Let’s Call Her Barbie

What’s My Line?

What’s My Line?

Jack is on fire. The man is unstoppable, outdoing himself at every turn. Everything he touches turns to gold. Frankly, he’s done more to grow Mattel than Seymour Rosenberg has with all his bluster about acquisitions, all his warnings about Barbie being in trouble. He couldn’t have been more wrong about that.

Barbie’s sales are stronger than ever, and now, on top of all his previous successes, Jack is going to be on television. He’s a contestant on the popular show What’s My Line? , where a star-studded panel of actors and entertainers will ask him a series of questions and try to guess his occupation. Ruth and Elliot are so thrilled about this added publicity for Mattel, they’ve insisted on paying for Jack’s flight to New York and his suite at the Plaza Hotel.

The show airs live on Sunday night at ten thirty, and when Jack arrives at Studio 50 an hour earlier, the live television audience is already lined up on 53rd Street, waiting to be let into the auditorium. Jack is greeted by the producers and says a quick hello to the host, John Daly, before he’s ushered into hair and makeup. Since they’re going to be broadcasting in color, Jack is wearing a double-breasted yellow and blue plaid jacket with a blue turtleneck and has a peace sign hanging from a gold chain about his neck.

One of the producers, a man with bushy eyebrows and a clipboard, sidles up beside him at the makeup mirror. “Now, I just want to go over a few things.” They review the game rules and confirm the spelling of his name. “And let’s make sure we have the correct job description for the caption.” He consults the clipboard again. “We have your occupation as Toymaker for Mattel .”

Jack steals a glance at himself in the mirror. Framed in light bulbs all around, he looks like a movie star. Who would have ever imagined that he—Jack Ryan, miserable lonely kid from Riverdale—would appear on television? And on What’s My Line? no less. He assesses himself in the mirror again. He’s not just a toymaker; he’s a star. He’s also Mr.Im-pul-siv-i-ty and there’s no time for consequences. “Tell you what,” he says to the producer, “let’s just make one small change to that caption.”

After they pancake his face and spray his hair in place, Jack is led into the greenroom, where he meets the other contestants—a whale trainer and Lyndon Johnson’s speechwriter, along with this week’s mystery guest, Raquel Welch. The celebrity panelists—Arlene Francis, Dorothy Kilgallen, Tony Randall and Steve Allen—are in a separate greenroom, away from the contestants, to ensure there’s no cheating. And, of course, they’ll be blindfolded when it’s time to question Raquel Welch, who seems quite charmed by Jack. He’s thinking of taking her out for a late supper afterward. Why not? He’s an up-and-coming famous inventor. She’s not out of his league.

Showtime is drawing nearer, and they can hear the producers warming up the studio audience with rounds of applause and instruction. Jack’s heart begins beating wildly when the man with the bushy eyebrows and the clipboard calls for him. “You’re the first one up,” he says, leading Jack backstage. There are crew members rushing around, adjusting lights, tweaking microphones, preparing cue cards and the teleprompter. From the wings, Jack hears the crack of applause as he watches Arlene Francis take her place at the panelist desk. As the other panelists are introduced, the man with the bushy eyebrows rattles off last-minute instructions on where to stand, where to look. Jack’s adrenaline kicks up a notch higher. He can’t wait to get out there and take his place under the lights, in front of the fans and the entire nation.

Meanwhile, it’s seven thirty in Los Angeles and all of Mattel is watching along with the rest of the country. The engineers are at Twist’s, Stevie has gathered with Patsy and the other designers at Dee’s, Charlotte is tuned in, so are the stockholders and of course Ruth and Elliot are watching with Barbara, Allen and their kids.

When they introduce the first contestant, Jack swaggers onto the stage, all smiles, looking rather dashing in a flashy sports coat. After he writes his name on the chalkboard, the host, John Daly, welcomes him, asks where he’s from and invites Jack to take a seat across from the panelists.

“Before we begin,” says the host, “let’s show our TV audience and our viewers at home exactly what your line is.”

This is the moment when Toymaker for Mattel will be revealed to millions of viewers. Ruth inches closer to the television set, excitement firing off inside her body. You can’t buy this kind of publicity. She’s shushing the kids while she squeezes Elliot’s hand. But when the caption comes up on the TV screen, what they—and everyone else—see instead is Creator of the Barbie Doll .

—

Ruth may have forgiven Jack twice before for claiming he invented Barbie, but announcing it on national TV is too much. She’ll be damned if she’s going to let him erase her from the equation, not after the sacrifices she made, the risks she took to bring Barbie to market. She worked her tail off, and he’s not going to deny her the bragging rights to Barbie.

As soon as Jack’s back in the office, Ruth rips into him. “ You created Barbie? You created her? How dare you!”

“Jesus, Ruth, can I at least get a cup of coffee before you—”

“Shut up. Shut up before I slice your goddamn balls off.”

“Whoa—” Jack backs up, his shoulders pressed to the Mahogany Row wall. “Why are you so upset? It’s not like I got up there and lied. I am one of the creators of Barbie.”

Ruth’s eyes narrow and her lips squeeze together in a tight round bud of fury.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, “it was great publicity for Barbie. And for Mattel.”

“Just shut the hell up and stay out of my way.”

“You’re overreacting. I didn’t do anything—”

“I mean it, Jack, shut your mouth and just stay the hell away from me.”

And so Jack’s appearance on What’s My Line? marks a turning point in their relationship. There’s no forgiving this time. No putting this behind them. The two are openly hostile. They don’t even bother with a good morning anymore, or making eye contact when they pass each other in the hall. They speak to each other only when absolutely necessary.

Elliot is ever congenial and diplomatic, trying to make things as pleasant as possible, given the circumstances. They used to be one big happy family, and this is eating his kishkes out. He’s sure the rest of the staff is picking up on the tension and he worries about company morale. He continues to play his marching music each day, but it’s just background noise—it lifts no one’s spirits. Least of all his.

Though Jack’s trying to play it cool, claiming Ruth’s rancor doesn’t bother him, he’s not doing okay. Stevie’s worried about him. One morning he questions why she didn’t come to his party the night before.

“I was there. Jesus, Jack, you need to ease up on the booze.” She swears she can smell liquor on him, and it’s not even nine o’clock. “Did cocktail hour start early today or are you still drunk from last night?”

“I don’t even remember last night,” he says. “I woke up with two women in my bed.” He shakes his head and laughs. “Apparently, I had one hell of a time. Too bad I can’t remember it.” He laughs again, harder this time, making his shoulders shake until his laughter dissolves into a fit of tears. “Oh, Stevie.” He holds out his arms to her, a child reaching for his mother. She goes to him, tries to soothe him as he sobs. “Am I losing my sex appeal?”

“You just had sex with two women last night, what do you think?” she says, trying to lighten the mood.

He sniffles pathetically. “Do you still find me sexy?”

She doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. He looks terrible—exhausted and bloated. And he’s recently started dyeing his hair shoe-polish black in an attempt to cover the sprigs of gray sprouting up around his temples. It’s hard to see him this way, hard to believe there was a time when she found him so irresistible.