Diary of an Ugly Duckling by Karyn Langhorne Page B

significant glance at Audra. “Just skip all the
    financial and insurance information. Write Ugly
    Duckling . They know where to send the bills.”
    “So basically, I’m giving these docs permission to
    kill me and your production company permission to
    film it.” Audra quirked an eyebrow at Shamiyah. “Is
    that about right?”
    For once, Shamiyah seemed to forget to smile.
    “Yes, that’s about it,” she said levelly, meeting Au-
    dra’s eyes. “You’re cool with that, though, right?”
    For the first time, a current of the seriousness of
    this undertaking charged the air between them like
    ions before a lightning storm. Audra grabbed the
    edge of the reception desk, steadying herself.
    The whole point was to remake herself . . . and
    she was actually here, in Los Angeles, to find out
    if—and how—it could be done. She imagined her-
    self transformed into a swan of unimaginable
    beauty, and inhaled.
    “Ice-cold chilly,” Audra told the woman, clench-
    ing and unclenching her fist, making ready for the
    work at hand. She grabbed the folder, crossed the
    room and threw herself into a nearby chair, feigning
    exhaustion. “I’m gonna need surgery for carpal tun-
    nel by the time you guys get done with me.”
    “Carpal tunnel?” The blonde’s confusion seemed
    to deepen even further. “I don’t think Dr. Bremmar
    does that . It’s somewhere in the foot, right?” She
    smiled and continued before either Shamiyah or
    Audra could respond. “Can I get you ladies some-
    thing? Espresso? Latte?”
    “Double skim latte sounds great to me,” Shamiyah
    DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
    103
    breathed. “You’re a life saver, Maisy. Just a life saver!
    Audra?”
    A Snickers bar would really hit the spot , Audra
    thought, but she decided against saying that out
    loud in this company. Instead, she shook her head,
    “No, thanks.”
    “We also have all kinds of fruit juices,” Maisy
    tempted, as though it were specifically in her job de-
    scription to make sure every guest had a cup of
    something. “Papaya? Kiwi? Guava?”
    Audra grimaced. “No, thanks,” she insisted and
    watched the girl’s face crumple in disappointment.
    “Are you sure?”
    “How about just a bottled water?” she said to
    keep the girl from feeling like a failure, and watched
    a smile twitch Maisy’s lean face again. “Okay, so
    that’s one double skim water”—she slapped herself
    on the forehead—“Double skim water! I mean,
    latte—and a water.” She nodded. “When you finish
    with those”—she nodded at the forms—“Room One
    is the first one on the left. Go on in, she’s expecting
    you. I’ll be back in a flash with your drinks.”
    “Thanks, Maize,” Shamiyah said, already pulling
    Audra down the hall. The second they were out of
    earshot, she murmured, “You can do those forms
    later. And don’t mind her . She’s nice enough . . . but
    she’s not here for her brains. She’s a walking adver-
    tisement for Bremmar and Koch’s work. Nose, eyes,
    chin, boobs, lipo—you name it.”
    Audra nodded. “I suspected as much.”
    They stopped outside a door upon which a silver
    1 had been affixed. Shamiyah lay her hand on the
    knob, then paused, staring hard into Audra’s face.
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    Karyn Langhorne
    “I’m not supposed to tell you this,” she said at last,
    “but I really want you to have this chance, Audra.
    The rest of the candidates won’t do this step until
    we bring them here in three weeks. We’re doing this
    now for you, because, of all the tapes we got from
    African-American women—and there weren’t that
    many, I’m sorry to say—yours was absolutely the
    best .” She lowered her voice. “But these docs,
    they’ve got real concerns about whether they can
    make your transformation work. The only way I
    could convince them to consider you was with this
    advance consultation to work out the . . . details. But
    you can never tell anybody about it and . . .”—she
    leaned closer, her eyes