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

three months. Not anywhere: doctors’ offices,

hospital, gym . . .”

“What if I want to go to the grocery store, or out to

a restaurant? Or to do some sightseeing—”

Shamiyah shook her head slowly.

“You won’t be doing any of that, Audra. No sight-

seeing. No eating out. No shopping—”

“But what—”

“You’re here to completely change your appear-

ance, and between doctors and trainers, shrinks and

coaches”—the black curly head wagged a little

harder—“your days should be pretty full.”

“Are you telling me I can’t so much as go for a

walk unless you guys have cleared the route for mir-

rors?”

“Worse,” Shamiyah said, grinning uncomfortably

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now. She busied her hands with placing Audra’s

undies into one of the drawers of the cabinet. “I’m

telling you can’t take a walk at all—unless we say

so. I know there’s a lot of stuff in those contracts,

but”—she sighed—“them’s the rules and we’ve ac-

tually asked women to leave the show for breaking

them.”

“You’ve kicked people off the show?”

“You bet.”

“But why? I mean, is this really necessary—”

“Two reasons.” She held up a finger. “First, we

want the cameras to capture your first reaction when

you see for the first time how beautiful you are at the

Reveal, and”—she hesitated a long second—“two,

we want to make sure you look as”—she hesitated

again, as if afraid of Audra’s reaction to her next

words—“unattractive as possible in all the scenes

before the Reveal.”

Audra stared at her for a second. “Like an ugly

duckling,” she said at last.

Shamiyah nodded. “Exactly.” She patted Audra’s

bag. “You’re clean, Marks,” she said, trying her best

to recover some of the jovial friendliness that had ex-

isted between them out in the sunshine, but the room

was such a cave, even Shamiyah seemed to be finding

it difficult to turn on the high-beams. “Two more

things to tell you, then I’ve got to dash. We’re in the

middle of post-production on one of my other

subjects—the first Ugly Duckling, actually. Her Re-

veal was absolutely stunning!” She gushed, reaching

into her purse again, this time producing a thick let-

ter, sealed with some kind of embossed sticker. “Your

schedule and instructions for the first couple of days.

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175

Open them after I leave . . . and feel free to talk to

yourself, mumble and grumble, lie on the floor and

kick and scream . . . whatever feels right to you.”

Audra chuckled. “Now, why on Earth would I

want to do all that?”

Shamiyah pointed to the ceiling, where Audra

could make out several recessed openings filled

with lenses and wires. “Because the cameras are

rolling, Audra . . . and of course, we’ll be recording

all your phone calls. That’s why we had to have a

phone list—and get the permissions signed by any

potential callers in advance. And camera crews will

accompany you on all your appointments, and of

course we’ll film the surgery as well. Pretty much

every move you make and every word you say will

be recorded for the next three months.”

Audra blinked at her. “Every move? Every word?”

Audra shook her head. “I’m not sure America needs

to hear every word I say. Some of them might be a

little . . .”

Shamiyah took Audra by both arms, staring her

hard in the face as though she were the mother and

Audra were a child. “You’re a student of the glory

days of film, Audra, so you ought to understand

what this is about—that’s one of the reasons they

picked you. You need to give the people a show, girl.”

She gave Audra’s shoulders a determined little

shake. “Remember what I told you the first day we

met, about being willing to do anything for this

chance?” She waited until Audra gave her a single,

slow nod. “Then don’t edit yourself. Let yourself

be yourself. I’m counting on you.” She shrugged.

“Besides, you’ll forget about the cameras soon

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enough. Until you do, just try to pretend they aren’t

there.”

Audra nodded, tried to smile and cast a ner-

vous glance at the ceiling. Right now—at this very

moment—she was being recorded. Of course she

was, she’d known that from the beginning . . . but

the reality of it made her feel a little sick.

You’ve lost your marbles. Those had been Edith’s

parting words. And right now, it felt like her mother

might just be right.

“You’ve got Dr. Jamison in”—Shamiyah glanced

at her watch—“about an hour. The skin stuff is really

important—it’s a great visual effect—so you’ll have

a lot of sessions with him.” Shamiyah squeezed her

shoulders in a quick hug. “I’ve got to go, but the car

service will take you there and bring you back—in

fact, they’ll get you to all your appointments. I’ll let

you freshen up a bit,” she said gathering up her

purse and notebook. “You smell like New York.”

“Hmm.”

Dr. Jamison put a finger on either side of her

cheeks and turned her face from right profile to left.

“Hmm,” he said again, releasing her. He stepped

away from her, stroking his chin and staring at her

like an artist contemplating a masterpiece gone seri-

ously awry.

Audra tried to forget the bright light being shined

over them, and the presence of the two men—one

resting a heavy-looking camera on his shoulder, the

other supporting the light—which was exactly what

she’d been instructed to do. Pretend they weren’t

there. Pretend she didn’t have a microphone taped

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177

to her back and that she was just sitting in the pri-

vacy of her doctor’s office having a heart-to-heart . . .

which was easy enough with the man frowning and

stroking his lips like she’d done something wrong.

Before she could stop herself, a nervous chuckle es-

caped from her lips and she’d wisecracked in her

best Bugs Bunny voice. “What’s up, Doc?”

If Dr. Jamison were amused in the slightest, it

didn’t show in his mien. His critical expression

didn’t change, nor did his continual chin stroking,

and still he said not a word. There was a lot about

him that reminded her of Art Bradshaw—his sparse

use of the English language, for one. But there was

no point of thinking about Bradshaw, she reminded

herself. No use at all . . .

“Yes, yes.” The doctor nodded. “It’s coming along

fine. I think you haven’t been taking my warnings

about sun exposure seriously enough—but now that

you’re here, we should be able to address that.”

“I don’t spend any time in the sun,