of his choice of destination.
But the man was already gone, the black car turning
in the cobbled driveway and disappearing back
down into the street. Automatically, Audra thought
of her credit-card balance, wondering if there was
enough on the thing for just one night in a hotel that
was probably as swank on the inside as it looked on
the outside. Hopefully, when Shamiyah said she’d
“take care of the arrangements,” she meant more
than the airfare.
The doorman was waiting.
“I’ll guess we’ll find out if I’m checking in in a sec-
ond,” she quipped to the valet.
He laughed like his tip depended on it and led her
inside.
Chapter 8
Friday, May 12
Dear Petra,
Had to log on quickly to tell you how fab this hotel is!
Girl, it’s beyond plush. It’s like living a moment out of
that VH1 show, The Fabulous Life of . . .
Still not entirely sure why I’m here, but I guess I’ll
find out in a few minutes. There’s a car on the way to
take me to meet with the Ugly Duckling people.
I’ll write more later.
Be careful out there,
Audra
“Audra! So nice to finally meet you! Though I
feel like I already know you, from all our
phone conversations and of course, that fabulous
tape of yours!”
98
Karyn Langhorne
Shamiyah—for this was surely the woman; Audra
recognized the voice and the emphatic use of certain
words—grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled
her close, planting two quick butterfly kisses on
both her cheeks.
“Let’s get a look at you!” she said, pushing Audra
away as suddenly as she’d grabbed for her, her face
crunching with the effort of inspection, as though
they weren’t standing in the middle of a leafy side-
walk, outside an utterly unremarkable-looking Bev-
erly Hills office complex.
Audra stared back her, conducting an inspection
of her own. Shamiyah was older than she had
sounded on the phone, probably as kissing close to
thirty as Audra was herself. She was a petite, sepia-
toned person with a heart-shaped face framed by a
mass of unruly black springs of hair, held off her
face by a pair of designer sunglasses. She was a little
rounder in the behind than Audra expected—
carrying a little of Africa in her hips and thighs—
but her tight white tank T, her low-slung jeans and
high-heeled mules suited her figure perfectly.
“Girl,” she said in her Ivy-league ghetto voice,
“you weren’t kidding. How much have you lost ?”
“Not sure,” Audra replied, her mind racing.
These people were expecting some quick-thinking,
comedienne version of herself and she had no inten-
tion of disappointing, even if it cost her every line in
her personal arsenal, plus a few from the old movies
as well. “Fat girls don’t weigh themselves, you
know. Axe-wielding mass murderers don’t scare fat
girls.” Audra rolled her eyes. “Hell, I’d probably just
ask to borrow his knife to carve my chicken dinner.
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
99
But the scale?” And she made her voice like a Vin-
cent Price horror movie from back in the day.
“Scaaaarrrryyy . . .”
Shamiyah chuckled her appreciation for the per-
formance. “Well, we’ll get some numbers today,” she
said, taking Audra’s arm and guiding her toward
the lobby of the building. “What did you think of
the hotel?”
Audra rolled her eyes. “When that car rolled up in
front of it, I thought I was going to have to prostitute
myself just to pay the bill. Can you see me, hanging
out on the street corner in this neighborhood, flash-
ing passing cars with a little leg?” And she struck a
pose she knew looked utterly ridiculous—especially
for a woman of her size and build.
Shamiyah broke into another gale of laughter.
“That would be hilarious.”
“Probably wouldn’t make me enough money to
pay for the newspaper they left on the threshold.”
“You’d be surprised ,” Shamiyah muttered, her
voice losing a bit of its bubbly edge. “Strange place,
L.A.
But the man was already gone, the black car turning
in the cobbled driveway and disappearing back
down into the street. Automatically, Audra thought
of her credit-card balance, wondering if there was
enough on the thing for just one night in a hotel that
was probably as swank on the inside as it looked on
the outside. Hopefully, when Shamiyah said she’d
“take care of the arrangements,” she meant more
than the airfare.
The doorman was waiting.
“I’ll guess we’ll find out if I’m checking in in a sec-
ond,” she quipped to the valet.
He laughed like his tip depended on it and led her
inside.
Chapter 8
Friday, May 12
Dear Petra,
Had to log on quickly to tell you how fab this hotel is!
Girl, it’s beyond plush. It’s like living a moment out of
that VH1 show, The Fabulous Life of . . .
Still not entirely sure why I’m here, but I guess I’ll
find out in a few minutes. There’s a car on the way to
take me to meet with the Ugly Duckling people.
I’ll write more later.
Be careful out there,
Audra
“Audra! So nice to finally meet you! Though I
feel like I already know you, from all our
phone conversations and of course, that fabulous
tape of yours!”
98
Karyn Langhorne
Shamiyah—for this was surely the woman; Audra
recognized the voice and the emphatic use of certain
words—grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled
her close, planting two quick butterfly kisses on
both her cheeks.
“Let’s get a look at you!” she said, pushing Audra
away as suddenly as she’d grabbed for her, her face
crunching with the effort of inspection, as though
they weren’t standing in the middle of a leafy side-
walk, outside an utterly unremarkable-looking Bev-
erly Hills office complex.
Audra stared back her, conducting an inspection
of her own. Shamiyah was older than she had
sounded on the phone, probably as kissing close to
thirty as Audra was herself. She was a petite, sepia-
toned person with a heart-shaped face framed by a
mass of unruly black springs of hair, held off her
face by a pair of designer sunglasses. She was a little
rounder in the behind than Audra expected—
carrying a little of Africa in her hips and thighs—
but her tight white tank T, her low-slung jeans and
high-heeled mules suited her figure perfectly.
“Girl,” she said in her Ivy-league ghetto voice,
“you weren’t kidding. How much have you lost ?”
“Not sure,” Audra replied, her mind racing.
These people were expecting some quick-thinking,
comedienne version of herself and she had no inten-
tion of disappointing, even if it cost her every line in
her personal arsenal, plus a few from the old movies
as well. “Fat girls don’t weigh themselves, you
know. Axe-wielding mass murderers don’t scare fat
girls.” Audra rolled her eyes. “Hell, I’d probably just
ask to borrow his knife to carve my chicken dinner.
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
99
But the scale?” And she made her voice like a Vin-
cent Price horror movie from back in the day.
“Scaaaarrrryyy . . .”
Shamiyah chuckled her appreciation for the per-
formance. “Well, we’ll get some numbers today,” she
said, taking Audra’s arm and guiding her toward
the lobby of the building. “What did you think of
the hotel?”
Audra rolled her eyes. “When that car rolled up in
front of it, I thought I was going to have to prostitute
myself just to pay the bill. Can you see me, hanging
out on the street corner in this neighborhood, flash-
ing passing cars with a little leg?” And she struck a
pose she knew looked utterly ridiculous—especially
for a woman of her size and build.
Shamiyah broke into another gale of laughter.
“That would be hilarious.”
“Probably wouldn’t make me enough money to
pay for the newspaper they left on the threshold.”
“You’d be surprised ,” Shamiyah muttered, her
voice losing a bit of its bubbly edge. “Strange place,
L.A.
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