Let’s Call Her Barbie

The Three Way

The Three Way

No man has ever puzzled Stevie quite as much as Simon Richards. She can’t figure him out. For months now he’s smiled, said hello, occasionally asked about her weekend. But that’s it. At times he seems to be on the verge of asking her for a date, but nothing ever comes of it. He’s as aloof as he is handsome. He’s also the first man since Jack that she’s been even remotely interested in, but she’s given up on Simon ever taking her out.

Because of this, she’s a little aloof one afternoon when they find themselves alone in the galley kitchen. And of course, as soon as she’s decided to forget about him, that’s when, out of the blue, he asks if she’d like to go for a real cup of coffee sometime.

That real cup of coffee the next day turns into a four-hour conversation.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, “you waited all this time to ask me out just because we work together?”

“Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘Don’t shit where you eat’?”

“But this is Mattel—everyone’s shitting where they eat.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I’m starting to realize that. Did you know about Frankie and Gina? And Wendy and Twist?”

“It’s a very busy place,” she says, laughing.

“What can I say”—he shrugs adorably—“I used to work in an uptight law firm.”

She smiles, staring into his eyes. They’re warm, and he has exceptionally long lashes for a man. His eyes are his best feature. Or maybe it’s his mouth and those perfect teeth. She can’t decide. “So,” she says, forcing herself to break her gaze, “how do you like working at a toy company?”

“It’s a lot more fun than a law firm. But what’s with the marching music?”

She chortles. “You’ll get used to it. I hardly even notice it anymore. But in the beginning—oh God—I used to hear ‘Stars and Stripes Forever’ in my sleep.”

They fall silent, looking into each other’s eyes. The attraction is strong, and with just a glance it’s growing stronger. Her heart is beating a bit faster; her body is filling with a whoosh of heat.

With a sigh, he says, “I’m glad we’re finally doing this.” He smiles, his lovely eyes crinkling as she feels another delicious whoosh of heat course through her.

When they can’t drink any more coffee but find they still have things to say, they take a walk down Third Street in Santa Monica. Each time their arms accidentally touch, they both feel a charge of excitement.

That weekend they go to the movies to see Billy Jack , and afterward they have dinner at the Sea Lion in Malibu. They’re seated by the windows, watching the waves crashing up the shoreline, a spray of ocean mist on the windows. They’re having marine salads and a glass of Chablis.

He’s quiet during dinner, and when she asks if everything’s okay, he drums the table and says, “Well, there is something I’ve been wanting to ask you about.”

“Sounds serious.”

“No. Not really. At least I hope it’s not serious. It’s about Jack Ryan. You and him. Are you two”—he stops, searching for the right word. “What exactly are you two, anyway?”

She takes a sip of wine. “We’re friends, but”—she takes a second sip—“there was a time we were more than that.”

“You and the little guy?” He gives his head an odd tilt. He’s surprised.

“But now we’re just friends.”

“So just friends?”

“Just friends. But,” she’s quick to add, “Jack’s important to me.”

Simon takes that in, nodding. “That’s fair. He’s your friend. I get it.”

Stevie invites Simon back to her place that night and they sit up talking, just talking. There’s never a break in the conversation. They tell each other about their childhoods and discover that they’re both only children. He grew up in New York and relocated to L.A. just for Mattel. He’s still getting used to driving everywhere. He also wonders how everyone can breathe out here with all the smog, and she promises to get him a gas mask. They talk about their past relationships. He hasn’t had a serious girlfriend since law school and, like her, has been more focused on his career than his personal life. They lose track of time as the light inside her living room changes and faint shadows appear with the dawn. She walks him out to his car just to have a few more minutes with him, and as the sun begins to rise, he finally, finally leans over and kisses her.

—

Stevie’s been seeing Simon for almost three months now. One night at dinner, he smiles, reaches across the table for her hand. “I’ve got it bad for you, Stevie Klein. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’ve got it bad for you, too,” she says, gazing into his eyes.

He stays over for the first time that night, and in Simon she finds a lover who is tender and gentle, passionate and devoted to her, able to give his everything to her. There’s no objection to using protection; in fact, he assumed he would without her having to ask. There’s no one he needs to get rid of first and no one waiting in the wings to take her place. It’s just the two of them and nothing before has ever felt this right.

One Saturday morning, several weeks later, Stevie and Simon are lying in her bed, a breeze blowing through the open window. She likes his scent on her pillowcases and bedsheets. She likes that bits of him have accumulated at her place: his swimming trunks, a pair of tennis shoes, an extra button-down shirt and tie. A second toothbrush, shaving cream and a razor are in her bathroom. She notices his dirty socks, T-shirts and underwear in her hamper, meaning those too are now here to stay. She encourages the overflow happening inside her closet, in the drawer she cleared out for him in her dresser along with the shelf in her medicine cabinet.

Being with Simon feels completely natural to her. And easy. There’s no struggling to carve out time for him versus time for Mattel. If she works late, he heats up dinner for her when she gets home. If she has a bad day, has a problem with Lewis or Twist, he’ll listen while she teases it out of her system. On weekends, if she has to work, he understands. Sometimes they’ll both go into the office on a Saturday and meet up later, when neither one is preoccupied. With Simon, she doesn’t have to make a choice. She can have both her career and a relationship. She’s just plain happy. Happier than she ever thought she could be.

“I need to tell Jack about us,” she says to Simon that morning. “I’d rather he hear it from me than someone else. He’s fragile right now. And he gets weird sometimes. We’re just friends, but he—he still gets jealous. Possessive-like, you know what I mean? I don’t want him to give you a hard time at the office.”

“Well,” he laughs, “I’m not afraid of Jack Ryan.” He props himself up on one elbow and reaches over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “He doesn’t have any power over me. Really, he doesn’t even have much power at Mattel anymore.”

—

Later that day, Stevie goes to the Castle to tell Jack in person. The two of them are lounging out by the pool. Jack is in his tennis whites, a towel slung about his neck as he cools down after his match with one of the new UCLA recruits. She’s in her bathing suit, a straw beach bag filled with magazines and suntan oil at her side. The lawn sprinklers are shooshing back and forth across the grass. One of the UCLA boys brings her a glass of crisp white wine. He stealthily admires Stevie’s sleek, tanned body but is careful not to look too hard or linger too long for fear of igniting Jack’s jealous streak. All the UCLA boys know that only one person is allowed to flirt with Stevie, and that’s Jack.

Jack’s telling Stevie about some wild party he went to the night before with Zsa Zsa. Afterward they took to the Sunset Strip in his fire truck, going from the Hullabaloo to Whisky a Go Go.

“It was outta sight, man.”

She props her sunglasses on her head and studies his face. His eyes are bloodshot, there are dark circles beneath them, broken capillaries have recently sprung up on his cheeks. “I realize this is a dumb question to ask you of all people,” she says, “but what do you see in her?”

“Zsa Zsa? Are you kidding me? She’s a Hungarian beauty.”

“Like I said, it was a dumb question.” She laughs.

“Plus, she’s sophisticated and savvy. And she’s worldly.”

“And she’s a gold digger.”

“Well, she can dig all she wants,” he says. “Thanks to Ruth, I’m broke.”

“You’re not broke. You’re far from broke.”

“I’m still thinking of suing that bitch. My lawyers say I have a strong case.”

She mockingly covers her ears. “I can’t listen to this anymore.”

Just then a beautiful strawberry blonde in a tiny little dress and very high-heeled sandals comes out of the sliding back doors and appears at Jack’s side.

“Stevie, this is Marlene.” He reaches for the woman’s hand and pulls her down onto his lounge chair. “Marlene’s my social secretary.”

Stevie smiles, a little stunned. Since when do you have a social secretary? “Very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Marlene says in a French accent, laughing as she straightens the front of her dress. Prying her fingers away from Jack’s grasp, she says, “You let me go—I have Swedish meatballs arriving.”

“Go, go,” he says. “Go get your meatballs.”

After she’s slipped back through the sliding doors, Stevie sits up, shaking her head. “Social secretary?”

“I need help.” He shrugs. “What can I tell you, I’m a very sociable guy.”

“I’ll say.”

Jack’s parties have become almost legendary. He throws as many as four or five a week. Time magazine has compared Jack Ryan’s parties to Hugh Hefner’s at the Playboy Mansion. Marlene has been hired to amuse him and help him manage it all.

“Well, she’s lovely,” says Stevie.

“And smart, too. She’s a foxy chick. And that accent. Ooh la la . Drives me crazy.”

“Does Ginger know about her?”

“Ginger?” Jack winces, realizing he’s been found out. “God, that is such a mess.”

“Yeah, and when were you going to tell me about that mess ?”

“How’d you find out?”

“You kidding me?” Stevie laughs sadly. “Ginger told me all about it. She thinks you’re her new boyfriend now.”

“Christ.”

“Hey, I have an idea—why don’t you have a ménage à trois with Ginger and Marlene? It’s very French.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“I was joking, My God, you are such a chauvinist.”

“How does that make me a chauvinist?”

“Because you objectify women.”

“I love women.”

“We’re going in circles here.”

They laugh, and when they come to a lull in the teasing, she changes her tone. “So, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

“Ooh, sounds serious.”

“Well, it is, actually.”

Jack sits up. “What is it? You’re not sick, are you?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” She adjusts her sunglasses and glances at the pool and then back at Jack. “It’s just that, well, I’ve started seeing someone.”

He laughs. “Oh, that. You’re talking about you and Simon?”

She’s surprised. “You know about us?”

“Well, I’ve had my suspicions.” He twists his lips into something that’s not quite a smile. “And now you’ve confirmed it.”

“And?” She hesitates, making sure this isn’t some kind of a trick. “And you’re okay with this? You won’t let it interfere with our friendship?”

He’s still smiling. “I knew this day would come eventually. But hey, Simon seems like a decent fella. And he is awfully pretty.”

She slaps him playfully.

He leans over and cups her chin in his hand. “Does he make you happy, kiddo?”

She nods, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And it does, sort of.

Jack gets up from his lounge chair and plunges into the pool, still in his tennis clothes. He stays underwater so long that she fears he’s trying to drown himself. She goes to the edge of the water, kneels down, shouting at him. She’s about to go in after him when Jack rockets through the water’s surface, running his fingers through his hair, laughing like a madman.

—

One week later, Ginger’s waiting for Jack to return from an appointment. He was rather mysterious about it for some reason. Even though Jack has just ended their relationship, she refuses to believe it’s over. She thinks if she can just lose those last three pounds, she can get him back. She has to get him back. She just has to—and so, she takes another diet pill.

She checks the clock on her desk. It’s almost four. Where is he? He left over three hours ago but didn’t say where he was going. Something’s wrong. What if something happened to one of his daughters? What if he’s sick somewhere? What if he’s been in a terrible accident? She frets over this until it occurs to her that maybe he’s already come back. Maybe he slipped back in when she was in the ladies’ room, or getting coffee, or making copies down the hall in the Xerox room. After all, she hasn’t been glued to her desk this whole time. He could have easily come through the lobby and gone straight into a meeting. This gives her a quick wash of relief as she reaches for the mirror in her top drawer to check her makeup.

She looks but doesn’t see the hollowed-out cheekbones, the gaunt circles beneath her eyes. Instead, Ginger still sees a fat mousy girl with a Dick Tracy nose. Maybe it’s the hair color? But she’s a platinum blonde now. She can’t go any lighter, and the hairdresser has warned that her hair’s already damaged, full of split ends. She touches up her lipstick just in case Jack is back. She smiles to check her teeth for food, despite not having eaten anything since the day before, and adds a dab of perfume behind each ear.

She reviews Jack’s calendar for the third or fourth time, making sure she hasn’t missed something. She sees no meetings scheduled for that afternoon, and whatever hope she had is now canceled out, replaced by knurling in her stomach. A new fear sneaks up on her. Something tells her that wherever he is right now, he’s not alone. He’s with someone and she has a feeling she knows who it is. She gets up from her desk and goes searching, checking the main conference room, the smaller meeting rooms. She checks the archive room, the model making room, the kitchen, the cafeteria and lastly the design department. She knew it. Stevie’s not at her desk.

—

Jack and Stevie have just visited a sanatorium that Dr.Klemes recommended and Stevie begged Jack to look into. It’s half past six when they return to Mattel. The parking lot has pretty much emptied out save for Ruth’s and Elliot’s Rolls-Royces and a handful of other cars. Jack is quiet, somber, even a little agitated. The whole way home he told Stevie he doesn’t need to check himself in somewhere. He can handle it. She’s overreacting.

“I’m not Neely O’Hara. This isn’t Valley of the Dolls , you know.”

“It would just be for a little while, Jack.”

“Well, it ain’t happening, so forget it.”

After pushing through the turnstile, Jack heads back to his office on Mahogany Row, and Stevie stops into the ladies’ room, where she finds Ginger crying. After one look at Stevie, Ginger begins to bawl even harder, sinking to the tiled floor as if her spindly legs can’t hold her any longer.

“Are you okay?” Stevie asks. “You look pale.” She dampens a fresh paper towel and kneels down beside Ginger, placing it across her forehead. She murmurs something in return, indicating that the cool dampness feels good. Ginger’s eyes start going glassy again before she drops her head to her bony hands, her shoulders quaking.

This goes on for a ridiculously long time and Stevie’s thighs are aching from squatting in place. Eventually she just gives up and sits down next to Ginger. Another round of tears and Stevie glances at her watch. It’s almost seven o’clock now. She has a mountain of work waiting for her.

“C’mon,” she says. “It’s getting late and—”

“Just go. Let me be.”

“You can’t stay in here all night.”

And with that Ginger howls, letting out a string of spittle and a mumble of words. “Why doesn’t he want me? I’d do anything for him but he still doesn’t want me.”

“Because,” says Stevie, “you know how Jack is. He’s got a million different women.”

Ginger starts to sob again, and there’s no way to make her see that it’s not Jack she needs, and that no amount of plastic surgery or hair dye or dieting can fix what ails her. There are some places no scalpels can reach, no pills can remedy.

“Oh, Ginger, c’mon now. Get a grip on yourself.”

The door opens and in walks Ruth, which is always a bit disconcerting. Shouldn’t she have her own private bathroom? No one wants to pee in a stall next to Ruth Handler. The sight of Ruth is enough to make Ginger pull herself together.

Ruth’s eyes go from Stevie to Ginger and back to Stevie. “What are you two still doing here? It’s late. Is she sick?” Ruth asks, helping Stevie get Ginger to her feet.

“She’ll be okay,” says Stevie. “She’s just—just a little upset is all.”

“Does this have something to do with Jack?” asks Ruth.

“No, no,” says Stevie even as the mention of his name makes Ginger start wailing all over again.