Thursday, January 23, 1964

Peggy Olson was sitting down at her cubicle desk tapping away on her typewriter. It was 5:00 am, and none of the staff had arrived yet. She had gone home early despite having a good time the previous evening and couldn't sleep. Thoughts of Pan Am loomed in her head.

She had finished writing up the general information on the pitch itself, and for the first time was confident in the read-out. It flowed well, and seemed to speak exactly what Pan Am was about: the world and its oyster. She had the same feeling before the Belle Jolie pitch; nervousness but a great excitement. She could taste victory on her lips.

She turned around after spooling out the paper from the typewriter and slipped it into a file. Looking down, she could see Kaye had piled up old mail tightly into her wastebasket just outside the edge of her desk. Peggy stared at it for a long moment, and then reached into the basket and pulled some of it out. Mixed in with the throwaways was a single letter from "Elena". It was unopened. Peggy ran her finger under the seal and pulled out the letter. It was handwritten, a single page, single-sided. She began reading,

"Dear Sister,

I know you are in New York now, and you have made it well. I hope you have been taking care of yourself, and staying out of trouble. Our conversation last month made me happy to hear this. Hugh and I are driving through the city in May. We're going on a road trip of sorts. We want to meet you. Please let us know where you are working? We will stop by. It will not take long.

Love,

Elena."

Peggy placed the letter back into its envelope, and threw it into the trash. She sat a minute in silence. She smiled, thinking of a plan. Perhaps Elena deserved to meet her sister after some time. Peggy was just being the good messenger. Pulling out a piece of paper and a pen, she began writing a letter.


3 Hours Earlier

Driving exactly 60 miles an hour along Highway 22 late in the night was a silver 1960 two door Dodge Polara. It had the white wall tires, the brushed wire chromed wheels, and all the bells and whistles. It was alone on the road, driving steadily northbound and had just passed through White Plains. At the helm was a fair ginger-haired girl with glasses, and next to her, an older redhead. There was silence off and on between them.

"What happens when we get there?" Joan asked.

"We finish what we started." Kaye said, reaching into her coat pocket for a cigarette. She patted around until she found a lighter, and she lit the end.

Joan burst into tears once again. She had fits of crying and rage in different stints throughout the night. She spoke infrequently; Kaye appreciated this. Joan pulled a handkerchief from her clutch and began wiping her eyes.

"What am I going to do?" She sobbed. "I hated him Kaye. But I didn't want him to end up like that."

Kaye said nothing. She continued smoking while looking at the distant road signs. They were hard to read in the pitch-black gloom. As they strayed further and further from the metropolis, the road became thinner, and packed heavily with snow. They were leaving the Central Westchester Parkway and turning onto Mount Kisco Drive along the Kensico Reservoir.

"Oh god. Greg." Joan continued sobbing. "What are we gonna do." She whispered.

Kaye reached over, and placed a cigarette between Joan's lips. She looked over; the stick hanging loosely from her mouth. Kaye lit the end for her and slid the lighter into her pocket.

"In life, we often have to do things that are just not out bag." Kaye said.

"How cavalier of you." Joan said, between tears. She inhaled deeply and stared out the passenger window at the trees flying by. They were nothing more than dark masses in the night, clumped together, looming over them. "Oh god. Oh my god. I can't believe... I can't believe this happened. This isn't real. This can't be real..." She continued to sob.

"I know." Kaye said.

"You know?" Joan looked over. "That's all you have to say? My husband is dead, and all you have to say is "I know?"

"What do you want me to say? What else is there to say?" Kaye shouted back.

"I don't know..." Joan trailed off. "Why did you do it?"

"Because he was going to rape you."

"I mean why didn't you shoot him in the leg? Or hit him over the head with something?"

"I didn't mean to shoot him in the chest..." Kaye inhaled for a long time on the cigarette. "He was so drunk. If I missed, he could have killed us."

"Greg isn't like that."

"When a man can do that, he can do anything." She said quietly. Joan didn't reply.

Mount Kisco turned into King Street, and King Street into Whippoorwill Road.

"We're getting close now." Kaye said.

"To where?" Joan asked.

"Far enough from the city."

She slowed the car, taking the turns up the impossibly winding roads. Eventually she turned off down a very narrow path. The snow was pressed down from occasional use but was nearly up to the fenders in some places. Eventually they came to the end of a small keyhole that lead down to Calder Lake. Kaye shut off the engine, and turned out the lights. Only the light of the moon illuminated the ground around them.

"Wait here." Kaye butted her cigarette into the ashtray, and opened the door. She stepped out into two feet of snow. She'd worn a heavy coat and leather boots. She made her way to the back of the car, and popped the hood. There, curled up motionless, was Greg Harris. His gaze was clouded over, and hands frozen in time. Behind him in the trunk was a wooden sled Kaye had pulled from Joan's apartment. She dropped it onto the unpacked snow, along with a box of lye she found in Joan's broom closet. Reaching underneath his arms, Kaye pulled Greg's body from the trunk of the car. He was extremely heavy, and it required her to cantilever her body against the bumper. He slumped onto the sled with a thud. Kaye closed the trunk, grabbed the box of lye, and began pulling the sled down the slight hill towards Calder Lake. The snow became deeper and deeper on the approach and she was struggling to take more than a few steps at a time.

"What the hell." She said. The night was so tranquil her voice was deafeningly loud. Pulling her silver flask from her pocket, she downed the rest of the bourbon she'd stolen from Roger's cart. Her vision was blurred; she felt lightheaded.

A few minutes passed and she finally reached the edge of the lake. There were a few places along the shoreline where the ice was no more than two inches thick.

"What the fuck am I doing." She said, over and over. Kaye vomited into the snow nearby, partly drunkenness, and the other in terror. Walking along the bank with her box of lye, she found a sunken spot of shoreline. It was covered in 5 feet of snow. She unearthed much of it, and beneath the snow was cold swampy marsh. Heaving Greg's body from the sled, she dumped him into the marsh. It wasn't more than 8 inches deep. She ripped open a hole in the edge of the box and poured all of the lye onto his body and into the murky shallows around him. After tapping the lasts of the lye out, she stood silently in the night. She used the sled to drag the snow back over him.

Joan was watching from a distance. She had vomited out the car door multiple times, and sobbed without ceasing. Her mascara had run all over her cheeks and face, and she was drenched in sweat from fear. Kaye had done all of the work. She saw her make her way around the edge of the lake, and now she could see Kaye was moving back towards the car with an empty sled and an empty box in her hand. The Dodge started with a rumble and they pulled out backwards onto the path, drove around the keyhole, heading back up towards Whippoorwill Road.


Don Draper burst through the doors of Mount Sinai Hospital and sped over to the front desk clerk.

"I'm looking for my daughter, ex-wife and her husband. They were just transferred an hour ago."

Dawn was peeking its head over the horizon out the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the waiting room. The cold night was giving way to a cool morning. The hospital was already piling up with people; some who'd just walked in, others who'd been there all night.

"Names?" The clerk said.

"Elizabeth and Sally Draper."

The clerk began flipping through paperwork and spinning over page by page. Don watched the elderly woman spend his time away.

"I have a Sally Draper, and a Henry and Elizabeth Francis."

"Which room?" He spat.

"Henry Francis is in post-surgery. He's sedated. Elizabeth is in the room across from him, 3rd floor, room 3301 and Sally is in room 3302."

Don spun and took off towards the staircase further down the hall, passed the clerks desk. He skipped steps repeatedly as he ascended the floors of the hospital. Cutting through a small staff lounge, he found 3301 and 3302.

He peered into Sally's room. She was asleep but the light was on. Her entire face had blotchy bruises covering it. She had cuts on some parts of her arms which were bandaged, and she had a huge bandage wrapped around her head, holding her jaw in place. There were a few stitches here and there on her forehead and some hair had to be cut away to suture some of her scalp.

Don breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw his daughter; not because of her state, but because she was breathing slowly, and peacefully asleep.

"She fell asleep about 2 hours ago. Was asking for you." A large coloured woman stood behind him in her nurse's outfit. Her voice was hoarse like gravel, but she had that kind way about her smile, which eased Don.

"What happened?" He turned to face the nurse.

"Haven't got much out of them. Car crashed off the road. Somewhere between Baychester and New Rochelle. Guy was pretty banged up; broken femur, broken tib, broken arm, dislocated shoulder, cracked skull; Wife's not looking good either. Sally here has a broken jaw, fractured wrist, but other than the bruises and cuts, I'm surprised the damage isn't worse."

Don said nothing but surveyed his daughter for a quiet moment. He moved around the nurse and made his way into Betty's room. She was also asleep, facing the window. Don walked in slowly as not to startle her.

"She's sedated." The nurse appeared in the doorway. Don made his way around the bed until he could see Betty clearly. She had an ice pack strapped around her face; bandages everywhere. Two black eyes, bruises in many places and a long strip of her hair had been razed to suture a massive cut down the length of her scalp. She had more stitches sewing up a gape in her face, extending from just above her right eye, to across her nose. Her hands were beaten badly and bruised.

"She was screaming in agony and passed out a few times." The nurse began. "Other than what you see, she has a huge cut on her thigh. Lucky the old man who brought them in tourniqueted it or she would have bled out on the way. Both arms are broken. The cuts are mostly from the windshield glass. Small surgery to remove a large chunk of glass from her face. She'll have the scar forever unfortunately."

Again, Don was silent but simply observed his ex-wife. The horror of seeing her in such a state was masked by the adrenaline of the events of the day. He slowly reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette.

"She's on oxygen." The nurse quipped. "No smoking."

Don slid his cigarette case back into his pocket.

"I'm working 'till 8:00. If you need anything see the unit clerk, they'll get me."

He looked down at his watch. 7:11a.m. The nurse had already left the doorway. For what seemed like an eternity, he sat down at the edge of Betty's bed. He stared at her, and then looked out the window, down to his watch, and back to his ex-wife.

She cracked open her eyes at first. Her breathing became briefly laboured and she sighed. She was staring at the ceiling, and then her gaze drifted to Don at the end of her bed. She attempted to smile but the pain overcame her and she winced.

"Don." She managed to whisper.

"Birdie." He replied with a slight smile.

She sighed quietly again and then whispered, "Where's Sally?"

"Next door. She's okay. Much better than you. She's asleep."

"Thank God." She winced again. "I don't remember… what happened."

"Car crash. You went off the road."

"I don't – I don't remember… My minds upside down." She tried to sit up straighter in bed, but hardly moved.

"You need rest." Don moved closer.

"Where's Henry?"

"Across the hall. Just out of surgery."

Betty looked up to the ceiling and large teardrops began forming in her sunken eyes.

"I don't know what I did – but I know it's my fault."

"You don't know that." Don said.

"I do. I said something. Or did something. That caused the crash."

"Don't think about that right now." He moved and grabbed her bruised hand gently, holding it in his. Betty looked up, wincing. Don could feel her muscles contract as she tried with difficulty to hold his hand.

"Thank you, Don." She whispered. She sat in silence. "I'm sorry. About yesterday. I remember leaving your office. Nothing after that."

"Birdie." He placed his hand gently on her head, running his hand through her hair. They said nothing for a minute.

"You're at the lake with your parents. The smell of fresh air fills your nostrils. It's damp but not cool. It's evening time. Your father is by the fire, roasting hot dogs. Sally and Bobby are on the lawn playing darts. Gene is in your mothers arms. Sally yells at Bobby because he's almost hit her with a dart."

Betty smiled, her eyes closed.

"Your mother is chatting with you. I'm standing back from the fire, a beer in my hand. A loon hoots in the distance. The water is perfectly still because there's no wind. You're at peace."

With that, Betty turned her head, and fell asleep.


"Where's Don?" Roger said to Pete Campbell who had just walked in the door from a successful meeting.

"I don't know. Haven't seen him." Pete began smiling. "Smith-Corona is going to hear us out, They've invited us to their offices."

"What's the potential billings?" Roger said, sipping a glass of whiskey.

"Maybe two million on a good year." Lane piped up from the background. He was smoking a pipe and looking out the window.

"That's a good two million regardless." Pete said. "Get Creative on that."

"Their under the gun for the Pan Am pitch. Our friend Mr. Trippe moved the meeting up." Roger replied.

"And what if that doesn't go well? We can't sacrifice all our work for one fish we don't even know if we've caught."

"This is no fish, Mr. Campbell." Lane turned to face the young account man. "This is a blue whale. This whale will dwarf all of your accounts combined and then some of Lucky Strike."

"And? Are we going to sacrifice other potential clients who will sustain us?"

"Not-tat-all." Lane snapped back. "They're all essential at this time. We just cannot afford the manpower to take our foot off of the accelerator for Pan Am."

Pete scoffed, spun and walked into Harry Crane's office.

At that time, the front door to Room 465 swung open and Joan marched through the egress, unfurling her coat and placing it on the rack.

"Never been late a day for work a day in your life and here we are." Roger said.

Joan smiled momentarily, without saying anything, and moved to sit down at her desk. Roger followed her, leaning on the edge of the short cubicle wall.

"What's going on? My wit on ice this morning?"

"Bad night." She mumbled. There was a stack of paper on her desk, including newly handwritten notes. One was about a call from Pan Am. Joan turned to Roger who was still standing at the edge of the cubicle.

"When did this call come in?" She asked.

"I don't know I saw it on the desk this morning." Roger said.

"So they've moved our meeting to tomorrow. That loses us a week."

"Peggy, come here."

Peggy Olson stood from her desk and came over to Joan and Roger.

"When did this call come in?" Joan asked.

"6:00 this morning."

"You were here at six? We're not paying overtime." Roger said.

"Couldn't sleep. They said they had no choice because of Mr. Trippe's schedule. He leaves for Barbados. Or was it Bahamas. I don't remember."

"Does Don know?" Joan responded.

"Haven't seen him since last night. Where's Kaye?" Peggy said.

"She's not here already?"

"No."

Joan looked down to her typewriter.

"I'll call her."

"Tell Harry to focus only on Pan Am for the rest of today. We'll all be here until tomorrow I bet." Roger said, walking away towards his desk.

Joan spent the rest of the morning catching up on the notes, which littered her desk from the previous day. It was a welcomed break from her constant crying and insomnia. Peggy manned the phone line. Pete also had secured an interview with Liggett Myers Tobacco; Lane was impressed, noting their desperate need for more overhead cash-flow. If something didn't change in a few months time, the staff of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce would be walking out the door without a paycheque. After finishing a memo and unscrolling the paper from the typewriter, Joan picked up the phone and called out to Kaye's apartment at Gramercy Park East. It rang a few times before there was an answer.

"Hello?" a groggy and slowed voice picked up the receiver.

"Kaye, what are you doing?"

"Sleeping. What else?"

"It's 10 o'clock. Are you coming in?" Joan had trouble masking her emotions.

"No—I wasn't—planning on it. Why are you in?" She slurred.

"Are you still drunk?" Joan lowered her voice.

"I just took a little something to help me sleep."

Joan hesitated and thought herself about drinking. She yearned for a release from the headache that was pounding in her mind. Her brain wouldn't stop swirling with images of Greg; his lifeless body being dragged down to the frozen lake. His empty gaze. The ride back had been even more devoid of conversation than the ride there. She was dropped off out front, left staring at Greg's old Chevy.

"Hello?" Kaye repeated.

"Kaye, you need to come in. Mr. Trippe at Pan Am called. The pitch is tomorrow. He's leaving Sunday on vacation."

"Oh god." the young girl on the other end of the line whined. "Why, Juan... Where's Don?" She asked from the blue.

"He hasn't called. I was going to call him after I called you."

"I'll be in soon. Send a cab to come get me. I forget where I parked my car. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine... I'll talk to you later." Joan hung up the receiver. In the middle of her call to the Yellow Cabs company, She received another call.

"Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, how may I direct your call?" Joan started.

"It's me, I'm sorry I'm not in already."

"Where are you?"

"Betty and Sally got into an accident. It's bad. They're at Mount Sinai, I got to the hospital just before 7:00. I need you to arrange a sitter for Bobby and Gene. Not too expensive. They can watch them at my apartment."

"Oh Don, I'm sorry."

"They're okay. I'll probably be here for a while."

"Pan Am called." Joan started. "The pitch is tomorrow… they're scrambling here."

Silence ensued on the other end of the line.

"I'll be in a later." Don hung up the phone.


Outside of 34 Gramercy Park East, a checkered yellow cab was honking violently, and the driver was leaning his head out the window. He was inspecting the windows on the face of the building, looking for looming eyes; scared that they were about to miss their car. He scoffed, and then leaned back into his car. Turning to the front doors, he saw a young woman, in her early twenties, walking out the doors. Her movements were slowed. She seemed to be drunk, or hurt. Or both.

Kaye opened the rear door and flung her bag into the back seat. She slumped down into the rear of the car, pulling the door closed with an outstretched arm.

"You know I've been out here for 10 minutes?" The cabbie barked.

"The Pierre." Kaye said. The car pulled away from the curb.

"Yeah I know where we're going. Your boss called me over. It's a wonder you still have a job if you show up to work like this."

"And yet, you're the one driving me to work." She said, laughing quietly.

The cabbie glared angrily in his rear view mirror. Kaye pulled out a cigarette and began smoking as they glided through Manhattan traffic. The day was another bitter day. She rubbed her forehead with her thumb. She thought about Greg as she inhaled on the white stick.

"Shit." she huffed.

"We're here."

She looked up and the drive seemed to have passed by in only a minute.

"That'll be a dollar, but another 50 cents because I had to wait."

Kaye pulled a five dollar bill from her clutch and handed it to the man.

"Keep the change." She said.

"Uh, thank you, Miss." The cabbie smiled bashfully.

"Don't judge a book by its cover." She slipped out of the rear seat, shutting the door behind her. Snow was falling lightly on the sidewalk and the sky was a vast expanse of grey. Kaye looked down to her father's old watch. It was just past noon.

"Where have you been? Hasn't anyone told you about Pan Am?"

"That's why I'm here." Kaye pushed passed Peggy as she strolled into the makeshift office and threw her things down onto her desk.

"Have you finished the printing?"

"Yesterday." She said, sitting down in her chair.

"Okay, then what do we need to do?"

"Wait for Don." Kaye said, leaning back.

"Speak of the devil." Roger Sterling said, holding up a tumbler of Rye and pointing towards the hotel room door where Donald Draper had just passed through.

"Peggy, Kaye, my office. Pete, sit in with us." Don ordered as he removed the fedora from his head and walked into his office. Kaye and Peggy sat in the opposing orange chairs. Pete stood, leaning against the back wall.

"We weren't expecting this timetable." Don started.

"Prints are done. They're in Harry's office." Kaye said.

"Good. Peggy, you have all the type complete?"

"It's all with the storyboard." She replied.

"Pete, what are we dealing with. You met with their accounts team last week."

"I mean, there's not much to say." Pete said. "It's Pan Am. They have an entire floor dedicated to maintaining their PR. I sat down with Gordon Stanley, their head of Public Relations, and we discussed almost nothing. They refused to share much at all. They want us to fail."

Don's gaze shifted to Kaye. "They want some big firm like Young & Rubicam, or CGC, to take over so they have some piece of mind. They're just appeasing Juan allowing us to pitch."

Silence.

"Then I guess we have to show them we're worth their time." Peggy said.

"Alright." Don said. "Keep moving on other projects until tomorrow. No going out late. Kaye stay behind, I want to talk with you."

Peggy and Pete cleared out of the room while Kaye remained seated.

"I need you at your best tomorrow." Don sat down in his chair, offering Kaye a cigarette; she waved it off. He placed one between his own lips and lit up.

"The idea's good." Kaye said.

"Depends on their audience." Don said.

"Where were you?" Kaye asked.

Don hesitated a moment before responding. "I was seeing my daughter. I heard you came in late."

"Long night" She said, gazing at the bottle of whiskey behind Don. Her eyes glazed over.

"Wear something tomorrow that will take their eyes off the storyboard and to some beach between palm trees." He said.

"I don't know if I have anything like that."

"Then pickup something like that. Charge it back to us." He said. "Take Joan with you. She's the one I'd trust with this. You both look like you could use the time away."

Kaye said smiled politely and stood, leaving the office. She walked over to Joan's corner cubicle.

"We're going shopping." She started.

Joan looked up from typing, pulling her reading glasses down.

"For what?"

"I need a dress. Something to drop jaws."

"We'll go to Bonwit's, I know the manager." she said. Joan grabbed her coat, passing Kaye her's from the rack. They walked out of Room 465 and made their way down the hall and into the elevator.

"Are you alright." Kaye said, staring at the steel doors.

"No." Joan said. "I don't think I'll be okay for a long time."

Kaye said nothing.

"I spent the night hurling and crying. What about you?" Joan continued.

"I drank until I passed out on the floor."

Joan ran her hand down her arm.

"Could I have your flask?" She asked. Kaye looked over to her, pulling it from her clutch. Joan took a long swig, and then gave it back to Kaye. The elevator reached the main floor, and they stepped out.


Friday, January 24th, 1964

The Pan Am Building

200 Park Avenue, New York, NY

58th Floor

The reception area for Pan American Headquarters was much more simplistic than Don had expected. Everything had sharp edges to it, nothing was out of place, and nothing was excessive. There were a few chairs against the wall under the windows, and then a coffee table with two ashtrays and a few magazines on the shelf underneath. Pete was practising his greeting and handshake. He didn't want his voice trembling.

Don had picked up Kaye from her apartment at Gramercy Park at 9:00. There was a low slung fog over the skyline that day. The rest of the Sterling Cooper gang trickled into the lobby of 200 Park Avenue shortly after 9:15.

"Are we ready?" Roger turned to Don as they sat together on the chairs in reception.

"Always." Don replied. Roger looked past Don to Kaye, who was sitting in the chair next to him, applying another layer of smacking red lipstick. She was wearing a bright red dress. It wasn't racy, or over the top by any standards, but it accentuated every line of her body. Nor was it low cut, but instead hung off her shoulders around her collarbone. It was something that you would wear to a work formal party, but not as a guest at a wedding.

"You look better than Ginger Rogers." Roger said.

"You too." Kaye said.

"Maybe, but I have better hair." Roger smiled, leaning back in his chair.

"They're ready for you." The receptionist stood from her seat at the desk and motioned for the team to come towards her. They all stood in one motion and began moving towards the door. Kaye's palms were clammy and she had the jitters. She'd only drank two glasses of whiskey that morning and it was wearing off. Was she withdrawing? Or was she actually afraid.

The Sterling Cooper team moved through the large steel doors and through the halls of Pan Am. There were employees littered all over the place in one big room. They were all on the phone simultaneously. The receptionist led them to the end of the hall where another single large steel door rested. "Conference" was embedded into a plate, riveted to the door.

As the door swung open they were greeted by four men, all sitting in a row behind a large oak desk. They were all older men, dressed in suits of bland beige and grey. There was nothing interesting about them particularly. Their ties matched their suits, and their suits matched their expressionless faces. Only Juan Trippe particularly stood out; he was wearing a greenish tweed suit with a bright green tie. His head was covered with a green tweed fedora.

"Good morning, Gentlemen." Roger said, making his way towards the end of the table, followed by Don. Peggy stood near them, setting up the easel and the storyboards that had been prepared.

"I'm Roger Sterling, this is Don Draper, Peggy Olson, Kaye Sharpe, and Pete Campbell."

Roger shook their hands, followed by each member of the team in order.

"Good to see you again, Roger." Juan said. "We couldn't get the whole board to join us as they were set back. This is Ron Mills, our VP of research and development, Ed Hotchkiss, and Howard McMann. All board members here at Pan American."

Hotchkiss had allowed his eyes to wander over Kaye's figure for long enough that the group had noticed.

"We're selling ads, Mr. Hotchkiss. Not a date with the staff." Roger said. They laughed briefly, giving Roger a chance to survey his audience. Peggy had pulled out the storyboard and began putting it together, placing the it neatly onto the easel.

Hotchkiss sat back in his chair, amused and embarrassed.

The group settled down into their respective seats at the table.

"We appreciate the time out of your days to see us." Pete said.

Mills said, "Who are we to turn down the prospect of a little business?"

"Well, lets not delay," Juan jumped in. "Ladies and gentlemen, show us what you've got."

Roger turned to Don. He felt rushed, but he began regardless.

"Air travel was once an impossibility, for most people." Don stood up, buttoning the upper button on his light blue suit jacket. He made his way to stand beside the story board.

"It was expensive, dangerous, something used in wartime. People used planes as a tool to just get from one place to another. They were not overly concerned with safety, comfort; the joy in the experience. They just wanted to get where they wanted to go. Not so anymore." Don moved to stand near the window.

"Now, people are flying in luxurious jetliners, above the clouds, being served champagne and caviar at 600 miles an hour. They're meeting with other like-minded people." Don stood, and removed one of the black panels from the easel. It revealed well-dressed people, sitting together and laughing while on a plane. They were eating caviar on a dried bread cracker. "They're enjoying each others company in an experience that can only be described as 'heavenly'. As a team, we had the privilege of touring the Clipper of the Skies, and I think our sentiments can only be echoed in one word: "awesome." Worthy of awe and wonder. It took you to another place. I felt nostalgia for a place I'd never been, people I'd never met; yet."

He flipped the storyboard again and it showed a picture of a 707 cutting through the clouds. Kaye was watching Don. His voice transformed from a stoic emptiness to vigour. It was as if he was recapturing the woman of his lost youth and trying to seduce her. For the first time, she felt attracted to him. Not in some girlish way, but with an air of respect and admiration. Don was talking to the whole room and at the same time was just talking to you by yourself and telling you a story.

"Pan American Airways was the first, and still the only company to sell more than just a ticket. It's not about getting there anymore." Don flipped the board again, to a group of people exiting a 707 and smiling, laughing, as they descended the stairs onto a gangway. "Pan Am is known around the world. Under every flag, there's an airport, and at every airport, there's Pan Am." He flipped through different countries airports, with their stereotypical garments, all while standing aboard one of the "Clippers." Finally, he reached the last slide. It was a 707 flying high above the ground towards the viewer; the entire world visible below the plane; the Pan Am logo sitting at the top of the advertisement. "It's not just about the experience, it's about the journey." He gave the room a short pause.

"Pan Am." Don said. "It's all about the journey."

There was a brief pause in the room. The board members looked to each other, and then back at Sterling Cooper.

"I like it. Pithy, short, and to the point. We give 'em the world." Ron Mills said. Juan turned to Don and spoke next.

"It's good."

"It is good." Roger repeated.

"It's good?" Don said.

The board members looked to Juan.

"Yes, that's what I said. It's good. Not ground-breaking. But it is good."

Howard McMann said, "I think I speak for this convened board when I say we'll talk this over, am I right?" He looked left and right to his equals and they nodded their heads in agreement.

"It's not good." Don spat. "It's great." He moved over to stand between Kaye and Roger. "Pan Am does what everyone else does, but they do it better. Pan Am doesn't just fly to Bermuda, they fly to St. Maarten's, they fly to Adelaide, they fly non-stop almost anywhere. No other airline promises you that. Every airline promises you a flight. No other airline promises you the world. "

"We know." Juan finalised. "We'll call you back."

Don's face fell. Silence.

"Thank you for your time, gentlemen." Don moved over, and stacked the black boards into their carrying case. Peggy looked over to Kaye with fear.

"We have a lot more options, gentlemen, we could come back with some other things." Pete spoke up this time, leaning over the conference table.

"I think we've seen enough." Juan said. "We'll make our call, and let you know."

"Don't both with they courtesy, next time." Don said.

"Excuse me?" Juan said.

"You invited us here just to waste our time, you never had any intention of taking us on."

"Mr. Draper, I can assure you we had no intention of wasting your time, nor did we—"

While Juan played out his assurances of good intentions towards Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, Kaye had grabbed Don's hand. It was not a gesture of romance, but instead of assurance. That he had done enough. It didn't matter what the outcome was. Don looked down to her expressionless face. His anger was soothed by her slight upturned lip. It was in this horrifying moment of failure that Kaye thrived. In the moments when a person is cornered and there is no escape, her brain came alive.

"—intend to have this outcome. Goodday, ladies and gentlemen, and we will get back to you."

The Sterling Cooper team stood from their seats, and began collecting their things. Kaye let go of Don's hand.

"It's not just a journey..." Kaye said. Roger and Pete darted their eyes to her. She had come out of her stupor.

"Pan Am gives you a journey. But so does every other airline." She moved over to stand by the window, and leaned up against the long steel register running along the lower wall. They Pan Am team stopped to listen. "Pan Am gives you more than just a journey, they're unique. A flight is not the space in between anymore. It is the trip. The road worth travelling turns out not to be a road at all. There's only one company that gives you every road, every destination your heart could want."

Kaye grabbed one of the black markers stashed in the bottom of the storyboard bag. She uncapped it with her mouth, and drew a line through the previous slogan. She spat it out onto the ground.

"Don is right. You can fly with anyone. TWA, American Airlines, Braniff; each one gives you a story. But only one gives you every story. Only one gives you every destination.

Kaye put the new storyboard she'd re-written onto the easel, turning to face the reduced board of Pan American Airways.

"Pan Am." she said. "We don't give you a trip - We give you the world."

Don stared intently at Juan. There was a hush over the room. He smiled.

"Now that," Juan said. "Is Pan American."


On many billboards running down large avenues in New York, Boston, Chicago, L.A, and many other metropolises, one could spot 707s flying away from the earth into the stratosphere. They were marked with the words "We don't give you a trip - We give you the world."

Pan American Airways market share had increased by 4 percent over the following 4 months. Harry Crane created a 1-minute commercial bit that stood the test of television. They had managed Dean Martin to be the narrator of the commercial. "I'll see you up there." He said, as he winked at the camera. "Pan Am doesn't give you a trip—he takes a sip of whiskey— They give you the world."

Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce was doing well. Pan American provided generous compensation to the company; enough that a few short weeks after the success of the pitch, they moved offices to Suite 3750 on the 37th floor of 1271 Avenue of the Americas, in the Time-Life Building. It was a bounding leap in prominence and price for the firm. Because of Pan Am's backing, they were able to furnish the office, hire new staff, and expand their operations. New brands such as Cremora, Colgate, Kelton Watches, Smith-Corona typewriters, and Scotties flooded in their doors after seeing the Pan American work. SCDP was on the upswing. There were growing pains, as there always is in times of change. There wasn't enough office space to accommodate Joan on the floor, so they turned a walk-through between the main hallways into Joan's office. She was also connected directly to the Conference Room, something she used to her advantage with the PA system more than once.

Kaye's office was particularly long and was stationed beside Pete Campbell's office along the inside wall. She was stuck behind the kitchenette and became frequently annoyed by the secretaries chattering. She was also annoyed that she was so far from Don's office and had to make hourly trips across the entire office floor for two-minute conversations. Instead, she would call Don's secretary, Allison, and just speak over the phone to Don.

Kaye hired a trucking company to ship her fathers Nash Ambassador saloon back to her sister in Connecticut. She stuck a note on the dash that said, "Sorry.", along with $1000 cash in the glovebox. Roger demanded that they go out and buy her a new car with the $10 000 generous bonus she'd been given her for landing Pan Am. After some haggling and a $5900 check later, she drove back to Gramercy Park with a brand-new black Mercedes-Benz 230SL roadster.

Joan reported Greg missing the following day after the Pan Am pitch. The police found no trails, and nothing to go on. He disappeared into that cold January night, drunk beyond belief as Joan put it, and never returned the next day. Neither Joan nor Kaye spoke about the affair.