But Mommy, Why?
But Mommy, Why?
“Awww-chew! Awww-chew! Awww-chew!”
“Gazoontite,” one lonely voice half-heartedly calls out to Gina, trying to preserve all that’s been lost.
It’s back to business as usual, but without the pizzazz. Without the flair and excitement. No one bothers with squirt gun fights, no one’s flying paper airplanes, everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ruth keeps herself busy, taking care of all the work she let slide while she was focused on Barbie. Plus, she is still finalizing plans for Barbara’s wedding. Her days used to infuse her with a jolt of excitement and energy. Now by five thirty, six o’clock in the evening, she’s ready to call it quits. The kids and Elliot like having her home for dinner again, but all she wants to do is crawl into bed.
The company makes it through the rest of March. No one has been fired. Ruth gives Charlotte and Stevie unconvincing pep talks while they idle away their days, reading fashion magazines, organizing patterns and fabric swatches.
By the time May rolls around, they’ve begun working on a new, more traditional doll. A baby doll with a twist. It’s Jack’s idea, and after a few cursory attempts, he figured out a way to make this doll speak. Her name is Chatty Cathy, and with the pull of a string, she’ll utter phrases like “I love you.” “I hurt myself.” “Take me with you.” Ever so slowly Jack feels his energy ramping back up, and eventually he applies for another patent for the voice box planted in the doll’s belly.
At last it’s June, and the day that Ruth’s been both anticipating and dreading arrives. She steps inside her office and closes the door. It’s not quite two o’clock and the Barbie television commercial is about to make its debut. Ruth is all alone on this one. Everyone else, even Jack, has moved on, trying to forget the whole Barbie mess. She adjusts the rabbit ears on her ten-inch portable TV until the reception clears, bringing Annette Funicello, Cubby O’Brien and Jimmie Dodd into her office.
While Ruth is anxiously awaiting the commercial break in L.A., it’s five o’clock in Queens, and nine-year-old Chloe Martin is planted on the floor in the family room, glued to the television, watching her favorite program, The Mickey Mouse Club . When her mother comes in to check on her, she wonders if her daughter has changed the channel. There must be some mistake, but no, the dial is still on Channel 7. Chloe’s eyes grow wide as the TV screen fills with images of a woman. Technically it’s a figurine of a woman. No, wait —the mother is confused— did they just say it’s a doll?
“Can I have one, Mommy?” Chloe asks even before the commercial is finished airing.
Her mother considers the Mr.Potato Head sprawled out on the rope rug before her daughter and then takes mental inventory of the toy chest teeming with Play-Doh, Crayola crayons, paint by numbers sets and puzzles. A child of the Depression herself, she’s never denied Chloe a thing, but she doesn’t care what this new doll costs, the answer is no. “No, you cannot have one of those .”
While Chloe’s mother is explaining why it’s not an appropriate toy, it’s a quarter past four in Chicago, and as soon as the Mouseketeers finish their tap dance, little Denise Watson sees Barbie for the first time. Nudging her mother awake from her nap on the sofa, she says, “Look, Mommy. Look at that doll. Can I pulease have a Barbie doll?” Denise’s mother is sitting up now, groggy but also perplexed by what she’s seeing.
Five minutes later, some 800 miles away in Denver, eleven-year-old Joyce Hinton is sobbing because her mother has already said she cannot have that doll. At the same time another little girl in San Francisco is also whining as she stands in the kitchen, asking, “But Mommy, why? Why can’t I have a Barbie doll?”
But Mommy, why? That is the sound, like the beat of a drum, and it’s growing louder and louder each time those little girls see Barbie on their television screens.
—
For the next week Ruth tunes in to The Mickey Mouse Club every day to watch her TV commercial and watch her dream fade further away. The commercial appears to have zero impact. There’s no new Barbie orders coming in. It’s as if it never aired at all. She feels more despondent each time it runs. It’s like a candle burning out, the flame growing fainter until the final wisp of smoke.
Elliot was right. She should have canceled the advertising. She has a warehouse full of dolls and she hasn’t a clue about what to do with them. She’s crunched and re-crunched the numbers, seeing what the damage would be if they drop the price of Barbie from $3 to $2 to $1. It’s no use. She knows they have to stop the bleeding and that soon they’ll have to let the Barbie team go, including Charlotte and Stevie.
The thought of doing that makes Ruth sick. She cannot eat, can’t sleep, can’t find the enthusiasm she needs for the new Chatty Cathy doll or Mattel’s other toys. She can’t find enthusiasm for anything. Not even her daughter’s wedding. Especially not the wedding. Ruth might have been wrong about Barbie sweeping the nation, but she is certain that Barbara’s marriage is a mistake.
Her daughter’s eighteenth birthday came and went; her high school graduation was last week. Both milestones were eclipsed by this wedding. From the time Barbara was a little girl, Ruth dreamed of her daughter’s wedding day. How proud, how happy and filled with love she’d be. Instead, she feels as though she’s losing Barbara forever, and it hurts so much Ruth can hardly breathe. Barbara’s bound to be scared, nervous. Ruth knows she was when she got married, and none of it had to do with her love for Elliot. But that’s just how enormous a step this is. Her little girl thinks she doesn’t need her mother anymore, when in truth, she needs Ruth now more than ever. But Barbara won’t let her in. Ruth’s alienated her daughter, all in the name of love, but that doesn’t seem to matter, and now Ruth fears nothing between them will ever be right again.
—
The wedding takes place that weekend. The ceremony is held outdoors, overlooking the ocean, nestled on a velvety green lawn. Not a cloud above, the temperature an ideal seventy-three degrees. There’s a beautiful chuppah, and rows of white chairs are on either side of the aisle, lined with ropes of pink roses. It’s picturesque, every little girl’s dream wedding. And a complete charade , thinks Ruth, wondering how she’ll get through the next few hours.
The rehearsal dinner was tough enough, making nice with Allen’s family, playing the role of the cheerful mother of the bride, even putting on an act for her own siblings, who came into town from Denver and Northern California. Tomorrow’s brunch at their country club for the out-of-towners will be another challenge, but this right here is nothing short of excruciating. When Elliot walks Barbara down the aisle; when Allen stomps on the glass, which might as well have been Ruth’s heart; when they’re in the receiving line, Ruth is crumbling inside. The smiles, the kisses and hugs, the toasts and dancing—every bit of it is a separate hell.
When it’s over, after their friends and relatives have boarded their trains and planes and gone back to wherever they’ve come from, Ruth falls apart. Every limb, every cell in her body, is drained. She crawls into bed on Sunday night before the sun’s gone down and stays there until noon the next day. Despite Elliot’s urging, pleading with her to get up and come with him to the office, she lies there in the bedroom with the curtains drawn.
For the first time she understands why Jack couldn’t get out of bed after Toy Fair.
Ruth is grieving for both Barbara and Barbie. It’s while she’s feeling so low, so despondent, that she realizes something. She’d been moving so fast, working so feverishly, that she couldn’t see what Barbie really meant to her. Or why. The doll was more than just a business opportunity. In her own way, Ruth had been hoping that Barbie would fix what she couldn’t fix with Barbara. She missed her chance with her own daughter, but she still wanted Barbie to connect with all those little girls out there. She wanted Barbie to be their role model and show them what it meant to be feminine and strong. That if they want to get married and have children, that’s fine, but they can still have a life of their own. Barbie was supposed to deliver a new, fresh message for the next generation to grow into. But now it’s all over.
Eventually Ruth forces herself to get up and face what’s left of the day. By the time she arrives at Mattel, it’s two in the afternoon. She’s still groggy, in a trance. “Off We Go into the Wild Blue Yonder” is playing as she heads to her office, telling her secretary she doesn’t wish to be disturbed. Once inside, she leans against her closed door and begins to sob until her nose is stuffed, her eyes are burning and her chest aches. Work has always been her oasis, but not now. There are Barbie dolls and Barbie outfits everywhere. Mock-ups of all the print ads and point-of-sale materials they’d planned to deploy after the Toy Fair launch are piled on her desk, in the corner of her office, on the window ledge. She is surrounded by reminders of her defeat, of the mess she’s made of everything. She doesn’t know how to salvage Barbie any more than she knows how to fix her relationship with her daughter.
She’s a failure as a mother and a failure in business, too. They’re all laughing at her now. What a fool she was to think she could pull this off. It’s all too much for her. She has no stamina left, no resilience. She’s of no good to anyone, and with that thought, an old fear returns: No one will want her anymore. The people she needs the most will turn their backs on her just like her mother did. A bottomless hole opens beneath her, and Ruth is falling fast.
The phone buzzes. She ignores it. She can’t talk to anyone right now. She lumbers over to her desk and reaches for a cigarette. Through the walls she hears a commotion going on next door in Jack’s office and figures he’s probably going at it again with Patsy or Ginger or God knows who. With fingertips pressed to her temples, she tries to drown out the noise, but it’s growing louder, with more voices and laughter, too. It sounds like he’s having a party in there.
Again, her phone buzzes. Jesus , now she’s getting annoyed. Didn’t she tell her secretary she didn’t want to be disturbed? She goes to light a fresh cigarette, unaware of the one already burning in her ashtray. Her telephone rings yet again. She picks up the receiver and slams it back down. A moment later, there’s a knock on the door.
“Go away. I’m busy.”
“Ruthie, it’s me.” She hears Elliot from the other side of the door. “Why aren’t you answering your phone? We need you right away. We’re all in Jack’s office.”
She leans forward, the heel of her hand pressed to her forehead. She can’t focus on another Chatty Cathy meeting; she hasn’t got the energy for another brainstorming session, or for anything else.
“Just—just give me a minute, okay.” She sighs and tries to center herself as she pulls out her compact, wipes away the smeared mascara beneath her eyes, freshens up her lipstick, just like Sarah taught her to do.
With a deep breath, she steps out of her office and finds she’s walked into nothing but chaos. What the hell is going on? She’s never seen so many people back here on Mahogany Row at one time. There’s Stevie and Patsy, Mia and Charlotte. She spots Sid, Twist and Frankie, too. Everywhere she looks there are people spilling out of Jack’s office and into the hallway. “Here she is,” someone shouts, and there’s an eruption of applause. Applause and hoots and whistles as she makes her way to Jack’s office, utterly confused. She still doesn’t get that this is about her.
Elliot sees her and reaches for her hand, pulling her inside. “Finally. There you are. The woman of the hour.” He loops his arm around her as the cheering swells.
“What is going on?” she shouts above the commotion.
Jack is weaving his way toward her with a bottle of champagne. “We did it, Ruth,” Jack says, filling a glass for her.
“Did what?”
“Barbie. You were right, Ruthie,” says Elliot. “You were right all along.” He takes her face in his hands and kisses her, which makes everyone clap even more. Holding her tight, he says, “Didn’t you hear the phones out there? They haven’t stopped ringing all day. Ruthie, my love, we can’t fill the Barbie orders as fast as they’re coming in.”
Did she hear him correctly? She still doesn’t quite get it, even as she looks around her at all the smiles, hears all the excitement and celebration. What’s happened takes a moment to sink in, and when it does, Ruth nearly goes limp in Elliot’s arms, and she can’t stop the onslaught of tears. Sweet tears of relief.