Diary of an Ugly Duckling (26 page)

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

panicked determination.
I don’t want this lightening

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.”

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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 this

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

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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