nose,” he said, brushing at the air around her face in
demonstration. “You may have to style your hair
more toward your face in the future. Maybe some
bangs?” he suggested with the happy hopefulness
of a wannabe hairstylist. Audra could almost hear
her mother grumbling, “Don’t know what he’s talk-
ing about,” as the man continued, “And I’m opti-
mistic that Dr. Jamison’s treatments will minimize
any scarring from the nose.”
The nose. Audra couldn’t understand why he was
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213
so excited. She could barely breathe out of the thing,
packed with cotton as it was. But Dr. Bremmar kept
bouncing and smiling, then clapped his hands to-
gether. “I’ve got to say, I’m excited about this 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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Karyn Langhorne
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
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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Karyn Langhorne
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 lair in peace.
“It’s got to be difficult. Especially for a woman
with a job like yours. A woman who’s used to be-
ing an authority figure. Used to being in charge of
others.”
“I don’t really see it that way,” Audra mumbled.
The bandage packing in her nose from the rhino-
plasty made it hard to talk and breathe, but this
woman didn’t seem to care about Audra’s comfort.
She wanted to talk and wasn’t going to quit until her
time was up.
“Then how do you see it? Why did you choose
such a masculine profession, Audra?”
“I’ve always been interested in criminal justice,”
Audra answered quickly. “There’s nothing deeper
to it than that!”
Dr. Goddard was silent for a long time. Audra felt
the woman’s eyes on her, studying her carefully.
“I don’t entirely believe that,” she said at last.
“Well, whether you believe it or not, it’s the
truth.”
Another long silence punctuated the space be-
tween them, the woman said in a low and careful-
sounding voice, “It seems to me you’ve got all
kinds of issues around your femininity, your ap-
pearance . . . even your identity.”
Audra froze. Oh shit, she thought. Oh shit, oh shit . . .
“How long have you suspected your mother’s for-
mer husband wasn’t your father?”
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Karyn Langhorne
That child’s too ugly to be mine . . . The words echoed
in Audra’s brain and she closed her eyes tight against
them. Too ugly to be mine . . . At the time, it had
seemed like a good idea, but now, she regretted hav-
ing used those words in her audition tape. These peo-
ple seemed too determined to make a big issue out it.
“You’ve seen the pictures,” Audra replied, her jaw
clenched tight. “The differences in coloring . . . in
body type . . .” She opened her eyes, fixing the other
woman with a determined stare. “Look, doc. I know
what you want me to say—and I know this is going
to bring the powers that be down on me big time,
but . . .” She shook her head. “I’m not outing my
mother like this. I might be mad as hell at her, in my
way. But I’m not accusing her of adultery. Not on na-
tional television.”
“All right,” Dr. Goddard said, as though she
weren’t disappointed in the slightest. She uncrossed
and recrossed her legs. “So how did it feel to grow
up the darkest one in the family?”
“Listen, Doc, I’m really, really tired. I don’t want
to talk about this right now.”
“That’s why we’re talking about it, Audra. It’s at
the core of what’s driving you—”
“All that’s driving me right now is pain!” Audra
snapped. “I can barely breathe. Everything from my
neck to my kneecaps hurts—”
“And so does everything inside you, Audra.” Dr.
Goddard leaned forward again, giving Audra her
most concerned doctor look. “Listen to me. You will
never be happy with what you see on the outside if
you’re constantly running from the wounds on the
inside.”
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
219
“It’s not painful,” Audra shot back and crossed her
arms over her chest, ignoring discomfort so intense
that it made her eyes water. “These ‘wounds’—if they
ever were that—healed a long time ago. There’s no
point to re-opening them now—”
“Then why are you here, Audra?” Dr. Goddard’s
eyebrows shot up with an infuriating significance.
“If you recreate yourself—if you completely reshape
your face and body—aren’t you erasing your par-
ents, your heritage, your past?”
If she could have gotten up and stormed out of the
room, she would have . . . but as achy and tired as
she was, that was damn near impossible. Besides,
this was her space. Let the doctor leave.
“I hate that you listen to my private phone calls,”
Audra hissed instead at the woman. “Don’t you
think this would be more productive if you let me
bring up what I want to bring up on my own time?”
“But that’s just it, Audra. You’re an Ugly Duck-
ling. You have no privacy . . . and we don’t have any
time.” She sighed. “Look, Shamiyah told me about
your reluctance—”
“Great,” Audra muttered. “That’s just great.”
Dr. Goddard waved Audra’s indignation away. “It
doesn’t matter. What matters is that you acknowl-
edge that this decision—this life change—goes
deeper than wanting a boyfriend, more than want-
ing to know what it feels like to be one of the ‘pretty
girls.’ You don’t know who you are, Audra. And un-
less you’re willing to explore that question, all you’re
accomplishing is moving from a very plain, very
lonely and very insecure woman to a very pretty,
very lonely and very insecure woman.”
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Karyn Langhorne
Audra glared at her. “You know, I really don’t like
you.”
Dr. Goddard pushed her severe glasses higher up
on her long nose and smiled. “Yes. I get that a lot.
Now, I think a journal might be helpful here, so . . .”
She thrust a book covered in a plain dark fabric into
Audra’s hands. “Talk to it—”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
Dr. Goddard sighed. “Just try it, Audra. It won’t
bite you.”
Audra eyed her suspiciously. “Are you going to
read it, Big Brother . . . or should I say, Big Sister?”
“It depends. Are you going to talk to me?”
Audra frowned, but didn’t answer. Instead she
stared at the book and the neat gold-leaf pen the
woman had clipped to its surface.
Dr. Goddard rose. “Why don’t you write down all
those caustic things that are going through your
brain right now? Get them out on paper, if you don’t
want to say them.” She patted Audra on her foot as
if she knew it was the only safe part of her whole
body. “You’re doing well, Audra. Do you realize you
haven’t cracked a joke or mentioned a movie in t
his
entire session? I consider that progress.”
She reached for a large leather carry tote, nodded
at the nurse and paced the few short steps toward
the door. “Oh, Audra . . .” She leaned back into the
room. “I almost forgot. Who is Art Bradshaw?”
Audra felt a flush coming to her cheeks and for
the first time felt grateful for the bandages.
“Just a co-worker,” she answered. “Why?”
The good doctor smiled. “No reason,” she said
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
221
sweetly, then opened the door and disappeared into
the hallway.
“I think it could be a good idea.” Bradshaw’s voice
rumbled over three thousand miles to her, offering
calm support. To her surprise, he’d actually called
back, a couple of times. He usually didn’t say much,
just asked how she was doing and then, after a long,
painful silence, hung up.
But tonight, Audra was boiling over with anger,
and the bubbles spilled over onto Bradshaw. She let
the whole story of the session with Dr. Goddard
come tumbling out . . . or almost all of it. For some
reason, she still couldn’t tell Bradshaw about the
lightening drugs.
I don’t want them using that stuff on TV, she told
herself, thinking of her mother, of Petra and Kiana. I
don’t want to give them any more ammunition than they
already have . . . But she knew it was deeper than that.
She didn’t want Bradshaw to know . . . at least not
yet.
“Might turn up something,” Bradshaw was say-
ing. “Something that really helps you get a new han-
dle on your life,” he said.
“It seems kinda . . . stupid to me. Writing down
my feelings and stuff. How’s that going to help? I al-
ready know how I feel about”—she paused, editing
herself before she mentioned anything about skin
lightening or her parentage—“being the family ugly
duckling. And . . .” She sighed. “I’m not much of a
writer, Bradshaw. Or a feeler if you want to know
the truth.”
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Karyn Langhorne
“Not all that crazy about it myself,” he offered af-
ter another of his signature pauses. “When you’re a
guy of my size, people think you’re invincible. A big
block of flesh that don’t feel nothing. They say all
kinds of things, act all kinds of ways, because you’re
supposed to be so big . . . so tough . . .” He paused
for a long moment, as though reliving a memory he
chose not to relate. “Bought that bullshit myself for a