everything and everyone had been about her. Cam-
eras had followed her every move . . . and everyone
in her life had been focused on one thing: her trans-
formation, her Reveal. And now, with the flash of a
bulb and the yank of a curtain, it was over. No cam-
eras, no Shamiyah, no experts to question and an-
noy. Not even Bradshaw was acting right.
“So did it?” Penny was asking, and Audra turned
to find Art’s deep-set amber eyes staring back at her
from his daughter’s face. “Did it hurt?”
“What do you think?” Audra smiled. “Like hell.”
“What was the worst part?”
“Being away from home.” Audra answered im-
mediately. “I was pretty lonely. Bored, too.”
“No, about the surgery!” Penny corrected, waving
aside Audra’s loneliness and boredom aside with a
slender brown hand. “What was the worst?”
Audra frowned with the effort of remembering.
Now that it was behind her, none of it seemed so bad
anymore. “I guess the nose job,” she said slowly. “But
the tummy tuck wasn’t a picnic either.”
“Yeah,” Penny reached over and turned Audra’s
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
293
head, inspecting her nose at every angle like a
surgeon. “But they did a really good job. I’d love to
get my nose done—”
“There’s nothing wrong with your nose, Penny.”
The girl pinched at her nostrils. “They’re too wide,
and here . . .” She rubbed at the bridge. “It should be
higher here—”
“There’s nothing wrong with your nose.”
Penny’s lips scrunched together in disagreement.
“I wish I were eighteen. Then I could send a tape to
Ugly Duckling and—”
Art Bradshaw emerged from the lavatory at that
moment and began making his way slowly towards
them. Audra smiled up at him, but he kept his
head turned in the other direction, taking a seat
ahead of them on the opposite side of the plane. He
slid close to the window and reached for a pair of
headphones, blocking the sound of Audra and
Penny as well as the sight.
“What’s wrong with your father, Penny?”
The girl shrugged.
“Is he feeling okay?”
Penny glanced toward the seat ahead, her eyes
sweeping over the man’s inert form as if looking for
danger signals. Finally she lifted her shoulder in an-
other shrug. “Looks fine to me. Why?”
“He’s barely said two words to me—or anyone
else, for that matter.”
Penny whipped a fashion magazine from one of
the pockets of the heavy-looking shoulder bag she
carried and began turning the pages quickly as if
looking for something. “I guess he’s pretty sur-
prised. I mean you do look a lot like her,” Penny told
294
Karyn Langhorne
the magazine. She stopped abruptly, thumping her
finger against the image of an emaciated-looking
white woman modeling clothes in a high-fashion
spread. “I like her nose. Think it would look good—”
“Like who?”
“What?”
Audra made the girl look at her. “You said I look a
lot like her. Who’s her?”
Penny stared at her for a long moment as though
she were wearing a loincloth. “Who else? My
mother.”
Audra blinked at her, shock reverberating from
her ear drums to the tips of her toes.
“Your mother?” she sputtered. “B-but I don’t look
like your mother. I look like my sister, Petra—”
“And like my mother. Or like she looked the last
we saw her. At my sweet sixteen party.” She fixed
her eyes on Audra, running through a checklist
from top to toes. “I noticed it as soon as that curtain
lifted . . . and I’m sure he did, too. Whatever else she
is . . . or isn’t,” she said the words with a kind of
dark unpleasantness, “she’s always pretty. Always.”
She shrugged. “Of course, up close you can tell your
face is different. But the hair and the skin, and
you’re awfully skinny now. Really thin—” Her voice
suddenly sick to her stomach. “Well, I think Dad
thought you would look like you did before . . . just
a little thinner and with prettier clothes and more
makeup, or something. I kept telling him this was
different, but . . . you know how men are,” she said
breezily, as though she’d had a lifetime of experi-
ence. “Even I was a little surprised by your color,
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
295
though.” She touched Audra’s forearm gently, drag-
ging her fingers against the skin as though she ex-
pected something to rub off. “How’d they do that? Is
it some kind of makeup or—”
“Where is your mother now, Penny?”
The girl shrugged again, but her eyes hardened
and her lips seemed to disappear into her face.
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
“Is he . . . upset . . . ?”
“Dad?” Her lips collapsed onto each other in an
expression of teenaged disinterest. “Who knows?
Ask him.”
Ask him. Dr. Goddard was sitting on her shoulders
like the little Martian character in a cartoon she used
to watch on Saturday mornings many, many years
ago. I told you to ask him . . .
“No . . . not now.” Audra sighed, administering a
swift mental kick to her own taut, round behind. “If
I’d asked him when I should have, I wouldn’t be in
this mess.”
Chapter 25
Monday, September 24
Dear Petra,
I feel like I’ve been suddenly dunked in cold water. Dr.
Goddard warned me that coming home would be a
shock to my system after all these months. She said
I’d had an experience that no one back home had
shared, that no one would relate to. She also said
some people would be resistant to the change and
treat me differently. They’d project their own ideas
about what they believe is beautiful on me . . . and not
all of it would be positive.
Is that what’s happening with Bradshaw?
Ma is tiptoeing around me, walking on egg shells. I
know she hasn’t gotten used to looking at me: She
starts a little when I walk into a room, and I’ve caught
her just staring at me when I’m not looking. We still have
a lot to talk about, her and me. I’m just not ready yet.
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
297
Kiana’s a little distant still. It’s okay: she’s a child.
But it’s almost like starting over with her from zero.
She’s called me “Mommy” a couple of times. I
consider that the highest compliment I can get.
I’m not any more used to “me” than they are. I keep
catching glimpses of my reflection and it always
surprises me. I have to remind myself
that it’s me I’m
looking at and not someone else.
Today is my first day back on the job. I know it’s
going to be a little weird to take my new look and my
new awareness back to a place where people were
used to dealing with me as a totally different person,
inside and out. I have to say, I’m nervous. But I’m
pretty sure no one will call me a “dude with tits.”
Are you still on track to be home in November?
They’re not going to delay your homecoming again ,
are they? I hope not. You’ve done your time, now it’s
time for the Army to honor its end of the bargain and
bring you home. Michael, too. Enough is enough.
I’ve gotta go or I’ll be late. Not a good thing for my
first day back.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Be careful out there,
Audra
“You’re gonna need a new badge, Marks,” Dar-
lene Fuchs said when Audra clocked in.
“That’s the only way anyone’s going to know you.”
The uniform was brand-new, in some tiny size
called only “petite small” on the uniform sizing chart,
and it fit her trim hips and brand-new bodacious
behind in a way that the designer probably never
298
Karyn Langhorne
intended the drab fabric to do. She wore a crisp,
white, fresh-out-of-the-box shirt with every button
flat, including those outlining the high peaks of her
new breasts.
“Real or fake?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at
Audra’s hair.
“Extensions,” Audra answered, checking over the
duty roster. There was only one name she was look-
ing for . . . and it wasn’t there. “Where’s Bradshaw?
He’s still working this shift, right?”
“Called in sick,” the other woman said, still eye-
ing Audra interestedly. “How much weight did you
lose?”
“In all?” Audra calculated. “About eighty-five
pounds of fat . . .” She made a mental note to thank
Julienne as she made a bicep pop for the woman.
“But I’ve built up a good deal of muscle, too, so it
looks like more.”
“Amazing. I wouldn’t have known on the street if
I fell on you, seriously, Marks.” She stretched the
bare forearm emerging from the short sleeve of her
uniform blouse toward Audra. “You and I are nearly
the same color, since it’s summer and I have a tan.
How did they do that anyway?”
“Do what?” Audra asked innocently, grinning
broadly.
Darlene laughed. “You don’t actually plan to pre-
tend like you were born that color, do you?”
Audra shrugged. “ ‘Hey, if it works for Michael
Jackson, it might work for me.” She paused. “Did . . .
did Bradshaw say what was wrong?”
“Nope,” Darlene shook her head casually enough,
but her expression said she was quickly reaching
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
299
conclusions about the reasons for Audra’s interest.
“You’re doing day room patrols today . . . in fact, all
week. Next week you’ll switch back to the night
shift. That all right?”
“Fine,” Audra said, checking her weapon and
strapping on her holster and trying most unsuccess-
fully to feign the most casual of interest as she
asked, “Bradshaw still have that detail? When he
gets back, of course . . .”
“Of course, Marks,” Darlene said sweetly. She
leaned close and smiled. “The way he’s been talking
about you for the past three months, I’d say you’d
have to screw up big time to keep from reeling him
in,” she whispered. “Congratulations.”
Audra felt her face go numb. Darlene was con-
gratulating her, but Art was evading her, it was obvi-
ous. It was beginning to look like she’d already
blown it, big time . . . right when she finally had a
chance. “Thanks,” she mumbled in Darlene’s gen-
eral direction and turned away with a heavy heart.
“You boys are going to lose all your privileges if you
don’t cut it out,” Audra shouted, but it was hard to
keep the ghost of a smile from the corners of her lips
with the hoots and catcalls answering the swing of
her hips as she strode ahead along the line of con-
victs moving in a slow formation toward the day
room. “Keep it up and you’ll all be in your cells for a
week with no rec time at all.”
They reached the day room and Audra counted
them in, watching the men’s faces as they passed her,
registering their appreciation. Some addressed her
in low voices—she heard “baby,” “flower,” “sweet
300
Karyn Langhorne
thing”—while others addressed her with their eyes,
clearly enjoying the carefully crafted arrangement
of flesh. Not one of them seemed to know her, even
though—with the exception of a few unfamiliar
faces—Audra knew she could call each one of them
out by both number and name. Even Haines saun-
tered by her, his lips losing their habitual sneer of
disdain long enough for him to look her over and
leer something that in his twisted universe was
probably considered a smile. Audra doubted he’d
have given her more than his usual cursory glare if
he had recognized her.
Nothing like that was ever likely to happen again.
She’d worked too hard to lose the weight to ever risk
gaining it back, and instead of brute strength, she’d
already signed up for refresher self-defense classes
to insure her skills were still sharp enough to subdue
a prisoner if necessary. And fortunately, she still had
brains . . . even if she’d lost a bit of her brawn.
“Officer,” Haines greeted her in his sneering way
and there was a touch of awe in his voice that Audra
had never heard before. Apparently, there were
other ways to subdue a man, Audra realized. Ways
that had nothing to do with force.
Pride swelled inside her, along with an intense
hopefulness. This is what it felt like to be beautiful—
to have the appreciation of men and the envy of
women. She inhaled deeply, drinking in the feeling,
bursting to share it with Bradshaw . . . if he’d ever
come out of hiding long enough to let her.
The last man came through the doorway, all slink
and slither, pimp rolling along like he thought he
owned the joint.
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
301
“Hey there, mama,” he murmured, batting his
curly black eyelashes at her. “You new here? Be
happy to show you the ropes—”
“Carlton?”
He blinked, hearing his given name come out of
Audra’s mouth.
“Listen, sweet thing, only my mama calls me
that—”
“You were paroled in March, Carlton,” Audra
snapped, ignoring him. “It’s mid-September! What
; are you doing back in the joint that fast?” Audra
shook her head. “I tell you what, boy. I’ve got an ass-
whipping with your name on it.”
The kid’s face vacillated between titillation and
confusion.
“Baby, do you know me?” he said in a voice full
of sweetness.
“Yeah, I know you,” Audra muttered. She nodded
to her fellow CO as he brought up the rear and
closed the day room’s doors behind him.
“You been checking me out, huh, pretty lady?”
Carlton muttered, all seduction and zero seriousness.
“That’s all right—but when do I get to know you?”
“Not so fast, Casanova. There’s a speed limit in
this state,” Audra said, for a moment forgetting
about the surgery and the changes in her look since
she’d last laid eyes on this kid. She jerked her head
at Carlton, nudging him toward a chair in the corner
of the room. “It’s forty-five miles an hour and you’re
doing ninety. Go sit down over there and—”
He was staring at her like she had suddenly
sprouted horns. Audra watched recognition dawn
in his eyes. A second later he burst into laughter.
302
Karyn Langhorne
“Holy shit! Holy shit—” he cried, laughing. “I
don’t believe this shit! You’re—you’re—that butt-
ugly chick—”
“Yeah, I’m the ugly chick.”
His laughing and pointing was attracting atten-
tion in the room. Audra glanced around and
found the noise to have stolen some attention from
the television show some of the men were watching,
along with several checkers games and more than a
few of the quieter conversations around the room.
Only the video rivalry continued without interrup-
tion.
“Damn, girl! What did you do!”
“What I did is irrelevant. The point is what did you
do to—”
“I mean I can understand losing some weight . . .
fixing your hair up a little . . .” He squinted at her,
unsure of how to explain the other changes he was
seeing. He dismissed them anyway by guffawing
and pointing. “But you’ve changed yourself into a
white woman!” He must have felt the eyes of the
room on him, because he shouted out, “Hey y’all,
check this. Remember that fat, ugly chick that used
to work here? One that threw down with Haines
and ripped her pants—”
There were a few nods and murmurs of assent.
“Settle down!” Audra roared over the little swell,
grabbing Carlton’s shoulder. “That’s enough