ii.

In the bar Sheila was petite with platinum hair but in the dark of her bedroom she could be anyone Ted wanted her to be.

He closed his eyes and it was Peggy's hair soft around his fingers. It was her breast filling the palm of his hand. Her lips dropping kisses from his neck to his chest and her hands clasped together at the back of his neck.

x

It was discomfiting to wake in a stranger's bedroom. Ted inched to the edge of the mattress and stood in slow motion, careful not to disturb Sheila's sleep. His bare feet padded across the floor to collect his clothes. He carried them tucked under his arm, almost dropping one shoe but catching it before it could smack against the floor.

He got dressed in front of her television set, his gaze pointed at the door – at his exit. Ted wondered what other men, the men he worked with, felt as they crept out of a one-night stand's apartment? Did Don feel a sense of accomplishment? Was Roger eager to gloat about his conquest? Would Harry have been smiling on his way out the door as he dragged a hand across his mouth to clear traces of lipstick?

Ted turned the lock and opened the door, stepping into a vaguely familiar hallway with green carpet. He decided to head to the right and found the staircase. He made a mad dash to the vestibule and pushed through the door, welcoming the cool balm of the morning air. He walked down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and a sour taste in his mouth.

x

He walked through reception with his head down, only acknowledging the girl behind the desk with a brief wave of his hand. Ted sailed through the corridor and bypassed the row of open doors where his colleagues were already at work. He heard Moira greet him and ask if he wanted coffee, and he dismissed her with a flippant, "Not now," as he closed himself inside his office.

Ted stood in the middle of the room and plotted his first order of business. He had gone home and showered and changed his clothes, but he didn't feel refreshed. He wanted to claim the sofa and stay there all day, forgoing the Avon meeting and whatever else was on his schedule.

He took a seat behind his desk and stared at the mostly empty surface. There were neat stacks of folders and the usual office paraphernalia – pencil cup, paperweight, rolodex – along the perimeter, but hardly any work. It looked like the desk of a man who was still operating out of Los Angeles ninety percent of the time.

"I'll take that coffee now," Ted spoke into the intercom.

A moment later Moira knocked and entered with a mug filled to the rim. She lowered it gingerly onto the desk and asked, "Anything else, Mr. Chaough?"

He shook his head. He waited for the sound of the door sealing shut to take his first sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat and he felt the sear into his chest. Ted considered adding a healthy dose of whiskey but didn't have the energy to stand and walk to the bar cart. He reached instead for the nearest folder and opened it to see his notes from the last Wilkinson meeting, and underneath that a few photos of women modeling the furs.

Ted had seen many young women parade across a room, made to look nude under a luxurious fur. He had started going to casting more often and stood around afterward with the likes of Harry and Don, smiling and nodding as the models were reduced to a series of descriptors – nice legs, too short, plump lips. He thought about the women at Gail's parties and his blind dates and Sheila. Ted walked away from the parties or someone's bed smelling like a stranger's perfume and the intimate details of her apartment – the patchouli incense burning on the bedside table, talcum powder. His mind wandered to the brief time he spent in bed with Peggy. Her cheek had rested on his chest and he'd been able to smell her shampoo and hairspray. Chanel No. 5. Sweat. A sandalwood candle masking the faint odor of cigarette smoke.

Ted regretted leaving her bed. He regretted showering the fragrance of Peggy's perfume and sheets and whiskey-soaked kisses from his skin and returning to Nan. He should have stayed, and there would have been no Los Angeles and no awkward blind dates and no Sheila. He wouldn't be struggling to come up with twenty-five tags for fur coats. He would be sitting beside Peggy, bouncing ideas back and forth before a presentation, and walking with her in the rain to see a movie. He would be happy.

"Mr. Chaough," Moira's voice crackled across the speaker. "You're going to be late for Avon."

x

Every few months the executives arrived with a box of products, and the first thirty minutes of the meeting was the women of the office dabbing the perfume on their wrists and drawing a stripe of lipstick across the top of their hands before deciding what to take.

Ted walked into the conference room to a chorus of delighted women checking their reflections in small, circular mirrors and rummaging through a box of cosmetics. A few of the secretaries stepped away from the table and he was suddenly facing Peggy. She had squeezed a circle of lotion on her palm and was rubbing her hands together, her fingers stroking across her knuckles and wrists and sweeping along her arm. She looked pleased until she caught his eye. It was then Ted was treated to her default expression around him, and it was a look that withered his heart. He was always deflating Peggy's joy, stealing her amusement.

She set the tube down and he reached to pick it up. He read the label to himself. Hawaiian White Ginger. It made the air between them smell like citrus and dewy flora with a kick of spice. "You should take it," he told Peggy. "It suits you."

She shook her head. "It's been discontinued."

x

He looked for her in the bar, or for a woman Peggy's height and build. A brunette prone to whiskey.

Ted settled for buying a tall woman her third pink squirrel. Her brassy hair was tied into a complicated bun. She didn't have a memorable laugh and he couldn't hold onto her name. But the bar was dark enough and he was drunk enough that her features blurred and he could rearrange them into the visage he wanted.

They were standing on the sidewalk about to share a cab when Ted was overcome with shame for how easily he could manipulate a woman into his fantasy, disregarding her identity and feelings. "I'm sorry-" he said, and paused where he should have been able to insert her name. "I'm not feeling well."

Ted sent her off in the taxi. Whether it was the shame or the liquor he didn't know, but his stomach churned and bile burned the back of his throat. He was closer to the office than to home, and when another cab stopped at the curb he said, "Time Life, please."

x

There was a time Ted prided himself on being dignified and so distinctive from the other ad men, but as he stumbled from the men's room to the kitchen smelling like cigarette smoke and with the raspberry stain of lipstick on his neck, he knew he'd become unremarkable. One of many.

Ted opened a cabinet and stared at mostly empty shelves. The only liquor was on the top shelf, toward the back. He dragged a chair across the room and climbed onto the seat, but the sole of his boot slipped on the edge and he lost his balance, falling backward.

His body hit the floor with a smack and the chair toppled over. Ted lifted his head and shoulders, supporting himself on his elbows, his legs splayed in front of him. That was how Peggy found him.

"I, uh…" Ted stammered.

She rolled her eyes. She stepped over him to pick up the chair and replace it at the table. "Did you hurt yourself?" Peggy asked.

He shook his head. He made a move to get up, but he was dizzy from the fall and the embarrassment and Peggy's unexpected appearance. She glowered at him before reaching down, wiggling her fingers until he took hold of her hand. She was Ted's anchor as he climbed awkwardly to his feet, and he held her gaze as he squeezed her hand.

She wrenched out of his grasp and asked again, "You're okay?"

"Yes."

Peggy gave him one curt nod of her head and pivoted away. She had one peep-toe heel out the door.

"No," Ted blurted.

She paused.

He could see the way she tensed – how her muscles went rigid under the silken fabric of her blouse. "No, I'm not."

Peggy waited a beat before turning around.

Ted closed the distance between them. He took a deep breath, trying to find a trace of the citrus and spice lingering on her skin.

"What hurts?" she asked, barely audible.

The tremor in her voice and the shine in her eyes, the proximity of her lips and hands, broke Ted's resolve to honor her wishes. He reached up to frame her face and leaned forward. Peggy's protest died on her lips as he opened his mouth against hers. The kiss was static until he felt her fingers clutch a handful of his shirt. The contact encouraged Ted, and he slid his tongue against hers and dropped both hands to her hips and backed her up against the wall.

Peggy lost herself in the kiss. When she finally pushed him away, one side of his shirt was hanging over the waistband of his pants and his tie was crooked. "I'm sorry," Ted said, holding his hands up as he took a step backward.

"You're drunk," she stated plainly.

"I am. But I'm also… I miss you, Pe-"

"Don't," she snapped.

Ted shrugged. "It's the tr-"

"Don't. This can't happen, remember? You promised. You have to keep that promise, Ted," Peggy said, and she left him with the sound of her heels tapping against the floor until there was only the labored beat of his heart, and the memory she conjured.

The divorce wasn't finalized, but he had signed the lease for an apartment in Manhattan and the boys had started school in Los Angeles. The end of Ted's marriage was a formality – a matter of time and signing a few checks and several dotted lines.

He owed Don a debt of gratitude for referring a lawyer and a real estate agent, and Ted made his way across the floor to Meredith's desk. "Is he in?"

She smiled and said, "Not yet. I expect him any minute."

"I'll wait inside."

Meredith stood. "Good. I have to run an errand for Joan. If he comes in-"

"I'll tell him you only stepped away for a second," Ted said with a wink. He walked into Don's office and left the door halfway open. He poured a drink and studied the new artwork above the sofa.

"You didn't tell me- Oh."

Ted turned at the sound of Peggy's voice. He smiled. "Don's not in yet."

"I see. I'll come back."

He spoke to her fleeting figure. "You could wait with me. Have a drink. Tell me how the Burger Chef commercial is-"

"No," Peggy said, but she closed the door, sealing the two of them in the room. She folded her hands behind her back. "You're not on Burger Chef. You can hear about it in the partners meeting with everyone else. Or you can ask Don or Harry."

Ted's lips parted to speak but he couldn't form any words.

"We both know you're not very good at keeping promises, Ted, but there's one I need you to keep."

"What's that?" he asked.

Peggy straightened her spine. "We work together but that's all. I don't want to hear about your divorce. I don't want you asking about my dates. You have to stop coming into my office under the pretense of wanting or needing to know about a campaign. The only time you and I talk to each other should be when it's required for work. Can you promise that?"

"Peggy, I-"

"Ted? Please. I've moved on but I want to stay… moved on. I don't want our history interfering with work."

He tried to lighten the mood and smiled. "I thought you can't believe a word I say?" he reminded her playfully.

"I'm serious, Ted. If you want me to ever trust you again, if you want me to think well of you… promise you'll keep our relationship professional. Promise you won't talk about our past or show up at my door or… just promise you'll keep your distance."

His smile drooped. He was well aware of how badly he'd hurt her, but Ted had been hoping his divorce would be an act of contrition, and that working alongside Peggy again would stoke the flames of their professional and personal connection. "Okay," Ted said. "I promise."

He shook himself out of the memory and collapsed into one of the chairs at the small table. He was sobered by the kiss and by a renewed determination to right wrongs. Ted never wanted to hurt Peggy again, but he was going to have to break another promise to her.