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

Reveal,

Audra. Very, very excited.”

“Doc, I got a feeling you say that to all the girls,”

Audra quipped, her voice sounding nasal and flat in

her ears, like she had a very bad head cold.

Dr. Koch snorted.

“You’re right,” he deadpanned. “He does.” And

before Dr. Bremmar could object, he continued with,

“So now it’s time for the fun part.”

“The fun part? More fun than I’m having right

now?” Audra lifted her arm to gesture toward her

heart, disturbing the incisions from the liposuction

of her upper arms and all along her chest from

her newly-lifted breasts. Even hopped up with

painkillers, it hurt with a wrenching ache just bad

enough to make her wish she hadn’t attempted it.

“You want to talk about fun, guys, my last trip to the

bathroom was more fun than I think I can handle.

I’ve resolved not to drink anything else for the next

three weeks.”

“It’s good to get moving, Audra. I know it hurts,

but—”

“Do you?” Audra would have liked to quirk a

doubtful eyebrow at him, but she wasn’t sure if she

still had any . . . and if she did, where they were.

“And tell me, Doc. Just how much plastic surgery

have you had?”

Dr. Bremmar’s cheeks went a little pink. “My ex-

perience with my patients gives me a pretty good

idea of how you’re feeling at this point,” he said

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quickly, evading the question. “Anyway, what I

wanted to tell you was, you can go home this after-

noon.”

“Home? You mean back to New York?”

Confusion twisted Dr. Bremmar’s face for a mo-

ment before he laughed. “No, no. To your condo.”

“That little joint ain’t anybody’s home,” Audra

reminded him.

“True,” Dr. Koch weighed in. “But it’s better than

this little joint, isn’t it?”

Audra turned toward the man with fresh appreci-

ation. “You know something, Doc? You’re ab-

solutely right. When do I go?”

“Just as soon as we get all the prescriptions filled.

You’ll have a home nurse for the first week—mainly

to help with the drainage from the tummy tuck.

We’ll see you back here in three days.”

“What a relief! I’ve spent so much time with the

two of you over the last few days, I was starting to

feel like we should all get married.”

The faint outlines of a smile ghosted Dr. Koch’s

lips. “I hear Shamiyah’s laying in a supply of classic

old movies on DVD, to ease your recovery. Now, Voy-

ager tops the list.”

“Along with Imitation of Life,” added Dr. Brem-

mar. “She said to tell you she has both versions, 1934

and 1950. I’ve never seen it, but I hear it’s appro-

priate.”

Audra hesitated. Imitation of Life was the story of a

light-skinned black woman desperate to pass as

white in the days before desegregation. Not for the

first time, a sense of unease stirred deep in Audra’s

heart, along with the deep desire for a mirror.

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215

I’ve got to talk to Dr. Jamison, she thought with a

panicked determination. I don’t want this lightening

to go too far . . .

“Did you hear me, Audra?” Dr. Bremmar was say-

ing, looking concerned. “You’re not in any discom-

fort, are you?”

“Just thinking,” Audra wisecracked. “And usu-

ally that doesn’t hurt. Much.”

“And what were you thinking, may I ask?” Dr.

Koch’s wry eyebrows drew together in anticipation.

“You got such a funny look on your face.”

“Like you could tell with all these bandages,” Au-

dra quipped back. “I was thinking . . . never was a

woman more blessed than I.” She considered laying

a dramatic hand over her forehead . . . but the mem-

ory of her prior attempt at that gesture kept her from

moving more muscles than it took to speak.

Dr. Koch’s expression made it clear he didn’t be-

lieve her, but he chose not to press the point. “Well,”

he continued in his dry monotone, “if you thought it

was fun going to the bathroom . . . the process of

getting you in and out of the car is going be a trip to

the Comedy Store.”

He wasn’t lying. Who knew that the process of bend-

ing to sit in an automobile used every single muscle

in the body? It hurt four times as much as her leg-

endary trip to the bathroom. Audra’s new-sculpted

thighs screamed, her reshaped arms ached and every

muscle in her recently tucked tummy protested with

every nerve ending in their entire surface. By the time

she was settled in the front seat beside the driver,

there were tears rolling down Audra’s face.

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Oh, God, she prayed. Let me stay in this car for-

ever . . . because I don’t think I can stand the process of

getting out.

“It’s normal to feel depressed after surgery, Audra.

You know that, right?” Dr. Goddard sat in the chair

at the edge of the bed, staring at her from behind

her square, black spectacles.

“I’m not depressed,” Audra muttered. “I’m in a

funk. Literally. I haven’t a shower in almost a week.”

“Clever,” Dr. Goddard nodded, acknowledging

the pun. “But you know there are some very good

reasons for that. The doctors don’t want you to

change those bandages for at least forty-eight hours

to help prevent infection—”

“I know, I know. They’ve explained it a thousand

times,” Audra said irritably. “It’s just annoying.”

“It’s a disruption of your routine. That’s part of

what makes people depressed after surgery—that

they can’t do what they would normally do. And

the fact that, at first anyway, you don’t look better.

You look worse.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she gestured around them.

“No mirrors, remember?”

“Which is also depressing.” Dr. Goddard seemed

determined to diagnose depression whether Audra

wanted to admit it or not. “Not having control of

something as basic as being able to see yourself in

the mirror.”

“Well, I guess, then, I’m what you’d call ‘surren-

dering to the process,’ right?” Audra quipped,

knowing full well she hadn’t done any such thing

with this talking-to-the-shrink part. She heard

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217

Shamiyah’s admonitions in her mind, heard her

own promise to make every effort . . . but time and

time again, she found herself vehemently resistant.

She wanted nothing more than to get through this

fifty minutes and be left to her too-dark