sidelong glance in Audra’s direction, then continued
into the phone. “She says she has her own stylist—
her mother.” She gave the word stylist a dubious em-
phasis, but paused again for the caller’s next
comment. “Oh, all right. I suppose it’ll be all right.
We’ll be able to tell during full dress on Wednesday,
anyway. Yeah, see you in a bit. Bye.” She turned
back to Audra. “You’re in luck. The stylist we hired
to work with you was in an accident, so now we’re
in a little bit of a bind. You can have your precious
mother backstage . . . but your look’s got to pass
muster on camera, or we’re going to use one of the
professionals.”
“It’ll pass muster. And I bought my own dress.”
“Now wait just a minute, Audra—”
“Do I have to read the contract to you or—”
“But what about—”
“Don’t worry about your precious ratings,
Shamiyah,” Audra muttered. “Even I see how you
can spin this to your advantage. You tell the press
something dramatic, like, ‘One contestant refuses
the help of professional and goes it alone,’ or some-
thing cryptic like that. Hell, tell them it was me, if
you think it makes a better hook. Doesn’t matter to
me . . . besides, you all own me for a few more days.
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Karyn Langhorne
Right until America votes, right?” And Audra tried
to smile in a way that would engender confidence
and certainty.
Shamiyah wasn’t paying attention to either Audra
or the smile. Audra could almost see the wheels in her
brain turning, trying out Audra’s suggestions, testing
their marketability and finding them acceptable.
“Okay . . .” she said at last. “We’ll try this your
way.” She waved a delicate finger under Audra’s
nose, shaking her head until her black curls swayed.
“But I’m not stupid, Audra,” she hissed. “I know
you’re thinking up some kind of sabotage . . . espe-
cially given what I—what you think I did.” She
wagged a finger under Audra’s nose. “But you won’t
get away with it, so don’t—”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of sabotaging
you, Shamiyah,” Audra said with so much sweet-
ness, her teeth began to ache. “You can see my gown
ahead of time, and I’ll be in full makeup, as prom-
ised for both dress rehearsal and the Big Reveal,”
Audra told her.
Again, Shamiyah’s expression conveyed such a
depth of doubt that Audra expected her to back up
and reevaluate the whole plan. Before the other
woman could speak, Audra fluttered her fingers
dismissively as though the clothes and hair and
makeup were the least of her concerns. “Now, on to
more important matters. Disney?”
Shamiyah studied her for a long even moment,
sighed, then whipped out the phone and dialed.
After checking in to the hotel, Audra was shuttled
off with two other women to a small theater where
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
363
the Big Reveal would be held. Camilla Jejune was
there, along with Shamiyah and a couple of other
young women Audra recognized as producers but
was uncertain of their names. None of the doctors
was present, nor were any of the other experts.
“They’ll be present for the Big Reveal,” Camilla
said, “though they won’t be featured as they were
for each of your episodes. Now, this is how this is
going to go.”
She launched into a long overview of the pro-
gram. A short clip of each woman’s “journey”
through the Ugly Duckling program would be
shown, then each woman would be re-Revealed.
“You’ll walk down the runway behind me, pose,
pause and turn, giving our judges a chance to evalu-
ate you on your runway presence. Then you’ll return
up the runway, branching off to stand upstage
here,” Camilla demonstrated. “Next, our host for
the evening—we’ve got a commitment from Josh
Nash, the singer—will ask you a question about life
after your Ugly Duckling experience, and you will
respond with the appropriate enthusiasm. The au-
dience will clap and then you will exit, here, where
you’ll immediately change for the bathing-suit
segment—”
A woman with a thick wave of russet tresses
raised her hand. “Do we have to do the swimsuits? I
mean, is it necessary?”
“Of course it’s necessary,” Camilla snapped. “Do
you know how much confidence in your body you
have to have to walk around on stage in a swimsuit?
When you step out in a bathing suit, you’re saying
you’re proud of your body . . . proud in a way that
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Karyn Langhorne
never would have been possible before the show.”
She glared at the redheaded woman in a way that
made it clear she hadn’t appreciated the interrup-
tion. “Okay, when all the contestants have been pre-
sented . . .”
Audra sighed. She knew what she had to do . . .
but that didn’t make it any easier. She’d be out there
half-naked as far as clothes went . . . but fully naked
in terms of her heart and soul.
The dress was a black sheath with a halter collar
made of cowrie shells, which would have been stun-
ning on any woman, whatever her height or weight.
It fitted snugly on Audra’s bottom—the first place
the weight seemed to be returning—giving her fig-
ure a bottom-heavy curvaceousness.
Audra grabbed the flesh on her behind and
squeezed it. “I like you, bottom,” she whispered,
thinking of Art and the odd therapy they’d been en-
joying. “I like you, thighs.”
“What are you doing, there?” her mother called.
“Talking to yourself?”
“I guess you could say that,” Audra agreed. “I
love this dress, Ma. Thank you.”
Her mother beamed. “I didn’t do nothing,” she
said, but her thin face flushed with pride. “You look
like a queen,” she said, helping Audra roll gloves up
her arms, covering some of the darkest browning,
then grabbed a heavy pot of beige pancake makeup
and started smoothing it into the exposed skin on
Audra’s face, shoulders and neck.
“This might bring a whole new rain of trouble
down on your head,” the older woman muttered.
“These show people gonna be plenty mad, us tricking
DIARY
