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

Everybody likes movies. What’s that got to

do with the price of beans in China?” her mother

concluded, as if the question were completely logical.

16

Karyn Langhorne

Talking to her mother was always like this. So

many questions, so little listening. They were as

combative as the mother-daughter relationship in

Mildred Pierce. Joan Crawford played the long-

suffering, giving mother to Ann Blyth’s selfish,

greedy, mean-spirited daughter. Only in their case,

Audra was certain, it was the daughter who was the

suffering one.

“It’s tea, Ma,” she corrected, infusing a touch of

the movie’s drama into the moment to make it more

bearable. “The price of tea in China. And I’m telling

you, that stuff with the pants, it won’t matter. He

knows the old movies—the classic movies—and he

knows I know them, too. Did you hear what he said

about confusing Casablanca and Double Indemnity?”

Her chest lifted in a sigh of longing. “It’s like we

were meant for each other—”

“Oh, Audra, please,” Edith Marks muttered dis-

missively. “Stop talkin’ foolishness and get real. I

can’t think of anything much more of a turnoff than

a woman who’s let her butt get so round she rips her

pants in front of a bunch of men!”

Audra rolled her eyes. Leave it to Edith to reduce

things to their lowest, crudest denominator. “They

ripped,” she said loftily, wishing her mother would

let her forget the awful mortification that had ac-

companied that moment, but the woman seemed

determined to make it breathe again, “because I was

breaking up a fight—”

“No, Miss Queen of De-Nial,” her mother

drawled. “They ripped ’cause you need to lose some

weight!” She sniffed sanctimoniously. “I know that

sounds mean, but it’s the truth and you need to hear

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

17

it. A little weight is one thing, but you’re getting too

fat, Audra.”

“I just need to cut back a little—” Audra began.

“A little?” Edith interjected. She reached behind

her, opening one of the old kitchen’s cabinets to re-

veal its contents: a solid wall of junk foods piled on

its shelves, cookies, crackers, candies and chips

jumbled atop each other. “You just bought all this

stuff last night and it’ll be gone by the end of the

weekend—”

“I’m not the only one who eats that stuff. Kiana

likes it—”

“Kiana’s a child,” Edith reminded her, jerking her

head toward the other room where Audra’s niece

watched animated girls cartwheeling around, solv-

ing some kind of mystery through their derring-do.

Either because she was transfixed by the images, or

because she was used to Grandma and Auntie A’s

noise, she didn’t even turn toward their raised

voices. To Kiana, the sound of the two of them argu-

ing over the dinner dishes was as comforting as a

lullaby.

“She doesn’t need this stuff any more than you

do,” Edith added when Audra focused on her again.

“Okay, so I like a little something sweet from time

to time.” Audra shrugged. “I know in your world of

high fashion and glamour, that’s some kind of crime,

but to the rest of us mere mortals, it’s no big deal.”

Edith sighed. “I don’t understand you, Audra.

Seems like you don’t care about what you look like.

Not at all,” Edith continued. Audra was pretty sure

she didn’t do it on purpose, but her mother punctu-

ated the words by striking one of her little poses,

18

Karyn Langhorne

slewing out a foot and propping her hand with her

waist, emphasizing her trim figure. She nodded to-

ward a snapshot of Petra, Audra’s older sister, look-

ing like Tyra Banks doing a photo shoot for army

fatigues, taped to the refrigerator. “Even soldiering

in that awful Baghdad, your sister takes some time

to put herself together. It’s just a matter of pride—”

“I’m looking for a man who sees deeper than out-

ward appearances. Someone who’ll love me no mat-

ter what I look like,” Audra muttered, tossing a dish

towel on the counter and snatching at an open bag

of Oreos protruding from the cabinet like a choco-

late tongue.

“Men are visual, Audra.” Edith grabbed the bag

from her hands and tossed it into the garbage can.

She dipped her hands into the sink for the next of

their dinner dishes. They were a leathery brown—

almost an entire shade darker than her cinnamon-

colored face thanks to the harsh chemicals of her

three decades working as a hairstylist. Still, dark as

the hands had become, they were still three shades

lighter than the lightest part of Audra’s body. Audra

frowned, staring at those hands.

“You want to catch one, you don’t gotta be no

beauty queen, but you sure as hell better work what

you got,” her mother continued, enjoying the

sound of her own wisdom. “Why do you think

Goldilocks Salon is packed from morning to night?

Sisters in there pressing and curling and straight-

ening and weaving”— the hands came up out of

the water as Edith snapped a couple of soapy fin-

gers. “Working it, that’s what they doing. Working

it!” She shook her head, folding her full lips in

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

19

disapproval. “You keep that hair cut short as a

man—and I run a beauty salon, for God’s sake!

How do you think it makes me look in the neigh-

borhood, my own daughter wandering around

with her hair looking like this?” She reached

toward Audra’s short naps, but Audra danced

backward out of her way.

“You know I like my hair short, Ma,” she said de-

fiantly.

“I don’t know any such thing—”

“Well, you ought to know it. We’ve tried every

other style and none of them work any better,

you’ve said so yourself.”

Edith paused, blinking while she remembered the

countless hours she and Audra had spent trying to

get the thick bristles of her hair to behave. But it was

no use: unlike Petra’s locks, which lay down per-

fectly under straightening comb or relaxer—and un-

like Edith’s own—Audra’s hair seemed to have a

mind of its own.

“Well,” Edith said slowly, since there was no ar-

gument to refute this, she