Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Barbara’s legs dangled off of the car seat while she picked at Louise’s loose button-eye. The urge to yank it off struck her but the thought of accidentally losing one of her doll’s pearlescent-blue eyes was more harrowing than the trouble of resisting her intrusive thoughts. Today was her big day. Her mother had dressed her in pale-pink stockings and a frilly dress that was the color of vanilla ice cream. She had also asked Auntie Juliette to braid her hair the French way, and though Juliette had sighed and listed all of the chores she could be doing instead, she still wove two braids into Barbara’s head and tied them at the ends with pink ribbons. Her lucky pair of ballet pink flats gifted by her father had completed her transformation into a princess, just like Louise. She’d even practiced her most elegant curtsey and her daintiest smile in front of the mirror to an imagined audience before Juliette caught her dawdling and ushered her out the door and into the-

“-Barbara! Are you listening? Will you not quit your thumping? Honestly, I am getting sick and tired of having to ask you to sit still!” Barbara was ripped out of her trance by her mother’s stern tone. She righted her posture and apologized. Perhaps her mother was nervous about the audition too.

“Do not let me down today, Barbara. This is the opportunity you’ve been working towards your entire life.” Margaret’s eyes stayed glued to the road ahead. “Mr. Greene, if you would please drop us off to the side. I will ring you when we are through,” she directed. Mr. Greene wordlessly slowed the car to a halt and stepped out of the driver’s seat to open the passenger door for Margaret, and then for Barbara in the back seat. “Best of luck,” he said cordially, although his face remained expressionless. I don’t want to need luck. Margaret took Barbara’s hand and strode pointedly towards the studio building’s entrance as Mr. Greene’s vehicle rolled away.

Barbara’s chest tightened when her mother released her hand inside the building. Margaret seemed not to enjoy the yellowish lighting nor the tawny wood framing various prints of old Mattel advertising posters that decorated the weathered ivory wallpaper. Wooden benches that matched the poster frames in their dullness formed cramped rows in the center of the front room. It felt less . . . glamorous than what Barbara had imagined. The space buzzed with the nerves of dozens of mothers and fathers and their little daughters with numbered cards gripped in their hands, whispering to each other between glances around the room. Barbara tried not to meet the prying stares that inspected and appraised the newcomers. Margaret seemed unbothered. She found her daughter’s hand again and pulled her to the front desk.

“Auditioner’s full name and date of birth?” The woman at the desk barely raised her gaze at the sound of Margaret’s four-inch heels assaulting the hardwood floor. Margaret raised a pointed brow at her daughter.
“Roberts, ma’am. Barbara Milicent Roberts.” Barbara hoped her voice did not betray the quickness of her heartbeat and the heat rising in her cheeks. She kept her eyes trained on the woman behind the desk as she clacked her keyboard and chewed her gum. If she looks up I’ll make eye contact and smile nicely, not desperately. But she didn’t. “Take a seat. Go through the second door on the left when your number is called.” The woman deadpanned. She handed Margaret a small slip of paper, dismissing them.

Margaret noted the digits on the slip, neatly folded it, and tucked it into the breast pocket of her Prussian blue blazer. She briskly scanned the room and guided her daughter to two empty seats next to a woman clutching a rather large cross pendant. Barbara couldn’t help but stare as the woman rapidly muttered prayers with her eyes squeezed shut. The string of words that came out of her mouth sounded like breathy gibberish and Barbara imagined she was a sorceress speaking a secret ancient language. Barbara knew exactly what she could do if she had the power to cast magical spells.

She felt her mother shift in her seat and abruptly averted her gaze to the floor. Barbara’s heart beat faster and faster in anticipation. She reached for Louise but noticed she was not in the chair with her and her throat constricted in dread.

“Mother, Louise-. . ., I forgot her in the car, mother please, you need to call Mr. Greene or I won’t be able to sing!” Her face was hot with panic. How could she perform without Louise? She needed her back right now.

Margaret sighed and the furrow in her brow gave away her irritation.

“Barbara, honestly-,” she started, brushing her daughter’s hand away. “Do not make me reiterate myself again, in fact, I am honestly for once grateful for your forgetfulness. If you insist upon not performing then so be it, I will call Mr. Greene and we will return home before you waste any more of our time.”

“Mother I-” Barbara barely knew what to say. The thought of turning back now was too humiliating to bear. Her eyes swam as they searched her mother's face for relief from her panic but Margaret’s expression was as icy as the blue of her irises. “I’m sorry.” Barbara looked away.

The conversation was over.

Barbara had embarrassed herself again. How could she have been so careless? She wanted to tear her hair out of her head, no. She wanted to rip the buttons off her mother’s obnoxious blazer. No! She was going to fail spectacularly and it was going to be her own stupid fault. NO! She knew her lines. She was the most beautiful little girl her father had seen and she was dressed to impress. And she wasn’t stupid she wasn’t! She could do it! She could perform! She was made for this. Barbara didn’t think her heart could beat any faster than it was racing at that moment.

When her daughter’s number was called, Margaret slowly rose from her seat. Barbara stiffly followed her past the other auditioners and into the hallway. A door at the end of the hall was propped open and Margaret ushered Barbara ahead of her and towards its gaping maw. Cold eyes bore holes into the back of her skull and she felt her bones shudder under her skin. This was it. This was going to be the beginning of her life or the end of it.

Chapter Text

“Barbie! Thank you for being here,” the host grins and rises from his seat to wrap Barbie into a tight embrace.
“Of course! I am so ecstatic to be back!” Barbie disentangles herself from his arms.
“Please, have a seat,” he gestures towards the sofa chairs.
Barbie lowers herself into the seat, tugging down on her pink pencil skirt as she folds her long legs over each other. She beams at the applause and knows the brightness of her sparkle reflects the strength of the spotlights fixed on her throne. Their blinding strength is enough to strain one’s eyes but she basks in their reverence.

She is graceful.

“You know, Barbie, I feel like I’ve been having you here quite often, what with all of your recent projects-” a trademark smile flashes across the host’s face, “-I’m not complaining, of course.” He winks.
Barbie laughs, measuring the pitch to resonate sweetly into the microphone.
“Well it’s always nice to see a familiar face,” she brushes a shiny lock of hair out of her eyes.

She is beautiful.

The host lets out a hearty laugh before proceeding.
“I’m sure I speak for a lot of us fans when I say that I am dying to know more about your lead role in the upcoming feature film, Metamorphosis.”
She smiles again, pulling the muscle of her cheeks into soft, endearing knots.
“I’ll tell you as much as I can, but you’re not getting any spoilers out of me this time!”
Her tone is teasing.
She smiles again. He laughs.
She’s done this before. She’s been here before. She knows what to say and how to say it and she’ll do it again and again even as the questions blend together, her lashes tug on her eyelids, and her smile is strained. As long as she can be Barbie she will be.

“Well, that’s about all the time we have for now,” the host beams and turns to Camera A, “We’ll see you all in theaters for Metamorphosis premiering on the Big Screen starting April 4th, and thank you, Barbie, for joining me tonight! ”
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
She stands and meets the host’s extended hands and reciprocates his hearty handshake. Her carefully manicured fingers are engulfed clumsily by his large hands. She waves enthusiastically and blows a kiss at the cheering crowd, finally turning on her heel and striding backstage.

She is perfect.

Barbie jostles open the door to her apartment: a penthouse overlooking the Malibu skyline that provides some isolation from the press below.
She unclips her heels and tosses them across the floor, watching them as they clatter against the wall. She pinches the bridge of her nose and squints her eyes shut, a luxury she couldn’t afford during the interview. She should remove her make-up and go through the skin care routine Mattel has lined up for her, but all she can do is slump into the bed and pull the covers over her shivering legs.