The Doll Brokers (40 page)

I
n early October, major cities across America were introduced to jumbo posters in bus shelters and subways. Each contained a blowup photo of the doll and the words:
Baby Talk N Glow—the doll of tomorrow—available at toy stores today.

Sales picked up, Ann noticed, but not significantly. Meanwhile, the remaining goods had to leave China now or they would arrive too late for the Christmas selling season. Ann discussed it with their distributors, with her salespeople. If she cut back, they would have no chance of earning a profit. She gave the go-ahead. Another eight hundred thousand pieces in all, fulfilling her original forecast of a million.

Towards the end of October, the thirty-second spots began to run on network and cable television. Ann waited until the middle of November before barricading herself in her office. For twelve hours straight, she did nothing but stay on the phone, polling each salesperson across the States, every distributor in South America, Europe, Asia, Canada, New Zealand and Australia.

Most were optimistic; few could report noticeable sales increases. Ann went home in a state of anxiety, and sleep was as elusive as her sales.

Then Felicia called and said she had to see her.

The moment Cal opened the door her worst fears were realized. “The cancer has spread to her liver,” he told her quietly as he led the way inside.

It was what she had dreaded most. Now, approaching Felicia's bedroom, Ann had to hold her emotions in check.

Felicia was hooked up to an intravenous feed as well as an oxygen mask. Ann had seen her less than three weeks ago. In that relative short period of time, Felicia's features had withered and her weight must have dropped fifteen pounds, at least.

Ann knelt by the bed.

Felicia removed the oxygen mask and placed her hand on top of Ann's. “I have something to tell you that couldn't wait.”

“Something you couldn't tell me over the phone?”

“Yes, dear. It's about Mathew and Jonathan, and something you won't want to think about.”

Ann felt confused. Why would this be so important?

“Jonathan wasn't piloting the boat the night Matt died. He is not to be blamed for what happened.”

Ann's head began to throb. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want the truth to come out. Patrick and Matthew fought about you that night. I must—I
will
—put this to rest before I go. Poor Matt would never have intended for his ghost to tear his loved ones apart. There should be truth now, after nearly two decades. That's my last wish.”

Suddenly, Felicia began to cough. It was raspy and loud and wouldn't stop. Cal quickly entered the bedroom, poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bureau, then fed it slowly to Felicia's lips, holding the glass for her.

“Why don't I come back another time,” Ann suggested.

“No,” Felicia stopped her. “Please. You must hear me out.”

It was so obvious what the disease was doing and it hurt Ann to the core. She didn't want this woman to suffer.

“They fought over you,” Felicia said. “Matthew thought you would marry him, and Patrick made up a story about you to try to dissuade him.”

“I wasn't … going to. Marry him.”

“Patrick didn't know that.”

“I told Jonathan … I wouldn't.”

“And I do think he believed you, dear, even then, because he has protected you from the truth all this time.”

Protected her?
Through all the trips they'd taken together and all the times they'd made love? He hadn't protected her, she thought, her heart starting to slam.

He had lied to her.

Something squeezed in her chest. She realized distantly that she was shaking. “Was it Patrick steering the boat, then? When they crashed? Jonathan said … he always said—”

“I know,” Felicia said. “He stands up for those he loves, Ann. Sometimes to a fault. I care about him dearly. In many ways, he's my best and my brightest. But he's not perfect.”

No, Ann thought. He manipulates people and he lies to them. No wonder he had hated her for so long, all these years. It was a defense mechanism, to provoke her, rather than coming clean.

Oh, Matthew, oh, Matt, I'm so sorry.

Felicia let go of her hand. “I must rest now,” she said, her voice becoming a whisper. “But thank you for coming. This was something I needed to do. You understand why?”

Ann paused. “No, I don't understand.”

“Of course, you do. I wanted to make sure you understood my son before I gave him to you. You can trust that man with anything, anything at all. He holds secrets well, and he handles them with care. He's true.”

No, Ann thought as she prepared to leave, not nearly true enough.

But she left this thought unspoken.

S
he went directly to her condo. Many of her things had been moved into Jonathan's loft but there was enough left over to see her through the weeks ahead. For the moment, she knew that she could not face him, didn't know when or if she would be able to again.

Ann went to work the following morning and tried to concentrate.

It was not easy. Jonathan called constantly, at her office and at home. This went on for days. She refused to speak with him, until he finally showed up at her condo. She no sooner stepped out of a cab when he confronted her. They faced each other in the foyer of her building, with her refusing to invite him upstairs.

In a muted voice, he expressed his disappointment that she could doubt him after all they'd been through, that she could harbor such resentment over something that had happened so many years ago.

“You lied to me,” she reminded him. But it sounded trivial.

“It was for your own good,” he insisted.

“Bull!”

“Ann—you're proving my point. I knew you'd be consumed by guilt, yet it wasn't your fault. You played far less a role in Matthew's death than I did.”

“You lied …” Her anger got the better of her and her eyes began to tear.

He tried to reach for her hand; she pulled away.

“I … expected more from you, Jon—” She couldn't finish. The tears were threatening to explode. Abruptly, she turned on her heels and rushed into the elevator.

“When can I see you again?” he called after her.

Mercifully, the door closed.

Seeing him in the flesh did something to her, filled her with regret and a deep-seated longing.

In some ways, she wished Felicia had never told her the truth. She wished she could have gone through the rest of her life blind and ignorant. There was some small consolation in finally understanding Jonathan's behavior in those early years. Patrick despised her in large measure because he couldn't take responsibility for his own role in Matt's death. But Jonathan…

He had taken her trust and met it with a perpetual lie. Remorse and the terrible realization of what she had done brought a dark emptiness. It had been her fault all along. If only she could have made it plain from the beginning, told Matthew that marriage was out of the question.

Ann allowed work to monopolize her time. Her doll was all that mattered now. She analyzed sales from every angle, stayed up late second guessing her own analysis. Then, at the beginning of the third week of November, she received a phone call from the new buyer at Kmart—Bruce Fleisher. Effusive in his apology, he admitted his mistake in not committing and asked if she could please—
please!
—round up a hundred thousand pieces of Baby Talk N Glow and ship them out at once.

Ann promised him half that amount and disconnected. Leaning back in her chair, she started to wonder:
Could this be it?

Before the week was out, Walmart's Retail Link showed twelve thousand pieces had passed through their cash registers in the
last three days. Sales at Toys ‘R' Us reached five thousand, five hundred and thirteen pieces in the same time period.

The first story broke in
USA Today
. Mattel's lead doll, as well as the one from Hasbro, had become non-issues. Baby Talk N Glow was all the rage. When
Time
ran an article on what was hot this Christmas featuring the doll, most newspapers across the country picked up the story and ran with it.

The phone lines at Hart Toy lit up. Ann hired temps to handle the overload. For the first time since becoming involved with Baby Talk N Glow, she started to believe they were blessed with a phenomenon that rarely touched more than a handful in the toy industry.

Still, Ann remained cautious. Too many disappointments in her past had hardened her to the harsh reality of her business. She insisted on going out to get a feel for what was happening at retail herself.

At one Toys ‘R' Us location on Long Island, she found a sign that read:
DUE TO THE UNPRECEDENTED DEMAND FOR BABY TALK N GLOW, OUR STOCK HAS BEEN DEPLETED.

At Walmart, a fifteen-minute ride away, she heard the announcement:
“Attention, shoppers—we apologize for the inconvenience, but we are sold out of Baby Talk N Glow.”

Ann returned to her car, a white Audi A6, placed her crutches on the back seat, and slid behind the wheel. Without realizing what she was doing, she began to tap an imaginary tune on the dashboard.

Then she looked up at the sky, noticed the snow beginning to fall, and she finally smiled. It wasn't snow but feathers from heaven, she decided. And she wanted to shout to the toy gods. It was all true. Despite one disaster after the other, despite the personal hell she had been through, Hart Toy had taken the chance and won.

She removed her cell phone from her briefcase and impatiently dialed the number. Cal answered and asked her to hold on the line while he went to see if Felicia could talk to her.

Ann waited, thrilled when she finally heard the voice of the one person she cared so much about. “We did it,” she told her. “Baby Talk N Glow is an unqualified—an
unmitigated—
success!”

Felicia's voice was barely audible.

“I'm sorry,” Ann said. “I can't hear you.”

Again the words came, only slightly more clear. “You did it, dear.”

Her heart seized. “It was your idea. You were the one to see Baby Talk N Glow's potential. It was your vision, while everyone else was doubting you.”

Felicia coughed horribly. Ann could hear Cal in the background. She winced with guilt. “Are you okay?” she asked

“I'm so very proud of you,” Felicia said. And the line went dead.

Tears welled in Ann's eyes and she couldn't blink them away. “Damn it,” she swore aloud.

F
elicia was buried the third week of December, in the biting winter chill of Kitchener, in southwestern Ontario.

Ann picked her way across the cemetery alone, her left leg a vicious, knotted ache from the cold. The crutches were making her progress slow and awkward.

The ground was frozen, hard as stone, so her boots—the first she had worn in months—didn't sink into the lawn. She stopped several yards from the crowd gathered beneath a green awning that glowed in the light of the sun.

There should not be sun, Ann thought desperately, and her throat closed. She swallowed hard.

She needed to join the others. She knew that. Even from this distance, she could hear the pastor beginning to speak, and she wanted to hear every word. But she did not step forward. Instead, her gaze slid over the mourners, moving from one face to another, hitching, stopping, absorbing, and moving on to the next. She lingered on Cal Everham. He was surprisingly steady. The wind had knocked some color into his cheeks.

Ann was fully aware of the tremendous efforts Cal and Felicia's other doctors had made to keep her alive, for far longer than she'd had any right to hope. Felicia had defied medical science, Ann
thought, as she had defied so much else in her life, hanging in, hanging on, until all her meddling was finished.

Ann felt her face twist with grief. She drew in cold air deeply, prolonging her agony, forestalling her need to cry.

Patrick's eyes looked clear, she thought. She'd been somehow sure that losing his mother would push him once again over the edge. Maybe it would yet. There would be many cold, empty days ahead without her. But, Ann realized, he seemed sober now. To her knowledge, he hadn't had a drink in some time. Verna, by his side, was obviously a positive influence. Perhaps she'd be able to keep him on the straight and narrow.

His children were there, as well as Irene, but she did not stand beside Patrick. Their divorce had become final a month ago, and it had been a nasty one. They were still caught up in post-judgment litigation. Irene seemed intent on punishing Patrick for every disappointment he'd inflicted on her, through all the years of their marriage.

There were so many other faces, business associates and friends. Felicia's younger brother and sister, her nieces and nephews. Koji Sashika, along with Alvin Pelletier and his wife. Charles Ling, who had never even met Felicia, stood with a diminutive Mae Sing and their two children. Ann's gaze moved on. Emeril Lacey. Dora Keller, her own secretary, as well as at least fifteen other Hart Toy employees, past and present.

At last, there was nowhere for her to look except at Jonathan. Ann swallowed a small keening sound that tried to escape her throat. She had not been in his company since he'd come to her condo to talk to her, which was over five weeks ago.

Another sound clogged her throat—strangled laughter. She'd lived through hours of Mad Dog battering her. And there probably wasn't a person gathered at this graveside who wasn't surprised by her strength and will to live. But she knew there was a limit to how strong she could be. Especially when it came to loving someone.
When it came to knowing that her weakness had cost one of those people his life.