Let’s Call Her Barbie

Falling into Place

Falling into Place

When Bob Mackie hears that Stevie resigned from Mattel, he invites her to lunch at Scandia on Sunset Boulevard. They start off with the famous Viking Platter: delicate aquavit pancakes topped with dollops of sour cream and caviar. They reminisce about their days at Chouinard and he asks about Charlotte and some of their classmates. He tells her about working for Carol Burnett and how he started dressing Cher for the Sonny bits and pieces of her existence are spiraling, swirling in all directions. Her coworkers threw her a going-away party with toasts and tributes. Even Jack was there, and somewhat sober, which she was pleased to see. He and Ruth circled around each other the entire night, like jungle animals deciding whether to strike or retreat. Thankfully neither one of them made a scene, but it would be the last time they’d all be together under one roof.

“Are you planning on taking some time off?” Bob asks, leaning in, resting an elbow on the table, earnestly interested.

She ponders this as she touches her napkin to her mouth. “Not if I can help it. I’m just taking a little time, trying to figure out my next move. But really, if I’m being honest, I’m not good with downtime. I’m going crazy being at home. What can I say”—she shrugs and offers a wee smile—“I like to work.”

“So you’re ready to jump back into the rat race?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” she says, nodding.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it, because you see, there’s a reason I wanted us to have lunch today.”

“Ooh, and what might that be?” she asks, anticipating a bit of juicy gossip as she reaches for her glass.

“I want you to come work for me.”

“What?” Stevie sets down her wine before she spills it.

“I need a new designer. I’ve got more work than I can handle, and I love what you did with Barbie. And besides, we Chouinard dropouts have to stick together.”

“But Bob, I thought we were just having lunch to catch up. I wasn’t expecting this. I’m very flattered,” she says, which is an understatement. Her former classmate has become one of the most celebrated fashion designers in the country, possibly in the world. He’s dressed everyone who’s anyone, from Mitzi Gaynor to Diana Ross and the Supremes, and a host of other celebrities.

“Well, don’t just be flattered,” he laughs. “Say you’ll do it.”

She takes another sip of wine and sits back, breathing, just breathing it all in. Life is certainly full of surprises, and by definition, a surprise is something you don’t see coming. Seventeen years ago, when Charlotte, Jack and Ruth walked into that diner, she had no idea how much her life was about to change. She accepted the job with Mattel by default, never thinking that Barbie would give her the ammo and confidence to pursue her dream. It took time for that to become apparent, and it’s never been more obvious than right now. Charlotte said, You put in two years with Barbie and you can write your own ticket . It’s certainly been longer than two years, but Stevie has leapfrogged to the head of the class, more than making up for lost time.

Bob mentions something about matching her salary, health insurance and other perks, but she’s already heard all that she needs to know. There’s no weighing the pros and cons here, because all those little shimmering particles inside her snow globe are coming into view, floating in one direction, getting ready to land and falling into place exactly where they belong. Bob Mackie’s offering her a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It’s just like when she was offered the job at Mattel. It was $200 a week—what was there to think about? Bob Mackie wants her to work with him—what is there to think about? Her life has just advanced to the next slide.

—

Ruth has lost so much weight due to the stress she’s been under that she needs to be fitted for a new prosthetic. As she sits on the examination table in Peyton Massey’s office, the tissue paper rustles beneath her each time she moves. Sunlight is peeking in through the venetian blinds, bouncing glaring stripes off the metal cabinets. While Peyton prepares the plaster for the breast mold, Ruth is reminded of all the casting molds they went through to get Barbie’s breasts right. There’s an art to making a perfect breast. And Peyton is close, but he’s not there yet.

“Can we change the nipple this time?” she asks.

He cocks his head to the side, making sure the plaster is securely in place. “It all comes down to the mold and the impression we get.”

“Well, then put a Band-Aid over my nipple. Or do something. I don’t want a torpedo sticking out of my chest, and you always keep this place so damn cold.”

He laughs. “Okay. I’ll do what I can to adjust that after we get the impression.”

“And the smell. Peyton, please, you gotta do something about that. Isn’t there a different plastic you can use? Something that’s not so heavy, so rough. It rubs against my skin.”

“Is there anything else?” he says, sounding more amused than annoyed.

“As a matter of fact…” She proceeds to give him a laundry list of things he should change. He takes it all in good humor.

Two weeks later, when she goes back for her final fitting, they’re both impressed by how much more natural this new breast looks.

“See,” she says, “I knew I was right about that nipple. Now, if we can just find you a different plastic.”

“Ruth, I’m more of a limb guy. I’m not in the prosthetic breast business.”

“Well, maybe you should be. Do you know how many women need these? They aren’t available. Anywhere. Trust me, you can’t just walk into a department store and buy them. What they have on the market now is awful.”

He laughs. “Ruth, even if I was interested in making breasts, I’m afraid they’d be very pricey.”

“Not if we mass-produce them.”

“We?” He laughs again. “You think we could mass-produce prosthetic breasts?”

“That would bring down the cost significantly. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” And she has, ever since that first day she and Barbara went looking for prosthetics. “Oh, Peyton, this is a good idea. Let’s do it. Let’s go into business together.”

“What? Ruth, be realistic. We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“A woman’s breast is highly individualized. They’re like fingerprints. No two are identical—not even on the same woman. And then you factor in how different each mastectomy is. It’s way too complicated.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that before. I figured out how to make Barbie’s boobs, I can sure as hell figure out how to make yours. All I need from you is your talent, your artistry. You design ’em and I’ll figure out the rest.” As she says this, she realizes that Peyton Massey could become her new Jack Ryan. They could work together to create something that would benefit women everywhere. Yes, Peyton is skeptical, but so was Jack in the beginning. She can persuade Peyton, just as she persuaded Mattel to create Barbie.

It’s all so clear to her now. A new path is unfolding before her, and for the first time in years, ever since this whole business with the SEC started up, she can see beyond the investigation—my God, she can even see something for herself beyond Mattel.