Audra laughed. “Thanks, I think.”
“How long do we have?” Art asked.
“About three weeks. The live show is November
thirteenth—”
“Sweeps,” Penny muttered like some old-hand in-
dustry rep. “Shows that get the most viewers during
sweeps ratings period can command higher adver-
tising fees,” she explained at Audra’s questioning
look.
“So it’s really just about the money,” Art offered.
“That explains why they’ve scheduled all this media
attention. To keep the controversy alive.”
“But are you sure you want to go out there like
that?” Edith asked. “I can pull out that weave, but
you’ve barely got any hair under that. And depend-
ing on what happens with your skin”—she shook
her head—“Penny’s right. Are you sure you want to
do that in front of the whole world?”
Audra considered their concerned faces for a long
moment, and then smiled.
“In the words of Norma Desmond, from that
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great Hollywood classic, Sunset Boulevard . . .” She
struck a dramatic film star pose of batted eyelashes
and pouty lips. “Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my
closeup.”
Chapter 29
November 13
Dear Petra,
It hasn’t gone exactly as I planned . . . but then I
knew that. The good news is, the live Duckling starts
in a few hours. It’s been really hard, but it’s almost
over. There’s probably going to be some media—and
some backlash—but unless I win, the lawyer we hired
says I’m a “private citizen” again right after the show
ends.
I hope like crazy I don’t win.
I’ve decided to resign from the prison. I might go
back, I don’t know. But for now, it’s not where I want to
be. I have too much to learn about myself. Too much
to figure out. Laine invited me to join her in the Islands
for Thanksgiving—to meet the other side of my
family—and I’m going. I’ll meet my father’s brothers
and sister and their families. I’m also going to meet my
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357
grandmother. My grandmother! Laine says she’s going
to love me. I hope she’s right.
Art has asked me to move in with him and Penny. I
might. I don’t know. I might look for my own place.
We’ll see.
They’re all here for the TV show: Laine, Art and
Penny, Ma and Kiana. The only thing that would make
it perfect for me was if you were here, too.
Here’s hoping you’ll make it home by Christmas . . .
Be careful out there,
Audra
“What’s going on with your face?” Shamiyah
asked, peering at Audra.
Hours in the tanning bed, Audra almost replied, but
she bit her lips at her recent efforts to increase her
sun exposure.
“I’ve had a reaction to the hydroquinone,” Audra
lied.
Shamiyah’s brow furrowed in consternation as
she studied the dark brown patches of skin along
Audra’s jaw and cheeks. “This is terrible. Just terri-
ble. We’ve got to get you to Dr. Jamison—”
“I’ve already spoken to him,” Audra said, truth-
fully enough, omitting the part about how she’d
called to ask him his advice on the fastest way to re-
verse the skin lightening process or mention of his
eagerness to assist, provided she did not reveal his
role. “He sent me some medicine, but I’ve had to
wear more makeup to cover the worst of it.”
The worst of it. As she had feared, Audra’s skin
had started to transition, but not into an even brown
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Karyn Langhorne
or beige or any other color in between. Instead, it
was a mottled mess of blotches: part light, part dark,
part in between. The effect was a patchwork of col-
ors that hardly looked camera-ready. Audra and her
mother had spent a good deal of time coming up
with a foundation that would conceal it, but the re-
sult was a thick powdery mess in the style of the old
pancake makeup worn by the grand divas of the
forties. The kind of makeup that looked utterly un-
natural anywhere but on a soundstage.
She would need it for all of her encounters with
Ugly Duckling people, right up until the dress re-
hearsal, if there was going to be a second “Big Re-
veal.”
“Okay, okay,” Shamiyah said quickly, hustling
Audra toward the airport exit. “It looks funny in
person, but on camera it’ll probably be fine.”
Audra stopped short.
“What?” Shamiyah asked impatiently. “I’ve got a
car waiting right out front—”
“You don’t expect me to go without my luggage
do you—and my entourage?” She pointed to where
Edith and Kiana stood, watching the metal wheel
for their bags. As a familiar piece of luggage made
its way slowly around the concourse, Art Bradshaw
leaned over to hoist it easily onto a cart held tightly
in place by his daughter. As if feeling their eyes,
Edith turned, shooting Shamiyah an evil glare and
an even more evil hand gesture.
“W—what’s all this?” Shamiyah stuttered, her
eyes widening with shock. “Really Audra,” she con-
tinued, recovering some of her careless attitude, “I
remember when you traveled with a toothbrush and
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a spare pair of panties! I told you not more than two
guests could join you for the Big Reveal—”
Audra shrugged. “And I told you, Shamiyah, if
you want me, you get them. We don’t mind bunking
up together. We’re family.”
Shamiyah’s brown eyes narrowed slightly and
Audra read her suspicions in her face.
“Look, Audra,” she hissed. “Like I’ve told you a
thousand times, you signed the papers. If you’re still
mad about how you came off on the show—”
“I’m not mad,” Audra said sweetly. “I just
brought my family out to California for a little R and
R, that’s all.”
“But you’re here to work. The live show is in two
days! We don’t have time for—”
“Then do what I asked you to do and get their
Disney passes,” Audra told her in a steely voice that
would have made the late, great Joan Crawford
proud. “You won’t have to see Art and the girls
again until the Big Reveal. Ma’s going to help me
with a few things.”
Shamiyah’s eyes strayed back to Edith, who was
still mad-dogging her with determination. “This is
just great,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re
not listening to me, Audra,” she said when she
could tear her eyes away from Edith’s scowling face.
“They don’t have tickets for the Big Reveal. There’s
no room for them.”
&nbs
p; “Kiana can sit on Art’s lap—she doesn’t need a
ticket,” Audra said, pretending for Shamiyah’s sake
to care about the effects of the sun on her delicate
skin by wrapping a scarf around her neck and face.
“And Ma’s helping me with my Reveal.”
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Karyn Langhorne
“Since when were you two close?” Shamiyah de-
manded.
“Since always,” Audra snapped back, making it
clear in her tone that if the girl said another word
about her mother, she might just be tasting her own
blood. “She’s been helping me deal with covering
up this skin issue for weeks, so I need her. Back-
stage. With me.”
“Audra—”
“Look, according to the contract,” she put a nasty
emphasis on the word. “This final Reveal is sup-
posed to be like a beauty pageant. The contestants
are responsible for their own look—we’re supposed
to show how we’ve integrated our new appearance.
How we’ve maintained it in our daily lives. To put
it your way, you’ve sold the concept as showing
the contestants as individuals, not cookie cutters
pressed out of the same mold. I’m expressing my
this show’s put her through, is it too much to ask for
her to be the one who helps me?”
“Audra—”
“Shamiyah!” Audra snapped back, finding a
power of certainty deep within herself. “This was
my makeover . . . and the Big Reveal is mine to
win . . . or lose . . . my way!”
For just an instant, Shamiyah looked on the verge
of launching into either a stream of questions or a
vehement refusal. Her eyes swept over Audra and
Audra suspected that in spite of the baggy sweat-
pants, she noticed the pounds Audra had gained
curving in round lumps on her rear end and around
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her waist. She opened her mouth to comment, but
didn’t get a chance.
Instead, the woman’s cell phone rang and she
snapped it off her belt in exasperation. “What?” she
snapped into the phone, giving Camilla a run for
her money in terms of sheer imperious nastiness.
“Okay, I’m on my way. Yes, I have her.” She cast a
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
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363
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
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them this way. Two wrongs don’t make a right, Au-
die. I taught you better than that.”
“I know it,” Audra sighed. “But long time ago,
Shamiyah told me to give the people a show . . . and
that’s what I’m gonna do.” She inspected her face in
the mirror. “That looks good, Ma. Now I guess I’d
better go take my place. It’s going to be an interest-
ing afternoon.”
It was hot under the lights as they walked slowly
through the stages of the Big Reveal, then again, at
live TV speed, timing it down to the last second to
be sure the program could be aired in its entirety in