Avoidance Behavior
Avoidance Behavior
Jack returns from another trip to Japan to find that Ginger has changed her hair color. She’s lightened it. And it brings out her eyes, which are bluer than he’d thought. It looks like she’s lost some weight, too. He knows she’s been trying to reduce. He’s seen the Ayds caramels in her desk drawer that she nibbles during her coffee breaks. The box says Ayds Reducing Plan. Lose up to 10 pounds in 5 days.
His trusted gatekeeper is now leaning against his doorjamb, telling him that the weekly Barbie status meeting in the conference room has started. And he’s late. Jack leaves himself a message on his tape recorder, grabs his coffee and tries to gather his thoughts as he heads down the hallway. The good news is that the Barbie master molds are close to being finalized and should be ready to go soon. The bad news is that it’s almost rice harvesting season in Japan, and that means the farmhands that KBK hired to do the piecemeal work on Barbie will be returning to the paddies to harvest rice. So starting in September, KBK will shut down their Barbie operations for a month, possibly six weeks. He is not relishing the thought of telling Ruth.
From the hallway he sees everyone seated around the table. Twist is pitching crumpled-up wads of paper into the wastebasket; Frankie is waving his pencil, making it appear rubbery; Huntly is building a chain of interconnected paper clips. It’s like they’re all fussy little kids, incapable of sitting still.
And then there’s Ruth, glowering at him. “So good of you to join us, Jack.”
He saunters in and closes the door behind him, all smiles and forced lightness. “Are we having fun yet?” he asks.
Ruth grinds her cigarette down to a nub. “Let’s get started, shall we?” She stands up and goes to an easel-backed drawing board in the corner with a big Barbie Toy Fair Launch scribbled across the top in thick black marker.
Toy Fair is getting closer. This trade show draws tens of thousands of buyers and sellers from across the country, and it’s the one chance each year to introduce new products. Toys live and die depending on their reception at Toy Fair.
Never mind that they have two new Burp Guns, the H ? 0 Two-Stage Missile water rocket and the musical boxes and xylophone that Elliot dreamed up—everything and everyone is focused on Barbie. She’s slated to debut in March at the ’59 show. If they miss that, they’ll have to wait an entire year, again, before they can effectively release her. They can’t afford to have Charlotte, Stevie and Mia treading water for twelve months, and yet Ruth can’t afford to let them go for fear she’ll never get them back. Jack and his team could continue to test and tweak more prototypes for an eternity. They’re already over budget on Barbie, and on top of that, Ruth worries that if they fall behind schedule, someone else—and not Miss Revlon—will beat them to market with an adult doll.
Tensions are running high as everyone feels time closing in from the other side. Elliot has a giant calendar tacked up on the conference room wall, and each day when he arrives, before he puts on his classical music, he crosses out another box in red marker and adjusts the days. They are 247 days away. It’s July now. They have just over eight months. Ruth’s brought on more people, moving key personnel from engineering and model making in the boys’ toys divisions over to work on Barbie. Now nearly a third of their operating budget is devoted to getting Barbie off the ground.
Ruth begins running down her checklist. “Where are we at with the revised packaging?” she asks Sid Gravely in marketing.
Sid’s in his late twenties and is already bald. His toupee nests on his head, never landing in the same spot twice. It’s positioned either too far left or too far right, exposing the edges of his pink scalp, which everyone politely ignores.
“The revised packaging?” Ruth asks again, more insistent this time.
Sid’s a smart guy and very good at what he does, but he’s terrified of Ruth. Glancing down at his notes, he says, “We’re, ah, we’re almost there.”
“Almost? What does that mean? And what about the final logo design?”
“It, ah. It’s—it’s, ah, coming along.” Pinpricks of sweat are sprouting on his forehead.
Ruth shoots him an irritated look and then widens her gaze, taking aim at the entire room. “We need to finalize everything and get Japan started on production. We’re running out of time, people.”
This is not what Jack wants to hear—especially in light of his rice harvesting news, which will impact their timeline. So while Ruth is berating everyone, Jack tunes her out, taking note of Charlotte’s new designer. Stevie’s young, but she’s a firecracker and smart as hell. He can tell she doesn’t like him, which is utterly disconcerting. Unlike the other girls, Stevie doesn’t give him longing glances, doesn’t laugh at his jokes and doesn’t linger after a meeting hoping to strike up a conversation. She does none of that. In fact, in the three months she’s been there, he’s never once felt like he’s had her undivided attention. Whenever he’s talking—even in a meeting—she seems to be doing something else, writing a note to herself, leafing through some files or source material. The fact that she won’t give him the respect he deserves—he is her boss, after all—makes her intriguing, a challenge. He wants to win her over, but to what end, he can’t say.
He wonders if she has a boyfriend. How could she not? He sees how Twist and the others flirt with her. She’s a brown-haired, blue-eyed beauty with a dimpled chin like Ava Gardner. He bets her hair feels as good as it smells… Jesus, stop it! He shouldn’t be thinking about her in this way. He shouldn’t be thinking about her at all. This is what Dr.Greene would call “avoidance behavior.” Jack doesn’t want to think about rice harvesting, so he is thinking about Stevie. Jack Ryan is nothing if not introspective.
He forces himself to refocus on the meeting, hearing all the jargon tossed around about play value and nature play pattern toys versus projection play pattern toys. Ruth is now talking about forecasts and inventory needs before she turns the floor over to Charlotte.
“Here’s the latest designs,” says Charlotte, as Stevie lines up a series of outfits on the fitting dolls. The first one sports a strapless cocktail dress made of a white and gold brocade pattern. The dress is a close-fitting sleeveless sheath that zips up the back and hugs Barbie’s curves. “It’s a classic design,” Charlotte says.
“I like it,” says Ruth. “Now you just need to plus it up. What about a matching stole? Or maybe a wrap?”
While Stevie takes copious notes, Charlotte reaches for her sketchpad and in big vigorous strokes knocks out a jacket with three-quarter-inch sleeves. “What about something like this?” She tears the sheet from her pad, sliding it across the table to Ruth.
Jack watches the two of them, Ruth and Charlotte, playing off each other, harmoniously as wind chimes. It’s like there’s some telepathic current flowing between them.
“Maybe dress up the collar,” Ruth suggests. “Add some details on the sleeve.”
“Maybe fur trim?” says Charlotte.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” says Ruth. “And what about accessories?”
“Oh, I have a full line of accessories,” says Charlotte.
Of course you do , thinks Jack.
Charlotte presents a gold clutch bag with lemony silk lining and a pair of brown open-toed pumps. Ruth loves them. She fucking loves everything Charlotte shows her . Much as he hates to admit it, Jack’s feeling a little crowded out. It used to be the three of them, but now it’s Ruth and Charlotte. And Stevie. Jack’s sure it’s just a matter of time before she worms her way into the girls’ club. And that’s what it is. It’s a girls’ club, but he wants in.
Growing up, he was never allowed in the boys’ club. He was too short for most sports, aside from wrestling, which held no appeal. If he was going to get sweaty rolling around on the ground, it was going to be with a girl. Not that he had many options for that, either. The girlfriends would come later, and my how his life changed once he discovered how to unlock that treasure trove. Aside from his wife in recent years, the only women he hasn’t been able to charm are Ruth, Charlotte and now Stevie, which floods him with concern. Is he losing his touch? What then? Right or wrong, the attention and admiration of women are the source of his confidence. His sense of identity is wrapped up in them as surely as his arms long to wrap around their bodies.
“And Jack.” Ruth shifts her focus to him. “Why don’t you bring us up to speed on your trip. Where are we at with KBK?”
Jack reaches back and gives his neck a squeeze. His collar is slightly damp. His head feels like it’s in a drum and his voice sounds muffled as he reports back on the successful assessment of the Barbie molds. He knows he’s talking, but the distortion is like feedback from a microphone. Finally, he gets to the tough part, the rice harvesting.
It’s only the shrill sound of Ruth’s “Are you fucking kidding me?” that clears his head. “You’re telling me everybody who works on Barbie is going to shut down for an entire month so they can go harvest fucking rice?” Ruth’s on her feet, leaning over the table, her venom directed at Jack.
He’s got to recover some ground here. His entire team is watching. Even Stevie has her eyes on him. And he’s not like Sid. He’s not afraid of Ruth. “Yep,” he says, now also standing, figuratively prodding her with a needle, trying to get under her skin. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. KBK is closing down Barbie production so they can harvest fucking rice.” He’s aware of Stevie watching him and he feels like he’s performing for her, playing to her. Their eyes lock for the briefest of seconds before she breaks away.
“And nobody—meaning you , boy genius—thought to build this into our goddamn timeline?”
“Okay now, that’s enough.” Elliot stands up and places his hands on Ruth’s shoulders, gently coaxing her back into her chair. “We still have time until Toy Fair,” Elliot says. “When they’re done harvesting, we’ll have KBK bring on extra shifts if we have to. We’ll have their people working round the clock, on weekends, too. We’ll have KBK do whatever it takes to make up the lost time and keep us on schedule. Okay?” Elliot’s gaze travels around the room as he pauses on each of them, one at a time, to make eye contact. Placing both palms flat on the table, he says, “All right, then. Can we move on now?”
Aside from inventing toys, acting as the peacekeeper is perhaps Elliot’s most important job at Mattel. He trails behind his wife, cleaning up the carnage from vendors she’s upset, employees she’s turned into a puddle of tears, bankers she’s insulted. Without Elliot’s diplomatic charms, Ruth’s impatience, not to mention her ire, would have probably blown up Mattel years ago.
—
Stevie pulls out of the Mattel parking lot, grateful that she finally had the money to replace the battery and no longer has to hold her breath and pray each time she turns the ignition key. As she drives, her head is buzzing from the meeting earlier that day. She still can’t get over how Ruth lashed out at Jack—and in front of everyone. Now she gets why they call her Ruthless. It was a little scary, but also impressive to see her in action like that.
Stevie’s mother is just the opposite, so quick to apologize for all of life’s upsets, taking full responsibility for anything that goes wrong in her father’s world—it’s her fault if he burns his tongue on the soup, if the newspaper sections get out of order. Her mother even takes the fall for things like the hot water tank going on the fritz, the flat tire he had on the freeway, the dog barking next door. Stevie knows it will never happen, but just once she’d love to see her mother show a little strength, take back a little power—power that she doesn’t even know she gave away.
Her mind shifts back to the meeting. Jack certainly wasn’t ruffled by Ruth. Stevie still doesn’t like Jack, but she’s admittedly curious about him. Ever since that conversation with Patsy, she hasn’t been able to look at him the same way. Jack Ryan, a masterful kisser, the giver of orgasms. She must have been thinking about that in the meeting, because at one point their eyes met. It had sent an unexpected charge through her and she’d felt the blush rising on her cheeks.
Much to her annoyance, she’s still thinking about Jack when she gets to her apartment. She and Vivian live in one of those newer structures that will later be coined a dingbat . Casa Bella is sprawled across the white stucco in gold lettering with a smattering of stars for a bit of added embellishment. The building looks like it’s standing on stilts, and is divided into four apartments with an overhang that covers the cars.
Stevie steps inside, puts her keys on a little kitchen table and eases out of her heels, her feet soothed by the chill of the tiled floor. She can tell that Vivian isn’t home yet because she hasn’t tripped over her shoes, all the lights aren’t on, and the hi-fi isn’t blasting.
Though friendly at Chouinard, Stevie and Vivian became roommates out of economic necessity. After turning up to view the same West Hollywood apartment that neither one could afford, they decided to move in together and split expenses. As roommates they are compatible, but mostly because Stevie doesn’t make a big deal about the peanut butter knife left out on the counter, the toothpaste clinging to the bathroom sink or Vivian’s tendency to use the last of everything from shampoo to milk.
Grabbing a bottle of bitter lemon from the icebox, she goes out onto the balcony, which overlooks a pool. It’s a warm evening and the two young boys from 1B are swimming, splashing about. As Stevie takes a sip from her drink, she catches herself thinking about Jack again, recalling how he looked at her in that meeting. Or had she been the one looking at him? Oh, just stop it! But the more she admonishes herself not to think about him, the more she does. It’s like telling someone Don’t think about the zebra in your bathtub . The whole thing is so messy. She works for him, and besides, she’d have to get in line behind all the other women who adore him. And she most definitely does not adore him.
“Stevie? You home?” she hears Vivian calling.
“Out here.”
Vivian joins her on the balcony. With sleek black hair to her shoulders and enormous dark eyes, Vivian’s stylish and short, almost as short as Ruth and sometimes just as pushy. “So today I met the editor of Glamour magazine,” she says, helping herself to Stevie’s bitter lemon. “They’re going to feature one of Rudi’s swimsuit designs in their June issue. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Yeah, that is exciting.” She tries not to sound jealous. Last week it was the fashion editors from Vogue , and the week before, Harper’s Bazaar . “Oh, and I had lunch today with Bob.”
“Bob?”
“Bob Mackie. He asked about you. Said to say hello.”
“Is he still at Paramount?”
“Yeah, and he’s working on Marlene Dietrich’s new picture. Isn’t that great?”
“That’s—that’s really great.” Bob was their classmate, and like Stevie, he’d dropped out of Chouinard before graduation. But Bob left because Frank Thompson hired him to be a costume sketch artist for the movies.
Bob and Vivian are in the center of the fashion design world, and while Vivian talks endlessly about her internship at R.G. Designs, Stevie is legally silenced, gagged by that mountain of confidentiality forms she signed. All Vivian knows is that she makes doll clothes for some toy company. Stevie can’t even utter the words fashion doll without risk of getting fired. Unlike Charlotte and Jack, who have special clearance, Stevie can’t bring work home, so she can’t show Vivian the rabbit fur stole and blue bubble dress she’s been designing or the white vinyl car coat with red fleece lining she’s been working on with Charlotte. As spectacular and intricate as her designs are, at the end of the day, they’re still just doll clothes. Stevie feels like a bit player on the design stage, questioning if she made the right decision and how, despite her $200 a week, Mattel is going to get her any closer to her goal of becoming a real designer.
—
Jack arrives fifteen minutes late for Group. He lost track of time and then got stuck in traffic. Despite the rice harvesting debacle earlier that day, he is a rising star at Mattel, but at home, he’s in the doghouse, which is why he attends group psychotherapy with his wife. He’s a lousy husband, he knows this. It’s been years since he’s been faithful to Barbara. He works too much, drinks too much, too. He does love his little girls, though, and yet he can’t say he’s a great father, either. He’s never gotten the hang of being a parent. In many ways he’s still a child himself, always getting into mischief and encouraging his daughters to do the same. He shows them how to roast marshmallows over the flame on the gas stove, he wakes them up when he can’t sleep for a game of marbles or checkers. They are the little play friends who—thanks to his mother—Jack was never allowed to have.
When it’s Jack’s turn to speak, Dr.Greene says, “How are we doing with your im-pul-siv-i-ty ?” He breaks the word into five syllables.
Jack is stuck on the we of it. We are not doing anything with his impulsivity , which is Dr.Greene’s word for it, not Jack’s. Jack knows what Dr.Greene wants to hear, what Barbara needs to hear, and so he says it: “I realize my actions have consequences.” There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? But he can’t look at his beautiful wife because she’ll see right through him. When it comes to self-control and good judgment, Jack lacks both.
He glances around the room at the other four couples, plus Dr.Greene, all of them sitting in a circle on folding chairs. Dr.Greene is wearing a pair of corduroy slacks the color of stadium mustard and a brown cardigan sweater. His legs are crossed; his foot bobs up and down. His loafer, having slipped off his heel, dangles in limbo. He looks bored, and if he isn’t, he should be. What a sorry lot they are. The wife sitting to Jack’s left cries in every session because her husband had an affair nine fucking years ago. The husband of the couple next to them has a fear of mirrors. He thinks something awful will happen to his wife if he looks at himself. How crazy is that? Jack seems completely sane in comparison and wonders how in the hell he let Barbara talk him into this.
Poor Barbara. He never should have married her. They met on Cape Cod and Jack was taken by the girl who attended the Parsons School of Design, enchanted by her talent, her creative flair and intellect. It didn’t hurt that Barbara, with her lustrous chestnut-brown hair, beautiful smile and patrician nose, has the kind of upper-crust pedigree his mother approved of. If only she liked sex half as much as he loves her. And he does love her. In fact, if she’d let him, he’d show her just how much he loves her several times a week, but Barbara’s not a physical person, and that’s the only way he can express his feelings. So they miss each other, two stars shooting off in opposite directions. But still, he loves her more than any of the other women in his life. And right now, there really isn’t anyone special. Yes, he had that fling with the cocktail waitress, but it petered out. There was Patsy and then Wendy from the office, but neither of those were serious things. The woman in Tokyo, Akari, was fun but limited since his Japanese consists of three phrases: Is production on the budget, yes? ; You be very nice business partners ; and Would you like to do sex with me tonight?
He will admit to being a little preoccupied lately by Stevie in the design department. She shows zero interest in him, but he keeps trying to get to her. She’s like a mountain to climb, a riddle to solve, a challenge to be conquered. Beyond that, he’s not sure what he wants from her other than some reassurance that at thirty-one, he’s still attractive, still desirable.
Jack’s wife is speaking to the group now, talking about her favorite sweater being destroyed by clothes moths, as if this has anything to do with their future. He studies her face, knowing that the real problem with their marriage is not his overactive libido, his obsession with work or even his drinking. It’s his brain. He’s convinced that something is not right up there. But man is he ever busy inside his head. The thoughts—some good and many very, very bad—crowd in on him, packing his skull so tight, it feels like his head might split in two. Oh, how he wishes he could just stop thinking. Is that asking too much? Isn’t there such a thing as a happy medium between feeling invincible, like he can fly, and feeling like he wants to hurl himself off a rooftop? The highs are so high he can feel the sun’s scorch, and the lows are bottomless, bleak and black. He’s either miserable or elated. There’s no in-between. Surely other people’s minds don’t torment them the way his does.
The only time he manages to escape and block out the noise is when he’s lost in his work, concentrating so intently that nothing else can worm its way in. That’s why he’s given all he has to Mattel. To this doll. Right now, Barbie is his only respite.