audra had decided must be Alan Bremmar, one of
the plastic surgeons whose offices these were—
chuckled. “I, for one, really do hope this works
out. It’s always nice to work with women with per-
sonality.”
“Yeah, but once you make me beautiful, I won’t
need a personality anymore, now, will I?” Audra
quipped. “Like I said on the tape: The uglier you
are, the more personality you need—”
“We are not rolling yet, people!” Camilla inter-
rupted, her eyes flashing angrily. “If we could just
do the sound check? Please?” And she glared at Au-
dra like the whole thing was her fault.
“Fine,” Dr. Bremmar said good-humoredly
enough, as though the woman’s shrewish rudeness
meant no never mind to him. “I suggest we check by
introducing ourselves to our guest. I’m Alan Brem-
mar.”
One by one, the experts announced themselves.
The blonde doc was actually a cosmetic dentist
named Katherine Martin, the athletic white man,
the plastic surgeon Herbert Koch, whom, Audra re-
alized with a shock, she recognized from another of
the Beautify! Channel’s many makeover shows. The
only African-American expert was a clinical derma-
tologist named Dr. Reynolds Jamison . . . and from
the way he stared at her, she suspected that
he thought she might be just to the left of crazy, and
that she needed far more than a new nose to correct
what ailed her. Audra felt the man’s eyes still trained
on her face, even after he’d introduced himself and
the process had moved on to the next person.
118
Karyn Langhorne
The rangy young woman was Julienne Rapista,
the celebrity personal trainer—also vaguely familiar
to Audra for her various TV projects. The bespecta-
cled woman was a shrink with an expertise in body
image named Anna Goddard. Audra had the feeling
she’d seen her on the talk-show circuit recently, but
she couldn’t be completely sure.
Audra stared at each one for a long moment, com-
mitting their names and responsibilities to memory.
It was weird: on the one hand, she felt like she’d
been asked to audition for an important role, and on
the other hand, she felt like a woman pleading for a
pardon.
How do I play this scene? she wondered. What ex-
actly is happening here? She tried to ask Shamiyah
with her eyes . . . but the woman had her face in her
own copy of the file and didn’t look up.
“Good,” the sound guy said, showing Camilla—
who still hadn’t introduced herself—his thumb.
“You guys ready?” Camilla’s steely gaze swept over
the cameras and lights, and receiving affirmatives, she
smiled sweetly. “Roll cameras, please.” She paused,
and then spoke as smoothly as if reading from a
teleprompter. “This is a preliminary meeting of our
expert panel on the case of Audra Marks, a candidate
for Ugly Duckling. Each of our experts has reviewed
medical and personal history information provided
by Audra with an eye toward determining if she is the
right kind of candidate for our unique makeover pro-
gram.” She paused, shooting Shamiyah daggers until
she jumped up and hit a key on the laptop, filling the
TV screen with Audra’s underwear-clad image.
“Dr. Bremmar, let’s begin with you.”
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
119
* * *
Carla was right: They were brutal. Even Dr. Brem-
mar, who, Audra’s intuition told her, always tried to
be kind, had very little positive to say.
“We can do the surgery before you lose the rest
of the weight—to reshape your thighs—” He drew
on the keypad in front of him, tracing a slimming
purple line that appeared over the bulges in the im-
age of Audra on the screen. “And your tummy.”
More lines. “And your derriere.” Still more lines.
“But you wouldn’t really be able to see the effects
of the liposuction until you lost a substantial
amount of weight. Probably about, what? Sixty more
pounds—”
“I’m thinking more like seventy,” the nutritionist
piped up, bending back over the sheaf of papers in
her hand. “And even with a fairly low-calorie diet
and a pretty strenuous exercise regimen, I’m not
sure she could lose that amount in only three
months. She’ll lose some fat in the process of the
surgery, but as I calculate it, even on only 1200 calo-
ries, it comes out to about three or four pounds a
week, or”—she scribbled—“between thirty-five and
forty-five pounds overall.” She shook her head.
“Any faster than that, and I’m afraid we’ll be court-
ing a host of nutritional deficiencies—”
“But it says here that Audra’s got a pretty decent
ratio of fat to muscle,” interjected Julienne, the fit-
ness chick. She popped a lazy bicep, admired it,
then continued in a low, calm voice. “Let’s say she
loses forty-five pounds of fat and builds up her lean
muscle mass. She could easily look sixty or even
seventy pounds slimmer than she appears today.
120
Karyn Langhorne
And she’s already in pretty good physical shape, by
nature of the kind of work she does.”
“That’s one of the things that argues in favor of her
as a candidate. Her excellent overall health,” Dr.
Koch interjected.
“For the body, I agree,” Dr. Bremmar nodded.
“But the face . . .” He shook his head and sighed.
Dr. Koch echoed the sigh. “Yes . . . the face,” he
repeated, and said no more, letting the room lapse
into a prolonged silence.
Audra stared from expert to expert, but suddenly
no one in the room was looking at her . . . except Dr.
Jamison, whose velvety brown eyes had never once
wavered from her features since he’d entered the
room, even
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