Diary of an Ugly Duckling Read online

  fabric of her blouse. Audra’s breath caught in her

  throat: She was wearing the same top Audra had

  struggled so mightily to fit into the day before, but

  clearly, based on the delicate bones of her shoulders

  and the thinness of her, in a very much smaller size.

  A tiny flare sprang to life in Audra’s soul, burning

  with the unfairness of it all . . . and then the woman

  locked eyes with her.

  “Audra Marks,” Art Bradshaw turned toward the

  woman, his eyes shining with an emotion Audra

  thought must be desire, but she couldn’t be certain

  in the low lights. “I’d like you to meet Esmeralda

  Prince.”

  Esmeralda Prince. Esmeralda Prince. The name

  tripped off the tongue, made little skipping sounds

  through the mind. It was a pretty name . . . one that

  suited her, conjuring as it did the very kind of

  smoky, distant beauty this woman was in possession

  of. Audra stared at her, drinking in every detail of

  her features, from the perfect café au lait of her skin

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  to the sculpted bones of her cheeks and the way the

  designer blouse hung as perfectly off her shoulder

  as it had on the boutique mannekin. Audra realized

  that the top she’d wanted to buy wasn’t a top at all,

  but a tunic—and Esmeralda wore it like a dress,

  with nothing beneath it but a pair of stiletto heels.

  Audra watched her green eyes, shadowed with dra-

  matic makeup as they flickered with some unspo-

  ken thought and wondered if there were enough

  makeup on the planet to make her own face look

  like that.

  Esmeralda Prince appraised Audra dispassion-

  ately as she quirked an exquisitely shaped eyebrow

  over a lovely sea-green eye, then shook her dark

  tresses.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said in a husky, sexy

  voice.

  With a fresh stab of ugliness, Audra felt the con-

  trast. Standing side by side, Esmeralda was like a

  sunrise and Audra the deepest midnight; Esmeralda

  was a leggy twig . . . and Audra a dumpy donut, a

  hole in her center where her heart should have been.

  But it wasn’t the voice or the woman’s obvious

  beauty that made a sharp pain skewer her heart like

  a shish kebab. It was the way Art Bradshaw’s hand

  curved over the woman’s shoulder, the way his eyes

  locked on her face when she spoke, even though she

  wasn’t looking at him.

  Art Bradshaw was completely in this elegant

  woman’s thrall . . . in the same fascinated way Au-

  dra was in his.

  Queen of Denial . . . her mother murmured in her

  ear. Queenie D . . .

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  Looking at the two of them was like a rock in the

  face of her perfect fantasy. Audra watched her illu-

  sions fracture and shatter like so much glass.

  But there they were, staring at her, waiting for her

  to say something. Audra suppressed the thousand

  needles of mortifications prickling beneath her skin,

  and tossed her head, diva-style.

  “Charmed, darling,” she purred, offering a limp

  hand in perfect imitation of the silver screen legend.

  “Bette Davis,” Bradshaw said immediately, his

  smooth low voice rumbling over the hip-hop beat

  surrounding them. To Esmeralda: “Audra’s a fan of

  the old movies.”

  Esmeralda’s eyebrow arched even higher as she

  said in a not entirely pleasant tone: “You two would

  be perfect for each other.” She reached for a small,

  shimmery handbag resting on the table. “I’ll be in

  the ladies’.”

  There was an awkward pause as she shrugged

  Bradshaw’s hand from her shoulder and stalked

  away.

  Art Bradshaw frowned. “Don’t mind her,” he be-

  gan, his eyes following the sway of the woman’s

  hips as she disappeared. “She’s—”

  “Rude,” a youthful voice completed the sentence,

  replete with attitude.

  Bradshaw turned toward the table behind him. In

  the dim candlelight, a teenage girl in a relatively de-

  mure black dress hunched over a soda, her shoul-

  ders drawn tight to her shoulders, as though trying

  to blend into the scenery.

  “Cut it out, Penny,” Bradshaw said, warning in

  his tone.

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  “But it’s true, Dad—”

  “No, it’s not—”

  “She only gets away with it because she’s pretty,”

  Penny insisted. “The rules are always different if

  you’re pretty enough—”

  “That’s enough, Penny,” Bradshaw snapped,

  sounding at the crust of his patience. “Now come

  and say hello to Ms. Marks.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Now!” Bradshaw barked, making it clear that

  that remaining crust of his patience had now been

  consumed. Even over the loud music, several youth-

  ful heads turned toward them.

  Penny slid out of her chair, rolling her eyes. “Gee,

  thanks, Dad,” she hissed. “It’s bad enough we’re

  throwing this stupid party in the first place, do you

  have to humiliate me, too?”

  She was nearly as tall as her father—at least five

  foot eleven if not a full 6 feet—and as wide-

  shouldered and muscular, without being fat, also

  like her father. She had the man’s deep, amber eyes

  and even, milk-chocolate skin, the kind of features

  that would mature into a striking kind of female

  handsomeness that would have its own admirers in

  time. Audra couldn’t stop herself from thinking

  how much she looked like her father, which pro-

  bably would have been fine if the girl had been a

  boy. Under the circumstances, however, Audra sus-

  pected looking so much like Daddy might be a

  problem.

  “Audra Marks, my daughter, Penny Bradshaw.”

  Audra hitched the yellow shawl over her shoul-

  der again and fumbled with her tiny new purse,

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  67

  pulling out the small wrapped box and stretching it

  toward the girl. “Happy birthday.”

  Penny Bradshaw blinked her light brown eyes at

  Audra for a long second, then turned to her father,

  shaking her head in dismay. “Oh, Dad,” she whined

  in an utterly teenaged way. “Not again!”

  Bradshaw’s frown deepened. “What are you—”

  “I want to go home,” Penny announced, and

  without so much as a “how do you do” she stomped

  away from them, elbowing her way across the dance

  floor and out of sight.

  “And she calls other people rude,” Bradshaw

  muttered under his breath, before giving Audra his

  eyes for the brief second it took him to say, “Don’t

  mind her. She’s sixteen.” He frowned toward the

  ladies’ room, and kept his eyes in that direction as

  he continued, “A drink?”

&nb
sp; I want to go home, too, Audra thought. Right now. I

  want to rip off this stupid top and the silly pointed high-

  heeled shoes and—

  “No, I can’t stay,” she said quickly, before the last

  of her bravura evaporated and she melted into a

  puddle of snuffling tears. “Silly me, I forgot I had a

  prior engagement. A . . . friend of mine . . .” she con-

  tinued conjuring a quick lie. “Bachelorette party.

  Wild night ahead, you know?”

  Art Bradshaw wasn’t listening. His head swung

  from the hallway where the lovely Esmeralda Prince

  had disappeared to the dance floor, where his

  daughter had vanished from view. “Uh-huh,” he

  muttered.

  Audra’s heart sank like the Titanic, settling itself

  somewhere near the pit of her stomach. She felt tired

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  and sick and sad and lonelier than she could ever re-

  member.

  “I’ll just . . . put this . . . here,” she said, lowering

  the birthday present to the table behind him.

  Bradshaw sighed and swung his face toward

  Audra.

  “Sorry, Marks. She’s been acting like this ever

  since Esmeralda showed up—”

  “No problem,” Audra said, not wanting hear any

  more about Esmeralda Prince than was strictly

  necessary—especially since the only thing that re-

  ally mattered about the woman was abundantly

  clear from the expression of concern on Bradshaw’s

  face—and the chick had only gone to the ladies’

  room. Audra made her shoulders a little more

  square and her upper lip a little stiffer than she felt.

  “Good night, Bradshaw.” She made a perfect silver-

  screen-star flounce door-ward, and even if he had

  called out “Audra, wait!” romantic hero-style, she

  would have been too far ahead to hear him.

  “Nice meeting you, Penny.”

  She was leaning against the wall, in the same spot

  where the smoking girl had been, her sleeveless

  brown arms crossed against the night’s chill. The

  girl’s eyes met hers, as calm and steely as any a

  grown rival’s.

  “I wish I could leave,” she said.

  “But it’s your party! Don’t you want to—?”

  “These kids don’t like me. They laugh at me in the

  halls. Call me Bigfoot. Sasquatch,” she said angrily,

  but Audra could see tears glistening unshed in her

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  69

  eyes. “Not one of the guys has even asked me

  dance.” Her forehead crumpled. “I’m taller than

  most of them, anyway. They’re just here to dance

  and hang out.”

  “Then why—”

  “It was my father’s dumb idea. Same reason he in-

  vited you. He actually thought it would help,” she

  rolled her eyes. “But nothing helps. Nothing will

  ever help,” she finished with teenaged drama.

  Audra ignored it, her own dejection forgotten in

  the girl’s self-indulgent revelations.

  “I think it’s nice, your dad caring enough to

  throw this bash for you,” she said slowly. “But what

  do I have to do with it—?”

  “Oh don’t pretend to be innocent!” The girl ex-

  claimed. She inhaled as if gathering up all the attrib-

  utes of her most grown-up self. “I know all about

  this plan you and my father have cooked up.”

  Audra blinked at her for a long second, recovering

  from the pure shock of Penny Bradshaw’s accusa-

  tions. Then she let her hand slip to her hip and shook

  her head. “Look, sweetie. I’m not sure what you think

  is happening here but—”

  “I know exactly what’s happening here,” the girl

  spat with teenaged venom. “You think you’re the

  first ugly woman my father’s asked to ‘talk to me’?

  You think this is the first time he’s invited one of

  his homely co-workers or one of his ‘great person-

  ality’ friends to meet me?” She shook her head.

  “Please.”

  Her words settled over Audra like a shroud.

  Homely co-workers . . . “great personality” friends . . .

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  “What—what are you talking about, Penny?” she

  demanded.

  “The minute I saw you, I knew he was doing it

  again,” Penny continued, almost as though she

  hadn’t heard Audra’s question. “Trying to find me

  someone to talk to about being a big, ugly giant. A

  tenth-grade freak on the road to becoming a grown-

  up freak—”

  Audra’s heart stilled, stopped. Homely co-workers . . .

  “great personality” friends . . . Talk to my daughter, he’d

  asked her . Talk to my—

  “I—I don’t believe your father thinks you’re a

  freak—” she stammered in a tiny, uncertain voice.

  Penny didn’t hear it. “Of course not. He’s my fa-

  ther! He has to say that I’m beautiful—but I know

  what he really thinks,” Penny railed on to the night,

  seeming barely aware of Audra standing beside her

  in her rage. “I know, because he keeps introducing

  me to the ugliest women he can find!” Her eyes

  found Audra’s, no longer hard with fury but wet

  with unshed tears. “Women like you.”

  It felt like the last straw—the last brick—bringing

  down any remaining illusions Audra had about her-

  self. Ugly, ugly, ugly . . . the word was coming at her

  from all sides now . . . and there were no movie-

  queen lines, no quips or character to erase it. That

  was the reason she was here tonight. That was the

  reason, of all the women in the prison, Art Brad-

  shaw had invited her. It had nothing to do with her

  sense of humor, the things they seemed to have in

  common or even her sterling character. It was just a

  matter of being the ugliest woman in the prison—

  the ugliest woman he could find.

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  71

  Fatigue, sudden and exhausting, settled over her

  like a garbage bag, hot, stifling.

  “You didn’t know, did you?” Penny Bradshaw

  asked, suddenly grasping Audra’s arm.

  Audra shook her head, not trusting her voice. A

  lifetime of hurt, loneliness and pain seemed lodged

  in her throat. Penny’s image swam in her wet eyes

  and Audra thought she read in them the echoes of

  her own pain.

  “God . . . I’m sorry . . . I thought . . .” Penny whis-

  pered. “Oh my God . . . you like him, don’t you?

  And he didn’t tell you—about Esmeralda or—

  anything?”

  Audra cleared her throat, willing herself to

  speech. “No.”

  “It’s not quite like it seems. My dad isn’t a bad

  guy, but—” the girl sighed. “He’s a guy. You and I

  both know how they are. Niceness and goodness

  and smartness don’t matter. If you’re pretty, you can

  be a bitch,” she said, anger snaking beneath the

  words. “You can be dumb as dirt, mean-spirited, />
  hurt people—and still, you’ll never be alone.” She

  shook her head. “No one cares about what you’ve got

  going on the inside—at least not until they like the

  package on the outside. Forget character: the thing to

  do is pretty up, like they say on TV. Pretty up by any

  means necessary. My dad doesn’t get that—because

  it’s different for him, being a man and all. But for a

  girl . . . for a woman . . .” she sighed, as world-

  weary as any sixty-year-old. “I’m sorry, Officer

  Marks. I’m sure you’re a nice lady . . . but I don’t

  want to be anything like you. Not ever.”

  Penny shuddered, whether from the cold or from

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  the words she’d spoken or the thought of being like

  Audra, Audra didn’t know. But with a quickly mut-

  tered, “goodbye,” she disappeared back inside the

  restaurant, leaving Audra very much alone.

  Chapter 6

  “My God, Audra! Do you have any idea what

  time—”

  Audra ignored her mother, thrust her arm deeper

  into the junk-food cabinet and swept a four-pack of

  mini-puddings, a canister of potato chips and two

  bags of cookies into the waiting garbage bag with a

  single swipe.

  She knelt on the kitchen floor in her bra, the but-

  ton at the waist of her tight black pants loose, her

  new yellow chiffon top in a puddle on the floor be-

  side the spikey high heels.

  “What on earth are you doing?” her mother de-

  manded, standing over her in her bathrobe, her

  hairdo now concealed under a colorful do-rag.

  “What does it look like?” Audra snapped, crawl-

  ing deeper into the cabinet. “I’m going on a diet.

  Again. Are you happy now?” She pulled out a small

  bag of Halloween candy she’d forgotten was back

  there. She dumped it into the waiting plastic bag

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  Karyn Langhorne

  along with a half-eaten box of ancient crackers and

  then rose, letting the cabinet door slam.

  “You’re gonna wake Kiana—”

  “I’m not gonna wake Kiana, Ma,” Audra said

  tightly. She moved around the kitchen, opening

  doors and drawers, pulling out a bottle of chocolate

  syrup here and a package of marshmallows there

  until the garbage bag was too heavy to hold any

  more. She let it slip to the floor and turned toward

  Edith, breathing hard with her efforts.

  Her mother stared at her. For a brief time the two

  women considered each other, then Edith shook her

  head.

  “So, I’m guessing it didn’t go well with your