Twist My Arm
Twist My Arm
Word travels quickly. Jack Ryan is gone. Unbelievable. The end of an era. No one can imagine Mattel without him. They can’t believe Ruth fired him. No, no , others insist, it was the other way around. Jack resigned. No one knows for sure. Even Ruth isn’t quite sure how it happened. The whole thing got so heated and went sideways so fast. She can’t remember who said what, but she does remember calling the guard. Her staff definitely doesn’t know about the lawsuit, and Ruth has to admit she doesn’t mind people thinking she did the firing. Let them assume she still has some authority.
And while life at Mattel carries on without him, Jack’s been huddling with his lawyers, plotting his revenge. He’s just returned to the Castle after a meeting with them. Audrey, his new girlfriend, is waiting for him, there to keep him company while he works on a new project. He’s taking apart one of his many cars, wanting to reengineer his Mercedes, certain he can get it running over 120 miles per hour. It’s one of those things he’s been wanting to do but never had the time. But now, he has nothing but time. He has all day to do nothing but tinker. His lawn is strewn with pistons, spark plugs, belts, cylinder heads, the crankshaft, drive shaft. The sun is starting to set but he keeps working, even in the dark. At one point he wipes the grease from his hands on a clean towel and asks Audrey to fix him another drink while he lays out a few more lines of cocaine.
Dr.Klemes would definitely categorize this as a manic episode. At their last session, he talked about upping Jack’s medication and possibly admitting him to a hospital. Just for observation. Jack has since canceled his next two appointments.
Stevie is worried about him. “The last time I saw him, he looked like hell,” she says to Simon one Friday night while they’re in her kitchen, making dinner together. Technically, he’s making dinner—chicken Kiev—and she’s relegated to making the salad.
It’s one of those rare evenings, a Friday night when he’s not working late. She’s opened a bottle of wine and Tom Waits’s Closing Time is on the hi-fi. With shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, Simon is chopping garlic and fresh parsley. She is washing a head of iceberg lettuce and a tomato.
“Think I should go over there after dinner and check on him?” she asks, now rinsing a cucumber under the tap.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” He pauses his knife.
“Really?”
He sighs, wipes his hands on a dish towel. “Obviously you want to, so just go.”
“Hey, Simon—”
“How many times are we gonna have this conversation?”
She shuts off the water and leans against the sink. “But Jack listens to me.”
“No, he doesn’t. That’s the point.” He tosses the towel on the counter. “Jack doesn’t listen to anyone. He doesn’t even listen to his shrink. I honestly don’t know what you think you’re gonna be able to do for him.”
She doesn’t know, either, but she knows she wants to take away Jack’s demons. She wants to put him back the way he was when everyone respected and practically worshiped him. “I just can’t give up on him. You didn’t know him when he—”
“When what? When you were sleeping with him?” Stevie’s expression hardens, her eyes turn cold and Simon immediately wishes he could take it back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just worried about you thinking you can fix him. He’s sick, Stevie. The guy needs help. Professional help. He needs to go somewhere and dry out.”
“I just can’t give up on him,” she says again, softer this time. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
—
Morale at Mattel is at an all-time low. Everyone misses Jack. They miss Elliot’s stupid marching music, too. There’s no levity. No spontaneity. No one stages Barbie orgies on their desks anymore. There’s no more beach volleyball games and bonfires, either.
Rumors about Ruth are buzzing like swarms of bees. No one knows how they’re supposed to act around her. Is it okay to say hello? To run the marketing budget past her? Get her opinion on a package design? Some, like Patsy, have already decided she was the mastermind behind everything , though no one knows what everything is. Others, like Stevie and Charlotte, stand by Ruth, giving her the benefit of the doubt.
No one understands why they made Art Spear, of all people, president and CEO, and no one likes the new management. They’ve implemented practices that amount to little more than busywork. Suddenly everyone is required to complete weekly timesheets, and all vacation requests must be put in writing and submitted a minimum of nine months in advance. Who plans that far ahead? they grumble.
And then there’s Barbie. Poor girl. The women’s movement is on the attack, saying Barbie is evil and vapid. They blame her for the rise in silicone breast implants and cancer cases—to which Ruth takes great offense. They blame Barbie for eating disorders and the fad diets that appear in every women’s magazine. They say Barbie’s the culprit, the one responsible for every slight, every inequality imposed upon women. It’s as if she’s on the chauvinists’ side. And the latest is a bunch of avant-garde artists skewering Barbie’s body, slashing her with razor blades, even setting her on fire. And through it all, Barbie keeps a smile on her face.
But not Ruth. Ruth wants to scream, It’s just a doll. She’s just a plastic figurine. No one is destroying their Easy-Bake Ovens, their Liddle Kiddles, Mrs.Beasley or Raggedy Ann dolls. Those are just toys to be played with and left in the middle of the floor for someone to step on. There’s no attachment to those objects because they are just that, objects. They don’t evoke love or hate. But Barbie is different. Barbie is both friend and foe.
—
With Jack gone, Lewis now oversees all doll design for Mattel. He and Barcus call a meeting one afternoon with Charlotte and her design team, eager to share a new doll they’ve been working on in secret. The room smells of clashing aftershaves, cigarettes, plus one pipe and one cigar.
They allow Elliot to join them as well, but when he suggests getting Ruth in there, Lewis says, “No offense, Elliot, but why?”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Elliot laughs, lacing his hands together, resting them on the table. “Let’s not forget, Ruth is the reason we’re all here. Don’t discount her instincts when it comes to Barbie. She was right about Barbie from the start, when everyone—myself included—doubted her.”
Charlotte agrees. “If we’re talking about a new doll for the Barbie line, you have to include Ruth.”
And so Lewis and Barcus relent, and Ruth joins the meeting. Stevie can’t get over how rail thin she looks, even smaller than usual. She seems tired, worn out. The lines in her face are more pronounced, and her eyes are hooded, with dark circles beneath them.
“We have a new Skipper doll,” Lewis announces, standing at the head of the table, his hands clasped behind his back. He gives a long preamble about the doll’s history before finally unveiling a prototype that looks like every other Skipper.
“Allow me.” Barcus takes the doll from Lewis. “This Skipper is very special. She’s two dolls in one. Just watch. See what happens when I raise and lower her arm.”
Barcus demonstrates as little Skipper suddenly grows taller and sprouts breasts. They’re modest breasts. Just young burgeoning mounds. Nothing like her big sister’s, but impossible to miss. Barcus lowers her arm, and the breasts disappear.
“Well? Pretty groovy, huh?” says Lewis.
Elliot’s hand goes to his forehead. Charlotte and the designers exchange horrified looks. Is this some sort of joke? No one says a word. Lewis, misreading the room, thinks they’re speechless in a good way. “She’ll need two separate wardrobes,” he says. “One for the little girl Skipper. You know, her usual wholesome knee socks and school uniforms, that sort of thing. But the second wardrobe—when her boobs are out—”
Stevie half coughs, half chokes.
Lewis shoots her a look but keeps going. “As I was saying, when her boobs are out, we need to show ’em off and—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ruth says. “We are not releasing that doll.”
“What’s the problem?” asks Barcus, no longer afraid to stand up to her. “It’s a brilliant concept. Like I said, it’s two dolls in one.”
“Twice the fun,” adds Lewis.
“If I have to explain what the problem is,” says Ruth, “then you have no business working in the doll division.”
“She’s right,” says Elliot. “That doll…” He shakes his head. He can’t find the words.
“Well, I’m sorry, Elliot,” says Lewis, “but we’re not asking for your approval. Or Ruth’s. This doll’s already in the works. And we already have a name—Growing Up Skipper. We’re releasing her next year. We think she’s brilliant.”
“Oh yeah?” says Ruth. “Well, I think she’s insulting. How would you like it if I twisted your arm to make your dick grow?”