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

The woman

threw back her head and laughed a deep-throated

laugh that many a forties-style actor would have

paid dearly to learn to imitate.

Her name was Freda Jasper and her job was sim-

ple: teaching Audra how to walk and talk and act

like she was born gliding around Beverly Hills in

four-inch heels and evening gowns.

“I’m a corrections officer.”

Freda nodded. “That explains much. I bet you

usually walk around in those awful black shoes

with laces, don’t you?” and she wrinkled her nose.

She spoke with real humor, not in the condescend-

ing way of so many of the people Audra had met

with in these final days of the process.

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“Give me a pair of regulation blacks and I can

climb stairs with a book balanced on my head.” Au-

dra smiled, deciding to like her.

“By the time I get through with you, you’ll be able

to balance your ‘regulation blacks’ on your head

in stilettos. I’m going to teach you how to cross

those shapely legs of yours in a way that will make

men stammer and women turn green. I’m going to

teach you how to sit with the grace of a queen. On

the stage, for the Reveal, you’re going to move like

something ethereal—like a goddess come straight

down from heaven.” She fluttered her fingers a little,

creating the image for both of them with a sprinkle

of fairy dust. “But first, we have to teach you the ba-

sics. And the first of the basics is posture.” She

snapped her fingers. “Stand up straight, Audra.”

“I am!”

“Not like that. Like this. Shoulders,” and she

grabbed Audra’s shoulders and forced them back,

thrusting her breasts forward in a manner that re-

minded Audra of a Barbie doll’s outrageous figure.

“Stomach in.” She patted Audra’s flat belly as though

there were something that needed to be sucked in.

Audra did her best to comply. “Head up,” she in-

structed and Audra raised her head to a height that

felt downright conceited. “Now,” she concluded.

“Walk.”

Audra strode across the woman’s studio, eyes on

the space where a mirror should have been across

the room. But of course they’d covered it with

cardboard and Audra could see nothing. From her

point of view, as weird as it felt to walk this way, it

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probably looked pretty good and she was about to

say as much, when Freda shook her head.

“You’re lumbering, Audra.”

Audra stopped.

“Lumbering,” Freda continued. “Like an ele-

phant.” And she imitated—a little overdramati-

cally, Audra suspected. “The posture is fine, but the

steps . . . you’re shifting your entire weight from foot

to foot with each step.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Close your legs, to start with.”

“What?”

“Close your legs! Bring your thighs together and

take smaller steps. You’re walking wide-legged! It

makes you look a sailor on shore leave, still rolling

with the wake of the waves—”

“Hey, I’m enjoying having thighs thin enough not

to rub together and now you’re telling me that’s a

good thing—”

“I didn’t say give yourself a chafing. I said to close

your legs.” She nodded toward the studio floor.

“Try it.”

Audra brought her feet together and concen-

trated on her thighs. She took a couple of small

steps toward the mirror before Freda called out,

“Posture!”

She remembered her stomach, head and chest and

took another couple of mincing steps. “Toe first.

Toe . . . heel, toe . . . heel . . . toe, heel . . . stop!”

Audra froze. She turned her head slowly toward

the woman, awaiting her next instruction, but the

woman simply handed her the shoes she’d just

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selected and nodded. “Okay. Put ’em on and let’s see

what happens.”

Audra walked the room again, her legs moving

slowly to the time of a single word repeating itself

over and over in her brain . . . tomorrow, tomorrow,

tomorrow . . .

Chapter 23

September 21

Dear Petra,

Today’s the day. I’ll finally get to see myself top to toe.

I’m excited and scared and a whole bunch of

emotions. I wish you were going to be here . . . but I

console myself with knowing you’ll be back home to

stay by the time the show airs.

Thanks for listening. You’ve been the one person I

knew would be supportive from the very beginning. I

can’t tell you how much that means to me . . . how

much you mean to me, Petra. You’re the best sister—

the best friend—I’ve ever had.

Now, enough mushy stuff: I’ve got a job to do! I’ve

got to get to makeup. They’re going to slather on

whatever it takes to finalize the effect for the TV

cameras . . .

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I’ll be sending you a picture of the new me in my

next email, girl.

Be careful out there,

Audra

“Two minutes,” the stage manager hissed, tak-

ing Audra’s gloved hand and dragging her to

an X marked in fluorescent tape in the center of the

stage.

“Hold still,” the makeup artist hissed, brushing

what felt like the thousandth coat of powder over

her nose and cheeks, while the hairstylist fluffed

Ishti’s extensions and smoothed the bangs over the

few remaining dark marks of scar tissue on her fore-

head. The two seemed almost at war for the same

space on Audra’s face, while somewhere behind her,

a third black-clad and nearly invisible person

fussed with the hem of her sapphire gown.

“One minute!”

Audra stared at thick red curtain in front of her. In

less than sixty seconds, she’d strike a pose and the

curtain would be pulled back, revealing her to the

experts who had helped to create her and a small

audience that included her nearest and dearest.

Within a few minutes thereafter, pauses for com-

mercial breaks notwithstanding, she’d be placed in

front of an ornate mirror and finally allowed to see

herself for the first time.

From behind the curtain, she could hear the

voices of her doctors, coaches and trainers.

“Special concerns of African-American features—”

she heard. The voice sounded like Dr. Bremmar’s

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277

happy confidence, but she lost the rest until Dr.

Jamison intoned something about “skin lightening

medication used to minimize scarring and obtain

the desired beauty effect.”

Desired beauty effect? Audra let the words wash

over