Diary of an Ugly Duckling by Karyn Langhorne Read Free Book Online Page B

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
    52
    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.