Chapter Text
The summons came in the form of Postal Service Barbie approaching him with an envelope marked TO KEN. Ken had been sitting on the beach, wearing his fluffy I Am Kenough sweater, drawing a horse in his sketchpad and trying not to think about Barbie, or the future, or the bad dreams.
He’d opened the envelope to find a brief message:
Dear Ken,
What’s up, buddy? You seem a little lost. Your sweater says you’re A-OK where you are, but your eyes say that you’re hungry for something more. I have a business proposition to discuss with you, if you’re open to it. Come to my office on the top floor. You remember how to get to Los Angeles, don’t you?
Yours,
Robert Colson (Mattel CEO)
The letter baffled him. What sort of “business proposition” could the CEO possibly have for him, a doll?
He thought about it. And he thought some more.
Something had to change. Didn't it? Lately, he'd been spending way too much time in his Crying Cave on the beach. His eyes were perpetually sore and puffy, which did not look good. His thoughts had been drifting down some very un-Ken-like paths, to places that scared him. He’d thought the answer was to Find Himself, but apparently that was complicated.
He decided there would be no harm in just seeing what the CEO had to say.
* * *
“I have a bad feeling about this, Ken,” Alan said. “I don’t understand the rules here. I mean, don’t you need a portal to go to the real world? Doesn’t there have to be a rip in the membrane, and can’t that only be caused by your human handler’s emotions intruding into your reality?”
“Maybe the CEO opened a portal,” Ken replied. “He can probably do that. I mean, he’s the ruler of Mattel.”
Ken hadn’t wanted a big farewell party. He wasn’t planning to be gone long, after all. So he’d only told a few people—Alan and two of the Kens—and now they were gathered around him in the town square as he sat behind the wheel of the pink sports car. It felt strange to be in the driver’s seat.
“Is this about Barbie?” Ken—the one he thought of as Cool Ken—asked. “Are you using this as an excuse to visit her?”
“What? Pfft. No way! I don’t even want to see her. I’m emotionally liberated now. I don’t base my sense of self-worth on whether or not Barbie likes me. Or anyone else. The only one who needs to love me is me. That’s the significance of the sweater.”
“Really?”
Of course, the thought of visiting her had crossed his mind. But that wasn’t the reason. “I don’t even know where she’s living now. I wouldn’t know how to find her. And…I don’t think she really wants to see me,” he mumbled. “She doesn’t want me. And that’s not going to change.” And seeing her again would probably just make that knowledge more painful. “I’m not going to be a pest.”
Alan stood with his hands on his hips. “Well, just…promise you’ll come back.”
“Of course I’ll come back. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Barbie didn’t come back,” Lifeguard Ken pointed out.
“That’s different. I’m just going to see what this business thing is about.”
“Don’t you think it’s kind of weird?” Alan asked. “The letter?”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. This guy is talking like he knows you.”
“He does, though. He runs the company. He knows us all.”
“I mean…” Alan lowered his voice and leaned in. “Like he’s been watching you.”
“Maybe he sees my potential,” Ken said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. The phrase business proposition had made him feel important and manly. The CEO was talking to him like he was a grownup, another human. And now Alan was trying to make it sound like some sort of trick. But what reason could the CEO—Robert, that was his name—have to trick him? Maybe Alan was just jealous.
“Potential for what?” Cool Ken said.
“That’s what I’m about to find out.” Ken put on a pair of sunglasses. “Catch you later, bros.” He drove off, into the sunset.
* * *
Without Barbie, the journey felt long and lonely. He was used to it by now, though, so it wasn’t hard.
The Mattel building was a bit of a walk from the beach, but it wasn’t difficult to find. He asked someone for directions, and they told him how to get there. As he walked, he checked his reflection in the window of a store.
“Nice suit, man!” someone called.
Ken waved and smiled. “Thank you!” He felt his cheeks flushing with pleasure at the compliment. Being in this world had reminded him of just how good it could feel to be respected, to be somebody. He glanced down at himself and smoothed his jacket. Since this was a business proposition, he’d worn the most businesslike outfit he had, a light teal suit jacket and matching slacks with a bright pink, button-down silk shirt and some white faux-leather shoes.
“Are you McDonald’s?” another man called. “Because I’m lovin’ it.”
Ken flashed another smile and a wink and said, “My name isn’t McDonald’s, but thank you.” He walked with a jaunty little bounce in his step, his confidence bolstered.
He found himself thinking of Barbie and the different way people had stared at her when she came to this world—with a hint of judgement, a hint of aggression. And even when people complimented her looks or clothes, they did it in a way that felt somehow mean or smug. There’d been a sharp edge to their voices that wasn’t there when people gave him the same sort of compliments…and then of course, there was the man who had hit her bottom for no reason. It was confusing. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the way this world had treated her. He was even more confused by the fact that she’d decided to live here, instead of staying in Barbieland, where she was happy and powerful.
Ahead, on the sidewalk, wedged up against a building, Ken noticed what he first thought was a pile of old, dirty clothes and blankets. And then the pile moved. Ken approached and stopped, looking down. A face peered up at him—an older man, thinning gray hair, bleary eyes. He didn’t look well. There was a cup sitting next to him with some change and dollar bills inside it.
“Are you okay?” Ken asked.
The man scratched his wrist. There were sores visible there. He let out a rumbling cough and said, “Nope. Sick.”
Ken shifted his weight, uncertain. Dolls did occasionally get sick or injured, but it usually wasn’t a big deal. “Do you want me to take you to a hospital?”
“Not goin’ back there. They’re tired of me in the ER. They’ll just stick me in a cot in the hall and ignore me. Last time I went I was hollering for water and meds and they just walked right past.”
“But that’s awful,” Ken said. “Why would they do that? The doctors should just be able to give you some medicine for whatever is wrong with you. It doesn’t always taste good, but it always fixes you right away.”
The man squinted up at him and said, “What’s the matter with you, boy? You retarded or somethin’?”
“No,” Ken said. He didn’t actually know what that word meant, but there was something not-nice-feeling about it. “I mean, I don’t think so.”
“How you get such a nice suit? You got a rich daddy like to buy you things?”
Ken shifted his weight again, uneasy. “No, I don’t have a father. I’m not from around here. If I sound weird, that’s why.” He looked around for anyone who looked like a doctor.
“Well, throw me some cash if you wanna help.”
“Cash?”
“Money.”
From his previous visit to Los Angeles, Ken had some idea of what money was—he’d seen people passing each other slips of dull greenish paper or plastic cards and getting things in return—but he didn’t have any. There was nothing like that in Barbieland. Everyone was just given what they needed…or rather, what Mattel decided they should have. “Sorry. I would help if I could, but I don’t have any cash.”
After a brief pause, during which the man seemed to be weighing some decision, he said, “Then give me your shoes.”
“Shoes?”
“They look nice.” He sat up, propping himself against the wall. “Bet I could get some money for ‘em.”
Ken wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to part with his shoes, but he felt bad for the man, laying here sick on the sidewalk, and if he was telling the truth about the doctors not wanting to help him…
Well, he was almost to the Mattel headquarters, anyway. He could see it at the end of the street. They probably had lots of shoes in there. Ken slipped his own white faux-leather shoes off and handed them to the man. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He coughed again.
Ken kept walking. A bit of something sharp poked him through his sock. He walked until he came to the big glass doors of the Mattel headquarters lobby, which slid smoothly open. He entered. It was much cooler inside. A security guard approached and said, “Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes. Sort of. I’m Ken. As in Barbie and Ken? I’m here to see Robert Colson. The CEO.”
The security guard pulled a phone out of her pocket, checked something on it, and said, “Right this way, please.” As they walked toward the elevators, she glanced down and said, “What happened to your shoes?”
“Oh. I gave them away. A man asked for them, and he seemed like he needed help, so…” Now that he said it aloud, it sounded kind of ridiculous. He cleared his throat. “He’s still outside. Just down the street. He said the hospitals won't help him.”
After a brief pause, she said, “I’ll give someone a call.”
“Anyway. I was hoping I could get some spare shoes here,” Ken said. “Since you manufacture them and all.”
“I’m sure that could be arranged.”
“Great.” He smiled, though he was feeling a little—how had Barbie described it, when they first came here? Conscious, but about herself.
The security guard pushed the button marked ALL THE WAY UP. She and Ken stood side by side in the elevator. Ken smoothed his shirt, then his hair, then folded his hands in front of him.
You got this, he told himself. He’s the one who wanted to talk to you, remember? Nothing to be nervous about. But his mind was suddenly replaying the embarrassing series of encounters from his last visit: being turned down for a job because he didn’t have an NBA or whatever it was called, the doctor calling security on him when he tried to do an appendectomy. Even the guy at the beach had told him he wasn’t qualified. Men were the powerful ones here—or at least, some men—but Ken didn’t know the first thing about surviving in this world. He was starting to wonder if this was a bad idea and maybe he should just go back to Barbieland after all when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
“Right down that hall,” the guard said. “First door on the left.”
He mumbled another thank you and walked to the door. He took a breath, smoothed his hair again, bounced on his heels a few times, braced himself, and knocked.
“Come on in,” a voice called.
Ken entered, closing the door behind him. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual, and then, thinking better of that approach: “I mean, hello, sir.”
“You don’t have to be so formal. Call me Robert.”
The CEO—Robert—sat at a large desk of dark, varnished wood, a picture window behind him, the city spread out beneath him. Robert gave Ken a broad smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and rose to his feet. He looked the way Ken remembered, with his curly, graying hair, his dark suit and pink tie. “Ken,” he said warmly. “So good to see you again. Have a seat. Love the outfit, by the way.”
Ken approached nervously and sat down. “It’s not too much?”
“No, you look fantastic. As always.” Robert remained standing, hands planted on the desk. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
“Well. I got your letter. About the business proposition. Sounds very intriguing.”
“Well, I hope it will be.” He sat, looking intently into Ken’s eyes. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but you’ve become a bit of an icon. When you took over Barbieland, your Mojo Dojo Cases Houses were selling like hotcakes. We couldn’t make enough of them.”
Ken blinked. His brows knitted together. “Really?”
“Really. Clearly, there’s a market demand. You were channeling something. Something powerful, something…addictive.”
Ken could feel himself getting flushed from the praise. He was breathing a little faster. It felt like standing in the middle of a bright, hot spotlight. “Ha—well, you know. It was no big deal. I just took patriarchy and sprinkled in some mojo dojo. And horses.”
“Indeed you did, Ken. Of course, now that Barbieland has been restored to its usual self, the space-time thingamajig has been ironed out and people have mostly forgotten that those products existed. This kind of glitch-in-the-Matrix stuff doesn’t tend to stick in the public consciousness. You were never meant to bring patriarchy to Barbieland.”
Ken shifted. “I know. I, um. I feel bad about that, now.” He stared down at his own hands. The thumb of his right hand absently rubbed back and forth over his left wrist. “I was mad at Barbie for ignoring me and treating me like a pest, and I wanted to show her how it felt. But I took things too far.”
Robert leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked. “Ken, I didn’t bring you here to scold you. It’s true that all that stuff didn’t belong in Barbieland. Barbieland is pink and sparkle and female agency. A land of goddesses. The Kens—they’re lapdogs, all devotion and licking tongues.”
A part of him wanted to deny that. But of course it was true, wasn’t it? That was why he’d been so discontent, why he had latched onto patriarchy.
“That’s the natural order,” Robert continued, “and any deviation from that is profoundly destabilizing to the brand. The imbalance has been corrected, now. But given that it was the first chance you’d ever had to really express yourself, well…it’s no wonder you got a little carried away. The ideas themselves had merit.” He leaned forward. “What would you think about your own line of toys, Ken?”
Ken stared, mouth slightly open. “You mean…not in Barbieland? Something else?”
“Yes. A separate brand identity.”
“Wow.” He blinked. “Wow. That’s—” his mind felt like static.
Wasn’t this what Barbie had told him to do? To find his own identity, separate from hers? And of course, it was hard to do that in Barbieland, a place where Barbie was everything. But if he had a place of his own where he could make whatever he wanted… “Wait. So you’re saying that the Kens would go somewhere else? To like, a country next to Barbieland, or—”
“No, not all the Kens. You.” Robert interlaced his hands in front of him and tapped his thumbs together. Ken found himself briefly, oddly preoccupied with the man’s hands, with how weathered they looked. The oldest man he’d ever seen in Barbieland was Sugar’s Daddy Ken. Older people were rare. “I guess I need to be a little clearer. I’m offering you a job at Mattel. As part of our creative team.”
The room seemed to be turning slowly around him. Work? Here? How—
“But I’ve been rude,” Robert said. “Would you like anything to drink? Brewski-beer, maybe?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll have a brewski-beer.”
Robert walked across the office, to a black mini fridge, and opened it. He retrieved a bottle and a frosted glass and brought both to the desk. With a bottle opener, he pried off the cap and poured the amber liquid slowly into the glass. “This is called Matilda,” he said. “Personal favorite of mine.” He pushed the glass toward Ken.
Ken picked up the glass. He watched the bubbles rising inside, slowly spiraling upward. They were fascinating, almost hypnotic. A fine, lacy foam swirled on the surface. Ken had never consumed an actual liquid before. The glass was burning-cold against his fingers. He started to raise it to his lips, and Robert said, “Wait.”
Ken froze.
“I should warn you. You might not like the first sip. It might not be what you’re expecting. If you need to spit, spit into this.” He removed a tiny paper cup from his desk drawer and set it in front of Ken.
“I’ve had beer before,” Ken protested.
“Idealized, conceptual beer. Barbieland beer. This will be different.”
Indeed, brewski-beers in his own world—back when they had them—were always light and crisp and refreshingly perfect, and this smelled sour and yeasty and complicated in ways he didn’t have words for. It would probably taste the same. But Ken had the feeling that this was some sort of test. He was determined not to spit it out like a little kid. He took a tiny, careful sip. His nose wrinkled, and he grimaced. His throat convulsed, instinctively trying to expel what his body seemed to perceive as poison. But he didn’t. He swished it around in his mouth a little, and after a moment, the taste became…not pleasant, exactly, but something that didn’t make him want to retch. He swallowed it and wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. “Yuck. Sorry.”
Robert chuckled. “No worries. I’m actually impressed that you got it down, considering it was your first time. But if you don’t want to drink more, I won’t be insulted.”
“No, I want more.” He took another, bigger sip, which actually did taste better than the first. He only wrinkled his nose a little.
“Look at you,” Robert said fondly. “What a trooper.”
“Ha,” Ken said, smiling. Encouraged, he had a third sip. He could feel a weird sort of tickling, tingling sensation in his stomach that made him want more. “So you want me to work here. In this building.”
“That’s right. It’s entirely your decision, of course, but I will say, this is quite an opportunity. You wouldn’t have to claw your way up through the ranks. You can jump right in and start brainstorming. We’d want the rights to manufacture the Mojo Dojo Casa House, of course, along with that faux-mink outfit of yours, and whatever else you came up with.”
“You don’t already have the rights? Don’t you own me?”
“Technically, yes. I’d prefer that you work with us, though. Of your own free will.” After a few seconds, he reached out, across the desk. His fingertips settled atop Ken’s head and pressed lightly into his scalp, his hand crouching there like a spider. “It’s your mind that I’m interested in. Not just your image. Your creative power.”
Ken sat very still. “My mind?” he heard himself say.
“That’s right.” Robert withdrew his hand. “We can iron out the details later. You’ll have a chance to look over the contract before you make any decisions. The point is this. You’ve been the idea your whole life. And this, here…this is a shot at becoming one of the idea-makers.”
“But…” His tongue crept out to wet his lips, tasting a hint of that sour real world beer on them. “I would have to live here. In the real world.”
“That’s right. You would have to make the transition to humanity. Like Barbie.”
“I could do that?”
“It happens more often than you might expect.”
Ken was already flushed from a mixture of nervousness and excitement at being in such an important meeting, and the beer was making him feel even warmer. It was getting a little harder to think. “I don’t know. I think I need to talk about this with the other Kens.” A thought struck him. “If I become human, I wouldn’t be able to see them anymore. My friends.”
“We might be able to arrange the occasional visit. But I won’t try to downplay what a big change this would be. You’d be leaving your old life behind. But, Ken…you aren’t actually happy there, are you?” His tone was lower now, almost gentle. “Have you ever been happy?”
“I’m—” he’d been about to say fine, but he stopped, because…was he? He’d spent most of his life pining for someone who didn’t feel the same way about him. And now she was gone.
Ken is me. It’s not Barbie and Ken. It’s Barbie and it’s Ken. You could shuffle words around and add in a few and make it feel like an epiphany. He’d convinced himself, briefly. But afterward, he’d found himself staring into an empty hole. He couldn’t stay in Barbie’s Dreamhouse, even though it was vacant now, because it reminded him too much of her, so he just stayed on the beach and tried to beach like before, but his heart wasn’t in it. He tried to focus on his connections to the other Kens, but they had their own lives, their own Barbies. They only had so much time to devote to his existential crisis. When he leaned on them too much he ended up feeling guilty. Maybe he was afraid that they would distance themselves from him once they realized just how deep the hole inside him went. And he’d wondered, more than once—what if nothing could fill that hole? He’d been designed to be a companion, after all, to crave that connection. What if he wasn’t strong enough to exist for himself?
How many times had he thought about just walking onto the ocean and never stopping?
A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and down the side of his nose. It caught him off guard. He wiped it hastily away and stared down into his beer glass, still clutched tightly in one hand. “I need to think about this,” he mumbled.
“Sure. I wouldn’t recommend going back to Barbieland tonight, though. You’ve had a long journey already, and the more times someone goes back and forth through the rip in the membrane, the more unpredictable the effects become. We can talk again tomorrow. For now, sleep on it.”
“Where?”
Robert slid a thin piece of plastic across the desk—a white credit card with pink letters on it spelling out the name KENNETH SEAN CARSON, and a string of numbers above that. “This is a debit card. I’ll give you the pin number as well. It’ll give you access to more than enough funds for a hotel room and whatever else you need. I mean, don’t go nuts with it, but get yourself something to eat. See the sights, if you want. I can call a car to take you to the hotel.”
He took the card, clutching it tight. He knew it wasn’t weak to cry, and Robert hadn’t even commented on that single tear—though it was hard to believe he hadn’t noticed it—but still, he felt mortified at crying in a business meeting. He felt lonely and small and confused, and yet…
And yet this man liked his ideas. This man said they were worth something. That Ken was worth something. If he was right, then the things Ken had created, the things which he’d dismissed as part of his awful mistake—the mistake which had culminated with him sobbing wretchedly on Barbie’s bed, being rejected in front of everyone, and her half-heartedly consoling him, more out of pity than affection—were actually the key to his future.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, I’ll spend the night in the hotel. I’ll think about it.” He finished his beer and stood. He got briefly dizzy, wobbling a little, and gripped the back of his chair.
Robert nodded. He held out a folded piece of paper. “Be careful with this. It’s the PIN number for the card. My personal phone number is on there as well, in case you need anything.”
Ken hesitated, then took it. His mind was fluttering around like a disoriented bird. Before this, he’d never really talked to the Mattel CEO; Ken had seen him only briefly in Barbieland. He seemed different, now. Less clownish. Maybe his silliness was just a kind of act. “Why are you being nice to me?” he blurted out.
Robert tilted his head. “Because I want you to work for me,” he said. “And because I like you.”
“You like me? I thought—” he fell silent, because he wasn’t sure what he’d thought. At last, he replied quietly, “I like you, too.”
“Good to know. Oh—you’re gonna need some new shoes, aren’t you?” He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk, displaying a pair of shiny black loafers. “You can just take mine.”
“Really? Do you think they’ll fit me?”
“Oh, I’m sure they will.”