By Maria Warner

Meredith yanked Barbie’s head backwards to hide the doll’s perpetual grin. Swiveling to the vanity mirror, she ran her finger over the tiny crack in the corner. Locating the light switch, she flicked on the exposed bulbs. Hmm, a quick touch-up was all she needed. John, her husband, was downstairs at the wet bar, crafting his custom cocktail for their dinner guests. 

She marveled at how her foundation blended into her smooth skin. The local dermatologist had a son, Max, in need of braces. John, the town’s orthodontist, suggested to Max’s dad that in lieu of a payment plan, they make an in-kind trade. Her husband would apply Max’s braces in exchange for Botox.

“Don’t you want to please me?” he whined. 

She hadn’t wanted to start down that slippery slope. He’d coerced her by withholding sex. And then after agreeing, in reward, he’d brought her to orgasm first instead of leaving her to her own devices after he climaxed. Their love life became a game. For decades, he’d leave a shriveled rose on the island when it was time to make the appointment for her injections.

 She capped the foundation and caught his booming voice. 

“Have you ever had an angel face?” John asked. “It’s made with sweet apple brandy.”

He guffawed. OMG. Meredith knows there will be a joke in there about how he’d be married to a dried-up prune if it weren’t for his bartering skills. How his wife owed her beauty to his orthodontic practice. An astonishing number of doctors’ kids had janky teeth. 

She held her breath and paused for her new friends to react. There it was—polite laughter.  Resuming her routine, she powdered her angelic nose. Another of his patients, Tricia, had a plastic surgeon for a father. A deal was made, free dental work for Tricia and a rhinoplasty for her. It wasn’t her imagination that with each appeasing surgery she looked more like the Barbie doll that John had gifted her for her fortieth. 

“You’re my doll,” he had whispered. As he unwrapped her bandages, his flaccid penis jumped to life. She’d almost thought that going under the knife was worth it if it kept John interested. Wasn’t that her job, to keep him happy? She’d been raised to be a good wife. 

She spread gloss over her full lips. Another barter. Filler in exchange for a post-braces retainer. This specialist had been a woman. It was exciting for her to see females enter the medical community. When she told John that, he couldn’t get hard. It began to dawn on her that he only valued women as arm candy.  

Sliding open her makeup drawer, she placed Barbie inside and removed a brand new in-box Ken. She giggled, imagining John’s face when she surprised him with it. 

Descending the stairs, she caught the tail end of the cocktail recipe. She mimicked him, mouthing the words, as he mansplained, “…after the sweet apple brandy, you add chilled water.” John jiggled the shaker. She timed her arrival with his delivery of the punchline. 

“Like the chilly reception from Meredith when I asked her if she was ready for another operation.”  

Less enthusiastic laughter this time. She faced their company. Noticing their arched eyebrows, she instinctively covered her breasts. Her petite frame now sported a size 34D chest. 

“Cheers,” she said, as their crystal tumblers clinked. 

At the club, where she spent her days, she had struck an instant friendship with Dr. Corrine Calloway over a game of tennis. The doctor admired her playing skills and she appreciated Corrine’s career choice, urology.

Over the years, having observed John’s boasts, she had learned a thing or two about win-win negotiations. She struck her own deal, coaching Corrine in exchange for a prescription. An additional pill was added to John’s morning vitamin routine. One that obliterated his sexual desire and shrank his sex organs to nubs. 

“Happy Birthday, honey.” Meredith handed Ken to John. “You’re looking more and more like him every day.”