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

Audra

“Bradshaw . . .”

It was one of those conversations that

began with a focus and lapsed into an easy silence

before picking up and sailing into fresh waters.

They’d been lulling for a while, enjoying each other’s

silent company, when the question tickled at the

back of Audra’s brain.

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“Can I ask you something?” she said before she

changed her mind.

“Can I stop you?” Bradshaw quipped, then chuck-

led, sounding completely at ease. Audra couldn’t

stop a little trill of desire from chasing through her,

but she beat it down with a mental We’re just friends

and pressed on.

She backpedaled a bit, trying to think of a way to

phrase the question that wouldn’t sound either too

angry or too desperate and ended up with, “Well,

you’re a man, right?”

Bradshaw’s mellow basso chuckle deepened into

a hearty belly laugh. Audra imagined his handsome

face turned up with laughter and wished for the ten

thousandth time she were in New York, enjoying the

pleasure of his laughter face-to-face. “Yeah, Audra,

I’m a man. Or at least I was last time I checked. You

want me to verify it again before we go on?”

“Never mind.” Audra rolled her eyes in exaspera-

tion. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. I

meant—”

“You need a male perspective,” he finished for

her. “I get it. Ask away. But perspectives are like . . .

uh . . . armpits. Everyone’s got ’em.”

“Armpits?” Audra squealed. “That’s a new one.”

“Well . . . I’m too much of a gentleman to say

something disrespectful or profane in the presence

of a lady.”

“I work in a prison, Bradshaw. I’ve heard every

kind of disrespect and profanity imaginable and

you know it.”

“Not from me you haven’t. And I’d like to keep

it that way. Now, ask your question. And if my

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armpit doesn’t please, well,” he said, “there’s an-

other aroma, right?”

Audra giggled in spite of herself. Armpits . . .

ridiculous. But the silliness made it easier to ask.

“I don’t get you men,” Audra admitted. “Do any

of you know what you want?”

Bradshaw let out another of his booming

chuckles—and in the background, Audra heard

Penny exclaim, “Dad!” Audra imagined her rolling

her eyes at him in dramatic mortification.

“We men! Do any of you women know what you

want?”

“Okay.” Audra nodded. “That’s fair. Nobody

knows what they want—”

“I didn’t say that, either. Or at least, I didn’t mean

it that way,” he corrected. “I just mean that most peo-

ple don’t know what they want, or how to get it . . .

or even who they are. Which makes the ones who

do that much more likely to succeed. Take you, for

example. You knew what you wanted—”

“Whoa.” Audra shook her head. “It wasn’t so

much that I knew what I wanted. More that I knew

what I didn’t want.”

“And what was that?”

Audra hesitated. For some reason, it was always

hard to talk to Bradshaw about the physical aspects

of her Ugly Duckling transformation. Hard to say fat,

black and ugly . . . hard to explain about the face-lift

and the dieting—and impossible to mention the

skin lightening at all. It just all seemed so superficial,

when time and time again, Bradshaw had proved

himself to be more than handsome, but smart, com-

passionate and kind.

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“I knew I felt unattractive,” Audra said carefully.

“And I knew I didn’t want to feel that way any

more.” She shook aside the words before they de-

manded further analysis. “Besides, I don’t want to

talk about me. I want to talk about you, Bradshaw.

Do you know what you want and how to get it? Do

you know who you are?”

It would have been hard to miss the earnestness in

her tone, and she wasn’t surprised when Bradshaw

paused to consider carefully before answering.

“I know some things I want . . .” he said seriously.

“And I know some of the steps I can take to get

them. But a lot of what I want involves the wants of

other people. And unless those other people want

what I want, short of some heavy persuasion, there

may not be a lot I can do.”

Something—whether it was the intensity of his

words or the expression that she imagined accom-

panied them, Audra didn’t know—sent Audra’s in-

ternal temperature toward the heat of August. She

fanned herself in her dim California hideaway, feel-

ing almost like something inside him was speaking

directly to something directly inside her.

“Thanks for that non-answer,” Audra murmured,

still trying to sound flippant light, even though

there were deep currents of attraction racing though

the phone lines. “Now, would you please tell us or-

dinary, plain-speaking folks what the hell you’re

talking about?”

There was a characteristic hesitation before he

spoke.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Au-

dra,” he said simply. “Why don’t we talk about that

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more when we can sit down face-to-face. When

you’re back in New York. Okay?”

Audra’s heart skittered to the pit of her stomach.

It sounded almost like—like—“Yeah,” she mur-

mured. “We can do that, but . . .” She hesitated.

“Suppose they’ve botched this surgery. Suppose—”

“Do you really think I’m that shallow?” he asked,

sounding deeply offended.

“No,” Audra responded, hoping it was the truth.

Then she let the silence engulf them again.

Chapter 21

July 30

Dear Petra,

I have a whole other family I never knew about. Most of

them live in the Caribbean, scattered around the Virgin

Islands. I guess I’ve got an “in” now on St. Thomas, St.

John and St. Croix.

As soon as she heard the news, Shamiyah wanted

to invite them to the Reveal. I had to remind her that

she’d agreed not to air any of this paternity stuff—she

gave Ma her solemn promise. She looked really

disappointed. Art thinks she had already written the

script to one of those reunion shows in her mind. He’s

probably right. I don’t know what I would have done

without him the past few weeks. It’s funny: My being

here is letting us get to know each other in a way we

probably never would have if we could see each other

face-to-face.

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