The designer is
launching a plus-size line in the fall, but right now—”
“Are you calling me fat?” Audra snapped at the
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
53
girl, her good mood quickly slipping away. Audra
thought back: the woman on the subway hadn’t
been small . . . but now that she thought about it,
she’d been a heck of a lot smaller than Audra. A sud-
den embarrassment swept through Audra like a rag-
ing forest fire. Of course this was a smaller-size
store. What on earth had she been thinking—
But then again, the top in the window looked like
it might be cut a little on the roomy side . . .
“No ma’am,” the young woman was stammering
in front of her. “ It—it’s just . . .” she hesitated, and
then spoke quickly, as though the speed of her de-
livery would make the words somehow less upset-
ting. “I don’t mean to offend you . . . but I really
don’t think it’s going to fit and these are very expen-
sive garments. If you rip it—”
“It won’t rip. And if it does, I’ll buy it,” Audra
snapped at her with a force she hadn’t fully in-
tended. The girl’s eyes widened and she backed
away from Audra, putting her hands up to her chest
as though she were afraid she’d have to use them in
self-defense.
“I didn’t mean to offend you—”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Audra said, and meant it.
“It’s just . . . I’ve been dealing with a lot of negativity
lately about my size,” she admitted. “And there’s
this guy at work.” She sighed. “This really, really
good-looking guy. The strong, silent type who
knows old movies. He’s got these eyes . . .” She
sighed again. “And he asked me to a party. Okay, it’s
last minute, but still, he asked me , and I’ve got to be
hip and fancy and I’ve been looking all day . . .” She
blew out a heavy exhale. “I can’t help the fat and
54
Karyn Langhorne
black parts, but . . . I just don’t want to look ugly,”
she said, more to herself than the salesgirl.
To her surprise, the girl touched her arm in conso-
lation. “I understand totally,” she said gently. “The
dressing room is behind the curtain . . . over there,”
she said, pointing to a dramatic black curtain near a
platform lined with mirrors. She hurried to a
counter and squatted. “Let me find the twelve . . .”
she murmured, and disappeared.
Audra heard the rattling of cardboard, then the
girl reappeared with a series of flat red boxes.
“Thank you, darling ,” Audra drawled and swag-
gered toward the curtain as though she were really
Bette and this were really a movie scene.
Audra avoided the mirror as she stripped off her
sweatshirt, sick of the image of herself she knew
she’d find there. There was too much skin, too many
rolls. I’m not eating until after the party is over , she told
herself. And Monday morning, I’m back on my diet , she
vowed, imagining herself svelte and sexy on Art
Bradshaw’s arm by the end of the summer. In the
tiny fitting room, the image seemed possible, proba-
ble, attainable—but then, there weren’t any Oreos
lying around back here to tempt the resolution.
But Art won’t care, either way. He sees the real me . . .
my true beauty , she added mentally and dismissed
the planned day-long fast almost as quickly as she’d
embraced it.
She lifted the frothy, silvery top out of the box
with a sigh of appreciation. It was so soft, so shim-
mering, so beautiful, so fine . . . and had no price
tag—no tags of any kind—except for a tiny label
stitched into the side seam with the designer’s
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
55
name. Eager for the feel of the fabric on her skin,
Audra slipped it over her head.
She got one arm through, too, before she got
stuck, her other arm wedged trapped in the seam,
bound tight to a roll of flesh at her side. She strug-
gled with it, gently, but it didn’t give. She pulled
harder, unwilling to give up . . . and made it worse.
She was
launching a plus-size line in the fall, but right now—”
“Are you calling me fat?” Audra snapped at the
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
53
girl, her good mood quickly slipping away. Audra
thought back: the woman on the subway hadn’t
been small . . . but now that she thought about it,
she’d been a heck of a lot smaller than Audra. A sud-
den embarrassment swept through Audra like a rag-
ing forest fire. Of course this was a smaller-size
store. What on earth had she been thinking—
But then again, the top in the window looked like
it might be cut a little on the roomy side . . .
“No ma’am,” the young woman was stammering
in front of her. “ It—it’s just . . .” she hesitated, and
then spoke quickly, as though the speed of her de-
livery would make the words somehow less upset-
ting. “I don’t mean to offend you . . . but I really
don’t think it’s going to fit and these are very expen-
sive garments. If you rip it—”
“It won’t rip. And if it does, I’ll buy it,” Audra
snapped at her with a force she hadn’t fully in-
tended. The girl’s eyes widened and she backed
away from Audra, putting her hands up to her chest
as though she were afraid she’d have to use them in
self-defense.
“I didn’t mean to offend you—”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Audra said, and meant it.
“It’s just . . . I’ve been dealing with a lot of negativity
lately about my size,” she admitted. “And there’s
this guy at work.” She sighed. “This really, really
good-looking guy. The strong, silent type who
knows old movies. He’s got these eyes . . .” She
sighed again. “And he asked me to a party. Okay, it’s
last minute, but still, he asked me , and I’ve got to be
hip and fancy and I’ve been looking all day . . .” She
blew out a heavy exhale. “I can’t help the fat and
54
Karyn Langhorne
black parts, but . . . I just don’t want to look ugly,”
she said, more to herself than the salesgirl.
To her surprise, the girl touched her arm in conso-
lation. “I understand totally,” she said gently. “The
dressing room is behind the curtain . . . over there,”
she said, pointing to a dramatic black curtain near a
platform lined with mirrors. She hurried to a
counter and squatted. “Let me find the twelve . . .”
she murmured, and disappeared.
Audra heard the rattling of cardboard, then the
girl reappeared with a series of flat red boxes.
“Thank you, darling ,” Audra drawled and swag-
gered toward the curtain as though she were really
Bette and this were really a movie scene.
Audra avoided the mirror as she stripped off her
sweatshirt, sick of the image of herself she knew
she’d find there. There was too much skin, too many
rolls. I’m not eating until after the party is over , she told
herself. And Monday morning, I’m back on my diet , she
vowed, imagining herself svelte and sexy on Art
Bradshaw’s arm by the end of the summer. In the
tiny fitting room, the image seemed possible, proba-
ble, attainable—but then, there weren’t any Oreos
lying around back here to tempt the resolution.
But Art won’t care, either way. He sees the real me . . .
my true beauty , she added mentally and dismissed
the planned day-long fast almost as quickly as she’d
embraced it.
She lifted the frothy, silvery top out of the box
with a sigh of appreciation. It was so soft, so shim-
mering, so beautiful, so fine . . . and had no price
tag—no tags of any kind—except for a tiny label
stitched into the side seam with the designer’s
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
55
name. Eager for the feel of the fabric on her skin,
Audra slipped it over her head.
She got one arm through, too, before she got
stuck, her other arm wedged trapped in the seam,
bound tight to a roll of flesh at her side. She strug-
gled with it, gently, but it didn’t give. She pulled
harder, unwilling to give up . . . and made it worse.
She was
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