Diary of an Ugly Duckling Langhorne, Karyn (reading rainbow books txt) 📖

next station stop is . . . Thirty-fourth Street,”

the automated conductor announced in its soul-less

voice. Audra thanked her new friend and rose to

leave the train, freeing up a considerable amount of

seating space in the process.

“Fancy and hip, fancy and hip,” Audra sang aloud,

moving through the pedestrian traffic on Sixth Av-

enue, pushing herself through the doors of Macy’s

and heading determinedly for the women’s section,

pushing aside her dread of the fitting room and

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Karyn Langhorne

wishing for the thousandth time she’d stuck to her

New Year’s Resolution diet.

Only there was nothing that said “fancy and hip”

in the way Audra defined them. Sure, there were

hip, casual clothes galore in the larger sizes (boot-

cut jeans and bohemian tops, big, fringed poncho

shawls, rhinestone-studded denim jackets) and a se-

lection of fancy ones (dresses as wide as muumuus,

mostly in dark colors, of a cut and style guaranteed

to make any woman look like the mother of the

bride) but nothing that spoke of youthful fanciness.

Nothing in the entire store . . . and Audra traipsed

across it repeatedly, searching rack after rack with

uncharacteristic diligence.

She abandoned Macy’s for Bloomingdale’s and

then Lord & Taylor, and then gave up the depart-

ment stores for the large-sized boutiques, meeting

with disappointment after disappointment. About

the only thing that came close was a partly sheer,

yellow chiffon shawl of a top that, with its fringe

and assymetrical cut, had a light, party feel . . . but it

showed a hefty chunk of chubby shoulder, too.

“Pork loin in a yellow blanket.” Audra grimaced

at herself, shrugging it off and vowing to search on.

As the sun sank into afternoon, Audra headed

across town to where the fancy boutiques were

clustered in row after row on Madison Avenue, still

hoping to find the outfit that would capture Art

Bradshaw’s imagination, the look that would kick

fat, black and ugly to the curb, if not forever, at least

for a night.

And sure enough, in the window of Marciella’s

Audra found it: the perfect top, draped over the

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

51

shoulders of a mannequin. It was a sleeveless, sil-

very, glittering thing with a deep V-neckline that

scooped just enough to show a little cleavage, but

not enough to scare anybody. Like the yellow shawl,

it graced the mannequin’s hips in a diagonal line.

Audra imagined it thrown almost casually over a

nice pair of black pants and coupled with a pair of

strappy sandals.

“Hello, hip and trendy,” she murmured, her nose

nearly pressed against the window. Only . . .

Audra could tell just by looking at it that it was

expensive—probably as much as she made in a

month. She hesitated, intimidated by the top, the

store, and the idea of spending thousands of dol-

lars on a single garment—but then she thought of

the divas of old with their gorgeous costumes and

changed her mind. Hell, even fickle old Scarlett

O’Hara had known that sometimes a woman had to

have a new dress to send the right signal.

“Thank God for MasterCard,” she muttered, fold-

ing her lips determinedly and yanking the handle

on the boutique’s heavy glass door.

A series of chimes sounded as she stepped inside,

her feet landing soundlessly on a spotless white car-

pet. The air smelled of some gentle perfume, and

soft romantic music played at a volume just above

noticeable. And the place was completely empty.

“May I help you?”

A skinny white girl not much older than twenty

or twenty-one appeared at Audra’s side like a man-

nequin coming to life. She wore a tiny pair of black

pants and a little top with a pair of slim spaghetti

straps not quite appropriate for the cool of the

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Karyn Langhorne

March day, balancing herself atop a pair of ridicu-

lously high heels. She looked cool and chic and com-

pletely sophisticated.

A deep feeling of inadequacy and an awareness of

her own imperfection swept over Audra as she

stared at the girl. The sudden irrational urge to run

out the door seized her heart and she had to remind

herself that any woman tough enough to stare down

a bunch of convicts day after day could probably

handle buying a top from a high-end Manhattan

boutique.

Probably.

“May I help you?” the girl repeated, since Audra

hadn’t said a word yet, just stood there staring at her

with her mouth open like some oki hick come to the

Big City. “Do you need directions—”

“I’m looking for something for a party,” Audra

said, donning a crisp, arch, cosmopolitan voice that

sounded suspiciously like Bette Davis in her ears.

“And that top”—she jerked her head toward the

display behind them—“looks perfect. Very trendy.

Very hip.”

“Yes . . . yes it is . . .” the girl murmured, eyeing

Audra from head to toe. “Uh . . .” She licked her lips a

couple of times, then stuttered, “We—we might be

able to help you, b—but . . .” she looked around ner-

vously and lowered her voice, even though they were

the only two people in the store. “Well, if you don’t

mind my asking, what size are you?” Watching Au-

dra’s face change, she added quickly, “I ask because

we only carry up to size twelve. The designer is

launching a plus-size line in the fall, but right now—”

“Are you calling me fat?” Audra snapped at the

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53

girl, her good mood quickly slipping away. Audra

thought back: the woman on the subway hadn’t

been small . . . but now that she thought about it,

she’d been a heck of a lot smaller than Audra. A sud-

den embarrassment swept through Audra like a rag-

ing forest fire. Of course this was a smaller-size

store. What on earth had she been thinking—

But then again, the top in the window looked like

it might be cut a little on the roomy side . . .

“No ma’am,” the young woman was stammering

in front of her. “ It—it’s just . . .” she hesitated, and

then spoke quickly, as though the speed of her de-

livery would make the words somehow less upset-

ting. “I don’t mean to offend you . . . but I really

don’t think it’s going to fit and these are very expen-

sive garments. If you rip it—”

“It won’t rip. And if it does, I’ll buy it,” Audra

snapped at her with a force she hadn’t fully in-

tended. The girl’s eyes widened and she