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

her, hearing them but not hearing them, know-

ing she would see it all later—much later—after the

Reveal and the lengthy process of editing Shamiyah

was already complaining about.

“Thirty seconds.”

More tugging on her hair, more swishing of the

dress, another swipe of lip gloss, while from be-

hind the curtain she heard her own voice from her

Audition tape, saying: “Just once I’d like to not be

the tough broad, one of the guys. Just once, I want

to be the beauty queen. I want to be the one who—”

“Ten seconds! Curtain ready? Strike your pose!

Spotlight in five, four—”

Audra’s right foot shot out behind her, lifting the

heavy weight of the gown as she pointed her toe and

balanced seductively on one foot. One gloved hand

found its way under her chin, the other stretching

forward, supplicating an unseen lover: Audra

Marks as Audrey Hepburn blowing a kiss . . . with a

tan.

A spotlight hit the curtain, and Audra knew her

pose was visible in silhouette on the other side. A

roar went up from the small audience that she knew

included her family and Bradshaw, but God only

knew who else.

“Curtain in five . . . four . . .”

Audra bent her lips into a smile, a smile it seemed

like she’d been practicing her entire life. Her heart

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fluttered nervously, and for a second she wondered

if after all she’d been through, she was going to have

a stroke and die now, now that it was almost over. It

would be the ultimate irony to pass out and die right

here without ever seeing what she’d starved and

sweated for, cried and wished for . . .

“Pull curtain!”

It started to move, slowly at first, in mere inches,

then more swiftly, until Audra was blinded by the

spotlight and deafened by a collective gasp of sur-

prise, followed by the noise of applause.

“Go!” someone hissed from behind her, and she

dropped her pose and started to walk, kicking down

the long red carpet of the stage like a runway model,

adding a little Bronx-born something something,

just to make sure the people watching at home

wouldn’t forget when it got time to make that big

vote for the Top Three winners.

Seated at a long table at the end of the red carpet

were her experts, and when Audra glanced in their

direction, she saw they were all on their feet, ap-

plauding, nodding with approval and pride. Even

stern Dr. Jamison was bringing his big hands to-

gether, and it looked like grouchy old Dr. Koch had

paused to wipe away a tear.

The hostess, a willowy-looking blonde chick

whom Audra had only seen once before—at the

dress rehearsal yesterday—stepped up to hug and

kiss her like they were old pals.

“Audra, you look mahvelous,” she exclaimed in

an odd accent. Audra couldn’t place her: it sounded

like an English accent by way of the prince of Den-

mark. Something about it made Audra suspect the

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girl was totally perpetrating and that between the

funny way of talking and the fact that she made her

red side-slit evening gown look more elegant than

whorish were the sole reasons she had gotten the

hostess job. “Absolutely smashing!”

“Thank you,” Audra said, returning the woman’s

hug. It was a little like squeezing a collection of

bones in a soft skin sack.

“The audience seems really impressed with your

makeover.” She pronounced the word “mackovair”

and it took Audra a brief, blinky second to decipher

it and respond.

“Thank you, audience,” she said, executing a

slight, Miss-America-style turn and waving at them.

“I love you!”

More applause, whistles and even a little laughter

greeted her. Basking under the lights and the love,

Audra couldn’t resist hamming it up. She turned

fully toward the audience and struck a Marilyn

Monroe, blowing airy kisses at the audience and the

cameras between them and her.

“You’re enjoying this attention, aren’t you?”

“I’ve lived most of my life in the shadows,” Audra

said, using the sentence she’d practiced almost since

the first day of her arrival in L.A. “It’s time for me to

step out into the sun . . . uh . . .”—what was this

chick’s name again?—“Cassandra.”

“I know you’ve worked very hard,” veddy ’ard.

“And it shows. You’re an Ugly Duckling no more.

And now it’s finally time for you to see yourself at

long last.” She gestured toward the end of the stage

where a black curtain covered a long rectangular

shape Audra knew concealed a mirror. “When

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you’re ready, cross the stage, stand in front of the

mirror and say the word Reveal. The curtain will fall

away and you’ll see yourself at last. Are you ready?’

Am I Ret-tay? Audra mimicked the woman in her

mind, but aloud she simply said:

“Girl, I was born ready.”

Hostess Cassandra gestured toward the black-

draped mirror. “Then off you go.”

Audra didn’t need to be told twice. She turned,

balancing carefully on the stiletto heels they in-

sisted were a must with a dress like this—a gleam-

ing sheath of blue, beaded with sequins from breast

to hem, the scarf draped dramatically around her

neck as much to hide the slight mottling from the

lightening drug as for effect, and strode across the

stage toward the mirror.

She paused before it, like Shamiyah and the oth-

ers had coached her to do, but their words had been

utterly unnecessary. Audra felt the dramatic weight

of the moment nestle around her like a mantle as the

crowd noise settled down to a hush and her own

heart beat loudly in her ear. She couldn’t compare it,

it was unlike any movie scene she’d ever known.

She knew what her body must look like—she

could tell by looking down at her legs and her

breasts, at the color of the skin on her arms and

over her body. She knew she was thin from the way

her old clothes fit, and from the size 4 sewn on the

inside of every gown she tried in that designer shop.

She knew her hair was long and light-colored,

swishing on her shoulders like a horse’s mane.

None of these things would be a surprise.

The face. Only the face was still a mystery. Until

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