Diary of an Ugly Duckling by Karyn Langhorne Page B

hard to look as good as I can. Fortu-
    nately, I also have my sparkling personality to rely on—
    along with a fantastic repertoire of scenes from
    Hollywood’s greatest!
    Still . . . I’m nervous, P. Really nervous. I think he
    DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
    59
    may really like me. God, I hope so. But the things Ma
    says get under my skin sometimes and make me
    doubt myself. And it doesn’t help that I have that trou-
    ble brewing at work, either. Sometimes it feels like
    everything’s always against me and it will take a mon-
    umental change to turn it around . . .
    Or maybe I just need to eat a few more Oreos!
    Wish you were here,
    Ugly Sister
    Too trendy for words.
    That’s what the place was, considering it was
    in a basement, sandwiched between an Indian
    restaurant and an art gallery in a “transitional”
    neighborhood in Brooklyn.
    It’s at least aptly named , Audra thought, studying
    the bright neon script spelling out the word: Caverna.
    A cinnamon-skinned teenager with long, black
    hair, wearing a tiny beaded halter, stood just outside
    the entrance dragging determinedly on a cigarette
    and pretending not to shiver while a not-quite-
    spring breeze caught the smoke and bore it away. A
    short, older-looking white kid stood near her, talk-
    ing excitedly, but the chick barely seemed to be listen-
    ing. As Audra descended the five steps toward the
    bar’s entrance, the odd couple fixed their collective
    gaze on Audra, making her feel self-conscious all
    over again: Her nicest black pants were tighter than
    she would have liked, and the yellow-shawl-like top
    from the plus-size store that had been her second
    choice flapped in the breeze like a tent. The pointy
    toes of her new shoes pinched her feet. Audra
    60
    Karyn Langhorne
    wished there were time for one last check of the
    makeup slathered on her face like a mask by a deter-
    mined beauty consultant a few hours ago, but there
    wasn’t. She was here now . . . and acne or no acne,
    running mascara or lipsticked teeth, her look would
    have to be good enough.
    Still, if she weren’t mistaken, the kids were giving
    her that same folded-lip look her mother had given
    her just before she’d walked out the door . . . and to
    make matters worse, she thought she heard the
    smoking girl burst into a twitter of sudden laughter
    in the space between the time Audra’s foot crossed
    the threshold of the club and the second after, when
    the door thudded closed behind her.
    She shook off the sound with difficulty and
    looked around her.
    The owners of Caverna had taken the cave thing
    literally. It was dark except for a few torch-shaped
    sconces set strategically around the room. The ceil-
    ing dripped with stalactites and the tables and
    chairs were designed so they looked like stalagmites
    growing up from the cave floor. Audra thought she
    heard the sound of dripping water under the pump-
    ing rhythm of hip-hop music, but could not locate
    its source among the crowd of youthful bodies jam-
    ming every square inch of the place.
    Sleek girls in slim, short skirts and high heels,
    showing brown midriffs from tiny halters danced
    with boys in low-slung pants and slick-patterned
    shirts. Other girls were more conservative in their
    strapless, gauzy chiffon and flouncy, asymmetrical
    hems, but all of them were so attractive and ener-
    getic that Audra hesitated, the worst memories of
    DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
    61
    herself as an uncool high schooler returning with a
    vengeance.
    This was a mistake , a voice from deep inside her an-
    nounced, flashing back to many a high-school
    dance, when Audra’s only companion had been her
    own isolation, her own loneliness. There’s nothing for
    you here . Audra’s feet seemed inclined to agree. They
    were already shuffling her backward away from the
    dancing and the music and the whole party scene.
    This isn’t high school. He invited me and we’re going ,
    Audra told her juvenile self, pulling the mantle of
    dead Hollywood dames