wings.
“I’ve got to go put on my bathing suit,” she told
them simply, and then swung her rounding hips at
them as she returned to the dressing room to
change.
And when America didn’t pick her as their num-
ber one, Audra couldn’t help feeling light as a
feather. Tonight she was an absolute loser . . . but the
happiest one on Earth.
“You did it, girl! You really did it!” Edith swung
herself around her daughter’s neck, hugging and
jumping. “I can’t believe you went out there and—”
“I’m proud of you, Audie,” Laine rubbed her
shoulders. “And I’m glad you’re my cousin. Girl,
that took a lot of nerve.”
Art picked her up and swung her around and
Penny surprised her with a bouquet of flowers. “I
think what you did was great,” she murmured shyly.
“Really great.”
“Me, too,” Kiana said. “But is your skin going to
stay that way?”
Audra shrugged. “We’ll just have to see.”
“Now what?” Art asked.
“Let’s go home—”
“Not so fast!” Shamiyah hustled up to her, a big
smile pasted across her face. “Everyone’s talking
about your look!” She gestured to the cell phone. “I
just got off the phone with the publicity people.
Every show in the country wants an interview with
you.”
“Sorry Shamiyah,” Audra shook her head. “I’m
through.”
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Karyn Langhorne
Shamiyah stared at her like she’d just said she in-
tended to commit suicide.
“What do you mean, you’re through?” she de-
manded. “You can’t be through! How many times
do we have to go over this. We own you until—”
“Until the end of ‘the Big Reveal, if not selected as
winner,’ ” Audra told her, quoting the language ex-
actly. “I wasn’t selected . . . and I’m through.” Au-
dra shrugged. “You can check with your lawyers if
you want. I checked with mine.”
The young producer blinked at her. An expression
like anger crossed her face, then disappeared. “Come
on, Audra,” she said, starting out on a new tact. “This
would mean a lot to me . . . to my career. You can’t
just—”
“Yes, Shamiyah. Yes, I can. Consider it no more
than what you deserve.” She nodded to her family.
“Let’s go.”
“But what am I supposed to do about all these re-
quests for interviews?”
There was a charged moment, as everyone waited
for Audra’s response. Audra put her hands on her
hips, feeling every moment a grand diva—right down
to her evening gown. She leaned close to Shamiyah, a
smile quirking her lips.
“Frankly my dear, Shamiyah, I don’t give a damn,”
she muttered, and swept out of the studio.
There was a car waiting near the studio, and a sol-
dier in desert khakis stood beside it, peering toward
the building like she was lost.
Kiana knew her first.
“Mommy!” she cried, breaking free of Audra’s
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
371
hand and beginning to run. “Mommy! Mommy,
you’re home!”
Audra looked up just as Petra swept her little girl
into her arms. A second later, her husband Michael
emerged from the car and took his turn, swinging
their little daughter into his arms.
Petra swept off her cap. She’d cut her hair short
again, so that it was almost as short as Audra’s, and
her skin was tanned to brown from the desert sun.
“Ma . . . Audra,” she said in a choked voice. “I’m
home.”
Audra didn’t remember who ran to whom, she
just remembered the three of them hugging and
kissing and jumping, and talking all at once.
“You look beautiful,” Petra whispered in her ear.
“Just beautiful.”
“You, too,” Audra replied.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Edith muttered.
And Audra was quick to agree. She tossed back
her head and laughed like a diva, arm in arm with
the people who loved her, making the exit of a life-
time into the California sunset.
Acknowledgments
Idon’t know about you, but I’ve always found
something to hate about the way I look: I’m too
fat, my skin looks funny, and I’m having a bad hair
day that’s lasted for twenty years. My hips are too
big, my boobs are too small, my waist is too short.
My eyes are too close together and my nose is too
flat; I have this funny little ridge around my lips and
absolutely no eyebrows whatsoever. Since I was
about 14 years old, I’ve always found something to
hate.
Then, last year, I came across a stack of photos
taken when I was in college twenty years ago. I was
so cute! True, at the time those photos were taken, I
thought my hips were too big and my boobs were
too small, and my eyes were too close together, etc.
But looking at that girl now, twenty years and forty
pounds later, I think she’s adorable. Only I wish
she’d known it.
The funny thing is, twenty years older and forty
374
Karyn Langhorne
pounds heavier, I’m more content with myself now
than I was at 21. And that’s what Diary of an Ugly
Duckling is all about: learning to love yourself, not
for what you are on the outside, but who you are on
the inside.
I get weird ideas like Diary of an Ugly Duckling all
the time . . . but they don’t become books without the
help and guidance of many, many people. I want to
mention a few now.
First, let me thank Paula Langguth Ryan and her
Art of Abundance coaching. Paula is a “life coach”
with whom I’ve worked on and off for the past three
years. She is super at helping you “uncover” your
true self and she has given me some great “life exer-
cises” over the years. I encourage everyone to visit
her Web site at www.artofabundance.com. She’s the
best.
I’d also like to thank my mother, Evelyn S. Lang-
horne. She is nothing like the mother in this story!
She’s a lovely woman—inside and out—and one of
my best friends and role models. Thanks, Mom!
As far as researching and developing this story, I
have to thank Dr. Jan R. Adams. Other than appear-
ing on several television shows dealing with plastic
surgery, he wrote a book I found extremely helpful,
Everything Women of Color Should Know About Cos-
metic Surgery. Any sister thinking about having a
“lift” should find a copy.
Without Esi Sogah and Selina McLemore, my edi-
tors, the story you’re about to read would have
made far less sense. I’m forever grateful to both of
these talented ladies for their guidance—and to my
thoughtful and dedicated
