New York City, New York

December 1963

Donald Draper had gone to the bar after work that Thursday. He avoided the gridlocked drive home and switched it for a later night in the cool air.

Don sat in silence for a moment. There was a small crowd at the bar that evening, some people pushing around him to sit down. He thought of Betty; their marriage; their wedding day. It wasn't so long ago that he and Betty crossed paths in Rome, her desire to start a career in modelling was still surging at that time. Her creamy skin shone in the night, he looked at her with hope and fear mixed together on the approach. Those big grey eyes peering up at him.

Don ordered another Old Fashioned. He glanced around the bar, noticing the throngs of people congregating in different corners. Suddenly, he wished he was home in bed.

A girl sat down beside him, he barely noticed her. She lifted her hand up to the tender, signalling him to come over. She ordered an Old Fashioned. It was the errand girl from earlier in the day. He turned his head, having more of a chance to analyse her now. She was thin, shorter, perhaps 5'4. Her hair was a rich strawberry blonde, bordering on a light ginger. She had circular tortoiseshell glasses on that were large but not too big; the same ones she was wearing earlier. A wide range of freckles dotted her face and her blue eyes were slightly glazed over. She had changed into a cream colour blouse and black skirt. She hadn't noticed him. Don wondered what she was busy doing. He watched in silence. She looked the other way briefly and then received her old fashioned before gingerly sipping the drink.

"Haven't met many women who appreciate an Old Fashioned." Don spoke. The girl turned to face him, her eyes widened.

"Mr. Draper." She said coolly. "Pleasant surprise."

"Don," He said, looking to the bartender. "Mr. Draper is for meetings." He finished off the glass in his hand. "You don't seem like the type to be here."

"They always say that."

"Who always says that?"

"Why are you here?" Kaye drank her Old Fashioned.

"Waiting for traffic to die down."

"Not avoiding home?" She smiled to him. Don noticed Kaye's slight features. Her face was angular, yet she had a strong jaw and a particular nose that was flat towards the end. She was very beautiful, in a boyish way. She was young too, couldn't be older than 25. She had many freckles.

"Can't it be both?" He started.

"I suppose. Avoiding home makes for a better story."

Don smirked. "When did you come on board?"

"I'm temporary. Just here to help with the ladies."

"We're going through with your the idea. On the Alcoa ad."

"Glad I could help." She smiled, reaching over slowly to Don. She ran her hand inside his dark grey jacket. He looked to her with surprise, and she kept going. She reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling his gold lighter and silver cigarette case, placing them on the table. She tipped the case up, and flicked it open, pulling a cigarette from the case, and then slid it back into his pocket. She opened the lighter by snapping her thumb against it, and lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply. The smoke plumed out from her nostrils.

"How long have you been with Sterling Cooper?" Kaye opened.

"A decade." He said, tilting back the glass to his mouth. "Or so."

"What did you do before?"

"I've always been in marketing in some way." Don said. "Roger picked me up after seeing my work for a furrier on 7th Avenue."

"Must have been some pitch." Kaye sipped the whiskey.

"Don't take no for an answer." Don looked off into the distance.

"Is that how you do your whole life? I'm sure your wife appreciates it." Kaye's cheeks dented as she slowly inhaled once again.

"She's fine." Don's voice was monotone.

"You have a flat in the city to avoid her?"

"I rent." Don faced Kaye. "How'd you know?"

"There's two kinds of men in this world. The happily married, and the men at the bar." Kaye downed the end of the drink. Don signalled for the tender to bring another. They sat in silence as Kaye looked forward and finished the cigarette. She was going over the day in her mind, toiling through her thoughts. She briefly settled on her sister and the phone call in Pryce's office. She remembered his conversation overseas. She butted the filter into the crystal ashtray.

"What do you know about McCann Erickson?"

"It's where advertising goes to die." Don said.

"How do Sterling and Cooper feel about McCann."

"The same." Don froze up. "What do you know?"

"Overheard Mr. Pryce discussing it in his office."

Don said nothing.

"I won't say anything." She mumbled, taking hold of the glass the tender dropped off.

"What do you want." Don said, his face expressionless. He turned and faced the bottles behind the tender on the shelf.

"That's a good question." She was about to speak when Don cut in.

"Lane doesn't care anyway. He gets his high tower."

"I don't follow."

"P.P.L. They stay out of this, Lane moves on. He doesn't care. Hilton got me into this mess."

"Who?"

"Conrad Hilton."

"Hilton, the hotel magnate?"

"The very same." Don sloshed the alcohol around in the glass, watching it stick to the sides and slide back to the bottom. There was brief pause.

"That's not what I heard." She motioned Don for another cigarette. He passed one on and lit it in her mouth.

"What have you heard?"

"PPL is gone too. It's all being sold."

Don looked to her in confusion.

"I overheard." She spun the glass in her hand. "Men talk more than they should."

They said nothing for a long moment.

"Well, you have an advantage now." Kaye spoke first.

"What?"

"You know he's lying. What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm under contract." Don started. "The only thing we could do is outbid McCann."

"You think you're more flush than McCann?" She raised a brow.

Again, there was silence. They both smoked indifferently.

"Who answers to who?" Kaye started.

"We all answer to Lane. Lane answers to PPL."

"Lane is the head of the show in New York."

"Since they bought the place, yes."

"Call Roger. And Cooper. We'll meet tomorrow in your office, early. Before it opens."

Don sat still, looking over to Kaye. He remarked how young she was again. There was a certain charisma to her, reminding him of himself. He also saw something in her that scared Don. There was a quality about her that spelled courage and bravery of the worst kind. The kind of solider who jumps over the barbs to rescue a dying man without any thought.

"Alright. Make it worth our while." He concluded

She raised her glass to his and smiled.


December 13th, 1963

The air was crisp and hovering just above freezing in New York. The sun was rising quickly and burning the fog off the East River. It was early in the morning, but Kaye was already brushing past people and pushing into the elevator at Sterling Cooper. Her heart beat with anticipation of the day. She became worried, overwhelmed, and in seek of peace. She had ran out the previous night and bought a small bottle of Gordon's gin, drinking most of it, leaving the rest in her clutch. The elevator seemed to take forever. It was quiet for a moment.

It dinged, and the doors slung open. The hall was quiet, but the front doors were unlocked. A janitor was moving a mop around on the lino of the entrance way. He looked up quickly, a smile crossed his lips. Kaye slipped by him. She ran to Don's office and pushed the door open. She was nervous; her hands were shaking. She reached into her clutch for the gin but looked up and saw the drinks cart first. Her hands steadied as she walked over to the cart and poured a full glass of whiskey. She took the first sip and realized her nerves were fraying. It was the most nervous she had been since the night she left Elena's. She looked to the clock on the desk. It read shortly after 7:00 a.m. Kaye moved around Don's office with the glass in her hand. She brushed her hands along his desk and looked down at the work. It was surprisingly clean, only a few useful items cluttered his desk. There was a sheet of paper scrolled into his typewriter. She leaned over and scrolled it out.

"Dear Betty.

I won't—" He struck the word with his pen. "will ask that we wait a few weeks before we do anything. I don't want rash decisions to be made—I want what's best for the kids."

The letter stopped there. There were a few crumpled up sheets of paper in the waste basket beneath the typewriter desk. They all read generally the same. "The lone man Draper." She mumbled.

Kaye leaned back against the wall and sipped her whiskey.

It was all at once she realised she was not alone. There was a man lying on the sofa facing the wall. His jacket was draped on the armchair, hat in the same position. He was sleeping. Kaye stood there silently, downing the last of her drink and then walking over to the man. It was Don. His hair was unkempt, and he had dark circles under his eyes. There was a coffee stain on the top of his shirt, near his lapel. He reeked of whiskey. Kaye wondered if it was her, momentarily, before Don rolled over and she smelled his breath. Don awoke with a shudder. Kaye was sitting beside him on the sofa. He recoiled in fear.

"What time is it?" The question came rapid fire.

"I don't know. I just got here." Kaye stood up and put the glass down on the tray once again. "It's seven."

"Why're you here?"

Kaye said nothing and sat down in the armchair across from the couch.

"I couldn't sleep." She said.

Don sat up from the couch and rubbed his face, exhaling deeply.

"Roger won't be in until 9:30 or 10:00. Bert will be here first thing. I don't know about Lane."

"Could you get me some coffee?" Don stood up, picking his coat and placing it on the rack by the door.

"I don't know where anything is."

Don said nothing and left the office. His stoicism was unnerving. He walked across the empty hall and ran a full pot from the lunchroom. Kaye followed him moments later.

She leaned up against the wall beside the coffeemaker. Don looked up from the coffee, then back to it.

"So, it's over then." Kaye walked over to the fridge, opening its door and seeking something to eat.

"What is?" Don replied.

"Your marriage."

"I don't know." Don said, pulling the pot from the maker and filling two mugs he grabbed from the shelves.

She pulled a leftover apple from the fridge, took a bite, and closed the door.

"It's complicated." He continued.

"It always is."

He sipped his coffee and made a move towards his office. Kaye followed, apple in hand.

"This thing you have for us better work."

"I don't know if it will work."

"What?" He spun around. "I could have been planning then, instead I'm relying on you."

"What do you mean? There is no plan. You're jammed." Kaye said.

He was shocked.

"If the hierarchy of this company is the same as every other company, which it is, then you have nothing to worry about." Kaye bit the apple again. "Well that's not entirely true. I can get out of the door, but I can't help you after that."

"What do you want?" Don slouched into his armchair with his coffee.

"What does anyone want?"

"Money." Don replied.

"Give a man a fish, he eats for a night. Teach a man to fish, he eats for life." She riddled.

"A position, then."

Kaye winked and snapped a piece from the apple with her front teeth.

"I can't guarantee that."

"Well then I can't guarantee my help."

"It's not that I don't want to. You haven't been here long, and there's people in line in front of you."

"Then I guess I'll need a fast pass." Kaye threw the core into a waste basket nearby. Her hands were trembling.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Don said, with slight frustration.

"Get creative."

Kaye threw herself back into Don's couch and draped her hair over the arm.

"How about Assistant Creative Director." Kaye said. Don looked up from his cigarette.

Kaye put a cigarette between her lips, lighting it. She inhaled quickly and exhaled the plume of bluish smoke.

"There is no Assistant Creative Director." Don paced the room.

"There is starting Monday." She dragged on. "And her name is Kaye Sharpe."

"Roger and Bert will have to approve. I'm not the only deciding vote."

"They will when I get them out of working for McCann Erickson."


Roger and Bert walked into Don's office at a 9:30.

"What's with the early call?" Roger smiled, a cigarette was dangling from between his lips. "You woke me, and father time."

"I assume you have something important for us." Bert barked, shuffling into a seat.

"Where's Lane?" Kaye asked; her back was to them, she was staring out the window.

Don walked over to the door,

"Allison, can you check in on Lane?"

"Sure, Mr. Draper." Allison stood quickly and walked away.

"Who's this?" Bert turned to point to the woman at the window.

"Kaye Sharpe," She turned and walked over to Bert, outstretching her hand to shake his. Bert leaned back and looked at her. "Are you going to shake my hand."

"Oh." Bert said slowly, shaking her hand limply.

"Kaye is going to get us out of McCann Erickson." Don said.

"You can't, dear." Bert piped up. "We all have contracts."

"PPL is being sold off along with Sterling Cooper." Kaye said, flipping open her silver cigarette case. She reached into Don's pocket and stole his lighter. She plucked the long white stick between her lips. "Mr. Pryce wasn't aware of this until yesterday."

"How do you know?" Roger spoke up.

"Because, I know." She lit the cigarette and placed the lighter beside her. "He's going to come in here in a minute and tell you that. He'll say there's no way out."

"So, we're here to discuss the futility of our attempt then?" Bert stood, angrily.

"I'm here to give you a way out. But you need to act now, and its risky." She brushed her nose with her thumb, holding the cigarette away from her face.

"I'm all ears." Roger said, pouring a rum. "I'd rather hang myself than go to McCann."

"Don't grab the rope yet." She replied.

"What's your part in this?" Bert said to Kaye.

"I want a better position."

"How long have you been here?" He asked.

"A few weeks."

"Well that will be awkward." Bert turned around and sat at the edge of the couch.

"More awkward than working for McCann?" She snapped back. He sat in silence. "Assistant Creative Director. I'm more than proficient. Not that you have any choice."

A silence followed once again.

"Kid's right." Roger replied.

"Fine." Bert broke. "You can have the job. Don, are you okay with this?"

"If we're on our own, I'm okay with anything." He said.

There was a brief knock at the door, and Allison stood in the doorway.

"Your guest has arrived."

"Close the door. Have a seat." Don said. Lane walked in and stood by the door, somewhat reluctantly.

"What's he doing here." Bert pointed to Lane.

"You gonna read us your will now?" Roger looked to Don. "I want the Cadillac."

"I spoke with Kaye last night, and she has a plan to get us out of McCann."

"You can't. It's done." Lane replied. "I asked yesterday. You were right, PPL is being sold, so it seems we're all going to McCann."

"They cut you loose?" Roger said to Lane.

Don spoke up, "What was their offer. I want you to give us a shot."

"Enough. I should fire you for even trying to involve me in this conspiracy." Lane replied.

"Go ahead. It's the only thing you did well here." Don barked.

"Don, let it go." Bert said.

"I did a great many things here." Lane snapped back.

"Have another, it's 9:30 for God's sake." Roger lit a cigarette.

"Mr. Pryce, you have absolute authority to fire anyone. Correct?" Kaye spoke up.

He stood there, pensively.

"Fire everyone in this room."

Silence.

"Fire them. Sever the contracts and let everyone go." Kaye said.

Bert smiled. Roger turned to Lane,

"Can you do that?"

"Why would I?" Lane turned to Roger.

"Once the sale is through, you're done." Kaye said. He looked to her from the corners of his eyes. "You have no place at McCann. There's Sterling and Cooper, and your creative man. Who're you?"

"We'll make you a partner." Bert said.

"I should think this is worth more than that." Lane smirked.

"So we're negotiating?" Don smiled and stepped forward.

"Put his name on the door." Kaye said.

"I don't know." Roger cautioned.

"Do you know how to do what he does?" Don spoke.

"I don't." Bert added.

"It could be done." Lane moved to sit down near Kaye. "But getting you; us, out of here, isn't the difficult part. We need accounts. Who are you, by the way?"

"The new Assistant Creative Director. Kaye Sharpe." Roger said, tilting his glass to her. He sat down adjacent Don. "Let's say we have Lucky Strike."

"That's… let's see, 23 million in billings?" Lane said.

"Twenty-four."

"We'd still need another third for cash flow."

"Well, I can't take anyone else, or Lee Garner Sr. won't think that he's special. What about Hilton?" Roger said, turning to Don.

"No." Don said.

"Can we get any of our other accounts?" Lane asked.

"We'll get them." Roger replied.

"If I were to send a telex in at noon today that you've all been sacked, it's after close of business in London. It would remain unnoticed until Monday morning there, 2:00am here. That gives us today and the weekend to first gather accounts and then a skeleton staff to service them. And of course, we would have to obtain all the materials required for continuity of service."

"Obtain? We have to steal everything." Don laughed.

"Anyone approached must a certainty. If the news spreads, they'll lock us out.

"That would be unfortunate." Kaye interjected, lingering her gaze on Roger. "You can write up my contract this morning."

"Alright." Roger said.

There was a brief silence as they all looked at each other.

"Do we vote or something?" Don said.

Roger raised his hand first, followed by Bert, Don, and Kaye.

"Well ladies and gentlemen, I suppose you're fired." He laughed.

"Well, it's official. Friday, December 13th, 1963. Four guys shot their own legs off."