Dear readers,
Firstly I must apologise for not continuing my other fics, hopefully I will get back to them soon. And secondly, perhaps more importantly, I promise to do this idea justice and – to my best ability – update this one as much as possible. Since I'm reading Revolutionary Road in English and am studying the role of women in the 1950's, I decided to combine one of my new favourite shows (Mad Men) with the wonderful couple that is Faberry. With my warmest regards, please enjoy.
"Yes that's Rachel Berry, R-A-C-" the short brunette pronounced each letter with such integrity that it was as if her life depended on it, but then again in some way it did. When Rachel Barbra Berry first found out that she'd gotten the job at Sterling Cooper's advertising agency she knew for certain this was the start of something incredible. Deep down the young girl was always pensive towards the fact her parents hadn't wanted her to go into work, but somehow the address of Madison Avenue (New York City, of course), seemed to be worth the entire struggle. Her mother had always imagined that she'd marry an office worker of some sort, or maybe one of those door to door sales men. Whilst her father always believed she had the hands that would sell a thousand cook books, even donning her an apron on her twentieth birthday. But Rachel never wanted new cooking appliances, and hair rollers never took her fancy – and the very idea of a house with a picket fence and linoleum flooring made her skin crawl with dread. Rachel wanted to work, and she wanted to do something she was good at – she just wasn't sure what that was quite yet. Getting into secretary school was a triumphant curse, but she was glad that after some pleading her mother sacrificed her good box of nylons and her father the sum of three semesters at the prestigious female academy. It was all worth it now though, because this was the big guns, this wasn't Brooklyn anymore, and she wasn't just Rachel – she was Miss Berry, secretary to the biggest creative director of the hugest advertising company in the whole of America, maybe even the world.
"I know how to spell Rachel, dear" the taller woman cooed in a sweet accent that was much more prestigious that Rachel's own rough drawl. "Let me show you to your new desk now" the lady added with authority after filling in the last paperwork that Rachel had clumsily handed her. She could feel her cheeks glow crimson as she weaved her way through all the other desks in the fairly large room. She couldn't help but take in all the other woman that clattered away on type writers and wore their nylons in a way that Rachel believed she never could. Even though she didn't initially see anyone younger than her (actually some of the ladies had definitely passed their prime, but Rachel tried her best not to judge), they all seemed so – accustomed. They looked as comfy and settled as she herself did at home with her records. But there was more to them, there was definitely something else. It was the one thing they all had in common no matter what color their hair or even their age – they were all beautiful. It wasn't in a natural way though, as the smell of perfume spiralled into Rachel's lungs the moment she'd walked through the door. It was the forced kind, the kind that required hours of prepping those curls and early mornings to apply that thick layer of melba peach lipstick, and definitely a lifetime of saying no to chocolate to get those figures. They showed just enough, but somehow managed to stay away from the look of the girls that worked the bars. Rachel was so entranced that she was completely blindsided to the way the office men looked at those girls too, which was probably the secret to their sense of style.
"Rachel?" The woman who was guiding the small brunette asked. Rachel tried to remember what she said her name was, but she just couldn't. Was it Betty? It couldn't have been. Or maybe it was Samantha. She'd known a Samantha back at the secretary school. Maybe it was the tall glass building or perhaps it was the majestic woman herself, but either way Rachel was lost in every way possible.
"Yes?" She asked apprehensively, clutching the cardboard box with her belongings tightly to her panting chest.
"I said this is you" the ladies dark amber eyes jolted to the empty desk closest to the row of office doors. Rachel quickly dropped her stuff on the wooden surface and tried to regain her stance, feeling more and more self conscious of her humble long skirt and knitted cardigan. She just didn't seem to fit in. The ladies eyes caught Rachel's own and let out a sigh. "I know honey, they just don't specify those sort of things in the letters now do they?" Rachel shook her head in response, feeling the heat flow back to her cheeks as she took in the others woman's outfit. The emerald material clung to her curvaceous figure in ways that Rachel's never would, and her neat and tightly packed locks seemed to sway with a flirtation that Rachel straight limp hair wouldn't dare to try. She held back a tremble as she tried to keep herself together. Feeling the comforting hand of the woman on her shoulders, Rachel stiffened up in attempt to hold her posture. "You got the goods; you're just marketing it all wrong. But you're in luck, okay? Because advertising is what we do best here" a smirk played up on her luscious pink lips and Rachel couldn't help but mimic the same one. She felt something slip into her hand and looked down to see a business card for some kind of retail store. "You ask for Rodger, tell him Amber recommended him. He'll sort you out, and I'll just help tie up the loose strings."
"Thank you" Rachel blurted out as she gripped onto the card, instantly placing it safely into the box with the rest of her belongings and quietly beaming at the fact that she now knew her mentors name. "If you don't mind me asking, what do you mean by lose strings?" she felt her throat hitch at the question in fear of a response she dreaded. Was this just a trial? Was it possible that she hadn't gotten the job? She couldn't imagine the disappointing train journey back to Brooklyn, and the very thought of it sent a herd of butterfly's rampaging through her stomach. However, Amber looked bright as the sun, a trait that Rachel believed would be a motif no matter what the situation. She perched her perfectly rounded hips on the edge of the wooden desk and looked up at Rachel with a bat of her eyelashes.
"This place isn't just about writing letters, you realise" she started in a tone that made Rachel feel even more nervous than before. "I'm making it my responsibility to let you know how this place works, and more importantly, how to treat your boss."
"Which is you?" Rachel hesitated, a statement that received a soft cackle of laughter from Amber.
"Oh no honey, him." Amber replied in the same confidence that beamed from every aspect of her. Rachel slowly followed her eyes towards Ambers gaze and read the sign on the closed office door nearest to her. In golden typed letters it read the name 'Paul Draper, Creative Director' on the door, Rachel instantly felt a surge of embarrassment once more as she remembered who actually hired her. However, as she looked closer she could see the shadow of a man behind the opaque glass wall, and if she listened hard enough she could just make out the echo of a male voice. Rachel only looked away when she found Amber staring at her, the smirk still in a place. "You'll be fine" she reassured with an almost roll of her eyes "Just...give him what he wants. That's the rule of the office" she added with a reassuring roll of her shoulders.
"Right. The rule of the office" Rachel repeated, her naivety begging for that sentence to mean no more than ice refills and routine checks. Suddenly something behind the blurred wall caught her attention, another figure. She squinted to confirm her initial theory, it wasn't another man. As she tried to look further she could only just see that it was a woman, since the figure was smaller in build and shorter in height than the men behind the desk. It couldn't be a client, since it was a woman, but before Rachel could ask Amber read her furrowed expression as easily as a letter.
"Oh" Amber began in a silky smooth voice "And that's Mrs Draper" she raised her eyebrows in an arch. "You didn't hear this from me, but stay as well away from her as possible, honestly she's an absolute –" before the vivacious woman could finish her last word the door to the office took a mighty swing open, revealing that the conversation inside had been much more heated than the insulating walls allowed Rachel to hear. Rachel could make out Mr Draper saying something, but she couldn't make sense of it, her attention had been tightly strung to a whole new distraction. As Mrs Draper emerged from the office every sensation of anxiety that Rachel Berry had felt in her first hour in New York multiplied to infinity. The woman's sleek figure was elegantly laced in expensive chiffons and nude fabrics, highlighting her perfectly porcelain perfection and tightly locked golden hair. Her lips were drawn in a firm clasped line of raspberry and her hazel eyes ferociously glared under two perfectly judgmental eyebrows. The dagger of her heels flooded the silent room with such threat that Rachel was sure all the woman behind her had fled, and even though the woman (who surely had to be around her age) didn't even glance at Rachel, she'd never felt more judged or exposed.
"Quinn!?" exclaimed a figure who was now hovering by the door, his suit looking more dispatched that Rachel would imagine it to normally be. But as Rachel's eyes jumped from her bosses back to the lady in white, they were unable to find her – only catching a glimpse of what had to be her in the closing elevator door. The handsome man with sleek brown hair glazed his eyes through the room with an intensity that ordered every secretary to get back to work, but before he shut his door his gaze landed on Rachel herself. "You" he said in a tone that was clearly an attempt to mask over the fiasco that had just played out in front of the whole office. "Come here" he added. Rachel glanced over to Amber who nodded in confirmation before whisking herself away. Rachel had no choice, and putting one kitten heel in front of the other made her way to stand in front of the booming gentleman that held not only her pay check, but also what felt like her life, in the palm of his hands.
"Yes, sir?" she answered in the most calm way she could, remembering what Amber had said about the golden rule only moments ago.
"Go get an order of flowers. The largest bouquet of Gardenias they have. Make it out to 'my dearest Quinn', that's double 'N' now, and sign it off from me. Got it?" he was hardly looking at her but Rachel stared at him with large eyes none the less, frantically nodding as she remembered the order.
"Gardenia's, yes sir" she repeated uneasily as she accepted the fact that she wouldn't be unpacking her desk anytime soon. However, that thought only lasted a moment – the rest of the day was spent wondering whether Mr Draper really loved his wife. Nearly every ounce of Rachel hoped that he did, and the small part that didn't was a part of herself that Rachel would soon come to know. A part of her that dared Rachel to sign the flowers off with her own name instead.
