Apartment 603

34 Gramercy Park East,

New York, New York

May, 1964

There were three short raps on Kaye's apartment door. She was not expecting any visitors. Her eyes snapped onto the door. She had a cigarette in her hand and was watching the new Admiral Color television she had purchased. Clicking the large remote, the TV blinked and shut off. Lazing across the hardwood floors in a long white bathrobe, she cracked the door open, leaving the chain to hold it.

Two policemen stood in the egress of her doorway. The more senior officer was standing in front. Kaye's heart slammed in her chest.

"Miss Kaye Sharpe?"

"Yes."

"Excuse our intrusion, miss…" the officer turned away his face and looked at the doorjamb. Kaye didn't move.

"What is it?" Kaye stated.

"We were hoping to have a word with you… in private. I'm Officer Bernier and this is Officer Hendrickson… perhaps you'd like to put something else on… or you could come to the station. We could wait in the car… if you'd prefer."

Kaye sighed.

"Wait here." She mumbled. Walking back into the apartment, she went to her walk-in closet and pulled a white blouse and black skirt from the rack. Her hands began shaking and a great fear clutched her. After slipping it on, she brushed her hair slowly, putting it up into a small bun. After 10 minutes, she returned to the door, half-heartedly hoping they had become disinterested and left. She undid the chain. The officers were still standing there. Their joking manner quickly disappeared, and they entered the apartment.

"Sorry again for the intrusion."

"Take a seat." She pointed to the sofa. Kaye sat down on a large upholstered chair beside the television set. She had a moment to analyse them now. The senior officer was quite portly, with grey hair and a large moustache that obscured his upper lip. He wore great spectacles that took up much of his cheeks. He reminded her of Santa Claus in his 50s. The younger man was handsome. A chiselled jaw with a cleft in his chin, brown eyes and black hair. He looked like a mix of Italian and English. He was muscular and looked to be around 32.

"This may come as a shock to you, Ms. Sharpe. We're sorry to be coming to you at your home, its just that you were one of the last people to see Mr. Harris alive," the younger officer Hendrickson said.

Kaye spoke slowly. "Alive?"

"Yes." He continued. "We found a body, beyond easy recognition, in the marshland beside Calder Lake. It's a small lake north of the Kensico Reservoir. We believe it, preliminarily, to be the body of Mr. Gregory Harris, he is—was—married to your co-worker, Joan Harris. We've already spoken to her and she mentioned you were one of the last people to see him alive."

Silence.

"What else did she say?"

The officers looked to each other quickly, and back to Kaye.

"Just that your work was having a function the night he disappeared and that as she left, you noticed things were awry with Mr. Harris."

"Well yes, he was stomping after her out the door. I was concerned." Kaye said. She stood, feeling lightheaded. "Sorry gentlemen, will you excuse me?"

Both of the policemen stood quickly, watching her walk around the corner. She moved over, grabbing her clutch, which was on the side table near the bathroom. Entering the bathroom, she pulled out a flask and downed the entire tin of whiskey. She dropped it to the floor and sat down on the toilet, putting her hands between her knees as an ear-splitting headache came over her. Her hands were shaking violently and her heart was thumping so loud she could swear the policemen would hear it.

"Are you alright, Miss?" Hendrickson said from outside.

"Yes." She said. "I'm just not feeling well. I stayed home today. This is all very... shocking to me."

"We can come back at a later time."

"No, it's fine." She said. "Stay. I'll be out in a minute."

Once the alcohol began taking its effect, the headache lessened. The shaking began calming down. Pulling open her clutch again, she sifted through her belongings. At the bottom of the purse was a small brown vial full of white pills marked Benzedrine. She spun the cap off, crushed one of the pills into powder, and poured out the powder onto the crux of her hand between her thumb and index finger. After snorting the powder, she leaned back, and closed her eyes, placing her head against the wall. It wasn't long before the beginnings of a high came on. Kaye washed her hands of the excess, cleaned her lips and nose, and applied a very light layer of makeup.

"Sorry about that." She sat back down opposite the officers. "Where were we?"


Don Draper's Cadillac was just exiting the 87 freeway eastbound between Manhattan and Ossining, when a driver nearly clipped him on the turn. He huffed angrily and smacked the horn. The other car sped away quickly; its tail between its legs. Don jumped back onto the accelerator and flew down the small streets of Ossining, rolling up to 42 Bullet Park Road.

A young home-nurse opened the door. She had bright green eyes, blonde hair much like Betty's and very large red lips. Don knew her well from his visits over the past months, and took a moment to look her over from top to bottom.

"Good morning Nancy." He said as the woman moved out of the doorway to allow him by. "Are the kids ready?"

"Yes. They're just putting together their things. You're a little early."

"Then I guess we have some time together to chat." He smiled. The young woman smiled back, biting the corner of her lip.

"I suppose so. Busy day at work I imagine?"

"I try to keep things simple. I don't like complicated." He leaned up against the wall near the door. Nancy moved closer to him.

"Ah." She said. "Neither do I. I don't like when I get in over my head."

There was a brief silence between them.

"Dad!" Bobby shouted, running down the stairs. Don bent down on one knee, extending his arms for his son. He gave Bobby a quick hug and let him go. "We're going on a field trip today." He exclaimed.

"Where to?" Don asked.

"The Natural History museum. We get to see the dinosaurs!"

"Sounds like fun." He ruffled Bobby's hair. Sally came down the stairs slowly looking towards her father, but did not say anything until she was upon them. She had healed quickly, especially her jaw. A few gashes were scarred but she came out the best of all three injured.

"Morning." She said. "Let's go." Sally slid on her boots. From upstairs a woman's voice called out.

"Don! Could you come here. Tell the kids to wait a minute."

Sally rolled her eyes and closed the front door, which was in her hand.

"Alright." He replied. He walked up the stairs and into Betty's room. She was propped up against the headboard reading a book. Her face had undergone much healing in the past month. The large gash across her face looked well, however the scar was still prominent. The bruising had reduced drastically and her hair had begun growing around the tear in her scalp. She was ordered to leave bed as little as possible, and so Betty hired a live-in nurse who doubled as a maid and a nanny. They paid Nancy well.

"Bobby has a field trip downtown. Do you want to pick him up from the museum?"

Don paused before he spoke. "Sure."

"You don't have to."

"I will."

"Alright. Ignore Sally. She's in a mood."

"I can tell." Don moved to sit on the bed beside her. "How are you feeling?"

"Well." She looked up to him. "I appreciate what you've done, taking care of me. And the kids. Since the accident. Your gestures are kind. Don't send the flowers to the house again."

Don smiled. He took Betty's hand in his.

"Listen." Betty started, her voice very hushed. "I know we've… spent a lot of time together lately. Known each other… intimately. This isn't good for us. It can't continue."

Don leaned in and kissed Betty passionately. She did nothing to resist his advances and kissed him back. She pulled away slowly, and he moved the kisses to her neckline. She closed her eyes, drifting away.

"Not here. Not now." She whispered gently. Don moved back. "This isn't good for us. Henry is still my husband. And I love him. No more. He is starting to really come around."

"Last time I saw him, he was slumped against the wall and didn't know his right from his left."

"He's getting much better." She snapped. "He's only had two months of rehabilitation. It's going to take longer until he's back to normal. I don't regret what's happened between us. I feel loved. But it can't keep going. Henry will be coming home to stay soon."

"I understand." Don said, holding her hand once again.

"No more flowers." She said.

"No more flowers." He repeated, standing up from the bed and moving to the doorway. Don left her room without looking back.

"Goodbye Nancy." Don turned to leave with the children out the door, but Nancy's voice stopped him.

"Don, wait just a minute." She walked over to the kitchen counter and wrote something down on a pad of paper. She returned quickly.

"If you're ever out here and need something to do."

On the slip of paper was a phone number.

"I'm sure I can find something." he said.


"You were just answering that Mr. Harris left the venue following Mrs. Harris." The younger policeman confirmed. Kaye sat silently collecting her thoughts. The Benzedrine made her want to rush through everything and run a marathon. She began pulsing her leg nervously.

"Oh." She paused. "Yes… Joan left early. She walked out the door after telling me Greg was on the other side of the bar. None too pleased."

"What occurred after that moment?"

Another pause.

"Well, I stood up, and followed him out the door. He was furious."

"How did you know that?" The older policeman asked. "That he was furious."

"His demeanour. His fists were clenched. His jaw was tight and he was clearly drunk."

"So you worried for Mrs. Harris' safety?"

"Yes."

The younger policeman was writing down their conversation in his notebook.

"Has Mr. Harris ever been violent in public to your knowledge?"

"Sorry?"

"Has he ever hurt anyone? In public. Has he ever laid a hand on Mrs. Harris in an uncouth manner?"

"I'm not aware." Kaye said, standing up. Her face was flushed and heart was racing. She felt euphoric but paranoid.

"Are you alright, Ms. Sharpe?" Hendrickson asked.

"Yes. This is just upsetting you know. He may not have be a nice man, but to die…" She trailed off.

"We know Miss, and we're sorry to bring this up to you. But were trying to get to the bottom of this case." The older officer interjected.

Kaye moved to look out the window. She smoothed her hands over each other multiple times and closed her eyes. "He gripped her by the arm and was dragging her to his car."

"What?" Hendrickson muttered.

"When they were outside." Kaye began. "I watched Greg pull her towards his car. She was clearly trying to get away from him."

"She didn't mention that, Al." Hendrickson turned to face his superior officer.

"Most don't." he spoke to Kaye again. "Continue, Ms. Sharpe."

"I watched her try to pull away from him. He held her arm tightly under his. They got into his car and I watched them drive away."

"Then what happened?" Bernier said.

"That's it." She said. "I decided to go home after that. Walked back to the bar, told the office I was leaving, and left."

"I see. You weren't concerned for her after that?"

"Their marriage was none of my business."

"Can anyone confirm you went home?" Bernier continued.

"No." Kaye said. "I went home alone and I live alone."

Hendrickson finished writing his notes.

Bernier spoke, "Thank you for your time, Ms. Sharpe. If we have any other questions, we will contact you. Sorry to take time from your day." Both men smiled, and turned to leave; the senior officer first, followed by the junior out the front door. As they were walking down the stairs, Hendrickson stopped and spoke something to Bernier. He ran back up the last flight of steps and just as Kaye was shutting the door, he was upon her. She stood silently, adjusting her glasses, waiting for him to speak.

"I just forgot my pen."

Kaye moved and allowed him back into the apartment. He took two short steps into the entrance when he stopped.

"I know this is highly unorthodox…" The man began quietly, "But I was hoping to call you."

Kaye stared blankly. She took a step back.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sharpe. I imposed. This was foolish."

Kaye, finally getting a hold of herself and shaking off the stupor, looked into his eyes.

"No, it's fine." She smiled lightly. "Call me." She took the notebook from his hand and wrote down her telephone number. "I'm busy often. Don't expect me to pick up fast."

He smiled.

"My name is John, by the way."

"See you soon, John." Kaye said. The officer smiled and walked backwards into the door, excusing himself for clumsiness, and closing it behind him.

Kaye's smile faded from her visage. She look emptily into the abyss. She sat down on the sofa, grabbing a makeup compact from a box on the shelf of the side table. She pulled out another vial of pills, this one marked Raphetamine. She crushed two pills, spreading them down a thin line on the mirror and used a metal tube to inhale through her right nostril. She pinched her nose in pain and threw the items back into the wooden box. Lazing back onto the sofa, she waited until she was so high she began losing track of herself. Each movement of her fingers over the sofa's ragged upholstery felt increasingly enjoyable.

Kaye felt like she was jumping off the Empire State Building. Her adrenaline was coursing like a river. She hopped up from her seat, running to grab her keys and coat. In a blinding moment, she had put it on, locked the door and was rampaging down the stairs and out the front door of Gramercy Park into her Mercedes. The car started with a rumble and she shot out from the curb into traffic, veering around cars to get to the light the quickest. She knew Joan would be just getting ready to leave for work and took the 20-minute drive to get to her apartment, avoiding the main congested avenues and staying on the side streets instead. The peppy car was up to the task. Kaye pulled up out front of Joan's apartment, slapped the gear lever to neutral, and pulled the emergency brake. She lit a cigarette, exited the car and marched up the front steps, ringing Joan's buzzer.

"Hello?" Joan said through the speaker.

"It's Kaye." She flicked some ash.

The door buzzed open. Kaye ascended the stairs to Joan's apartment and she held the door open as Kaye approached.

"They found him. And you never told me." She said, inhaling on her cigarette as Joan closed the door.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You knew and didn't tell me?"

"They came by yesterday evening." Joan moved nearer to Kaye. "What did you tell them?"

"The truth." Kaye looked around suspiciously. "That I watched you and Greg drive off into the night and then I went home to bed."

"That's good." She said. "I told them the same thing. He was drunk, and drove off into the night."

Kaye moved silently around the coffee table, looking around Joan's apartment while smoking. She had flashbacks standing over Greg's lifeless body. Joan's screams. Her sobbing on the sofa, and their long drive to Calder Lake.

"He drove off into the night." Kaye snapped to face Joan. "Are you ready to go? I'll drive."

"Alright." Joan said. The two women left the apartment and descended the stairs. Kaye flicked her cigarette butt into the bush. They reached the Mercedes. Once they were on the road, Kaye spoke.

"You never know who's listening."

"What do you mean?"

"They could have bugged your phone. I didn't want to talk in your apartment."

"Who's they?"

"The police. The FBI. I don't know."

"Are you high?" Joan turned to look at Kaye. She paused. "Your pupils are wide. You're high aren't you."

"It's just an amphetamine."

"Those things can make you crazy, you know?" Joan said, looking into the mirror attached to her visor.

"They keep me going. Where did you throw the gun?" Kaye asked.

"I didn't." Joan said.

"What do you mean you didn't?"

"I didn't throw out the gun. I still have it."

Kaye's face flushed and she raised her hand off the wheel in exasperation.

"Are you insane!"

"I didn't think they would ever find him." Joan said angrily. Kaye swerved the Mercedes around a large truck, honking as he was driving slightly below the speed limit. "I don't need this, do you know how horrible this is? To have this all dredged up and thrown in my face? I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the stipple because I can't sleep. It's been like that for months. I live in terror, wondering when the police are going to bang down my door and drag me away."

"If we go to jail, it's because of your stupidity and negligence." Kaye snapped.

"Don't you dare talk to me that way." Joan faced Kaye. "You killed my husband and I've had to keep it a secret. You don't have the slightest idea what that is like."

"He was raping you!" Kaye screamed, the veins popping out of her temples and the long birthmark centred on her forehead became visible.

"But he didn't deserve to die like that!" Joan shouted back, her face equally as red.

Kaye swerved around another car, honking and flooring the car.

"Why are you driving like a maniac?" Joan exclaimed, holding on to the handle above the passenger window.

"Because I hate traffic and I want to get to work."

There was a silence between them. Neither spoke for five minutes, and it was broken only by Kaye saying two words she hadn't said before.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Joan said.

"No, I'm sorry about Greg... I'm sorry about the whole thing. You don't deserve this."

"I don't know why I didn't go to the police. I must be a fool. I could have said it was self-defense. I would have got a slap on the wrist. Now I'm going to rot in a cell forever. It will just give me more time to relive what happened."

"You aren't going to jail. No one is going to jail. It's too late to say 'what if'. It doesn't matter. We're here now, and we'll get through it. We've done fine so far. We'll figure it out."

"Okay." Joan's voice calmed. "Okay."


"Yesterday, I was sitting down with Paul Masterson from Jai Lai for our meeting at The Senegal, and who do I see next to me in the other booth? Kirk Lorrie from Muriel Cigars."

Pete Campbell was speaking to Roger, Bert, Lane, Don and Joan in their weekly business meeting. Joan was clacking away on her typewriter keeping her strict order. She had just announced new business on the docket and Pete was the first to speak up.

"He's meeting with someone over from Cutler, Gleason and Chaough and the guys just burning up his time. Some poorly planned quick pitch about their new line of cigarillos."

"What's a cigarillo?" Bert asked.

"It's a small cigar. Looks like a cigarette almost. These new ones have plastic tips for ease of smoking." Pete added.

"Cute." Bert smiled. "Like a ladies cigar."

"Anyway, after the pitch was over, Lorrie stands up, shakes the poor saps hand, and gives him the "I'll call you" bit. I grabbed my card, stepped over to him briefly and said, "When you're ready to have an agency take your cigarillos seriously, come see us. That was yesterday." A grin was plastered on Pete's face. "And he just called me this morning saying he wants us to run up a pitch for their new 'Tipalet' brand."

"Good." Roger said. "Don, get Kaye to run the boys and Peggy around the mill. When did he want this done?"

"Well, he won't be waiting around forever. If CGC fell on their face yesterday, they probably don't want to wait long to pick up the slack." Pete responded.

"I'll tell Kaye." Don said.

"We should be considering, by the way, some sort of new television bit for Pan Am. Perhaps some diversity for their portfolio." Lane interjected. "We've been doing well this far, but we need to keep fresh to keep them happy. Lord knows they are the reason we're here."

"Is that all new business?" Joan asked, finally looking up from her typewriter; she pulled her reading glasses from the bridge of her nose.

"I almost brushed shoulders with Lee Iacocca last week at the Falconite Club. Does that count."

"Did he notice you?" Lane asked.

"No."

"I was on the phone Friday with Gibson Guitars, they contacted me believing we were part of the old Sterling Cooper which was shipped off the McCann." Pete smiled, "And so I obliged them to a meeting. They sent a guitar, ahead of themselves. I left it in the Creative Room."

"Now we can pretend to be cultured." Roger said.

"Anything else?" Joan asked. "No. Motion to adjourn the meeting?"

Lane raised his hand.

"Motioned by Lane Pryce. Do we have a second?"

Don raised his hand.

"Motioned carried by Donald Draper. The meeting is officially adjourned."

Each member sitting around the table stood up and began leaving the conference room. Kaye was on the other side of the wall in Joan's office, listening through the recorder microphone. She turned it off and jumped back into the Creative room. Peggy, Joey Baird, a new copywriter, and their half-time Art Director Stan Rizzo were sitting around discussing the guitar that was propped up against the wall.

"Who brought it in?"

"Pete." Kaye said, walking into the room. "From Gibson."

Don walked into the Creative room. Joey quickly removed his legs from the coffee table, dragging two magazines with him.

"Now that we're comfortable." Don said. Joey picked up the magazines and put them back on the table. "Two new clients. Muriel Cigars, and Gibson Guitars. Kaye will be watching over both, Peggy I want you specifically on Muriel Cigars and Joey, you on Gibson."

"Did they give us anything to go on?" Peggy asked.

"No." Don replied. "Muriel is a long shot and Gibson was looking for Sterling Cooper McCann but found us on accident. We'll need something to really catch their attention, Muriel Cigars specifically. Joan is doing research. Pull some previous ads to get an idea of what they want generally. Muriel is launching their new brand of small cigars called cigarillos. Their name for the sub-brand is Tipalet. If you need me, I'll be in my office on a call."

Don left the room.

"Where does he get off just making calls all the time." Joey said.

"You can do that when your name is on the door." Peggy quipped, finishing a doodle she had begun.

Kaye walked over to the guitar and started looking at it.

"At this rate you'll be older than Cooper before that happens" Stan said, picking up a LIFE magazine about Vietnam and perusing the pictures.

"Shaddap. I work hard." Joey sneered.

"Hardly work, more like." Kaye said.

"Oh, blow me." Joey replied.

"Not a bad idea." She said, looking at nothing in particular.

"Really?" Joey spun around looking at her.

"Yeah like she would blow you." Stan said, flipping the pages of the magazine in his hand. Peggy laughed.

"No." She said, looking at him. "Good idea for an ad."

"I agree." Stan said. "I always thought an ad with a blow-jay on the side would get some attention."

Kaye began plucking the Gibson's stings. "The innuendos."

"Care to smoke a cigarette? Pretend it's a dick." Peggy joked. Stan smiled.

"Just simply blow your nicotine load all ov—"

Joey was cut off by Joan walking into the Creative room. He straightened his back immediately.

"Kaye, can I see you in my office please." Joan said.

"Time for some lesbian action." Joey whispered to Stan.

"If only you had a camera." Stan replied.

Joey snapped his gaze to the redhead.

Kaye put the guitar down, and followed Joan into her office. She closed the door behind her.

"The police called." She said, leaning back against her desk. "They want me to come down to the station to identify Greg."

Kaye stood silently. Joan looked up to meet her gaze.

"What should I do?" She asked.

"Go to the station. Answer their questions."

"I don't know if I can see him again..."

"You won't have to. His body is… beyond recognition. The officer told me. They'll show you some of his things." Kaye said.

"They're saying it might be foul play…" Joan trailed off. She looked down to her hands, which were trembling. "What are we going to do. This is what keeps me up at night. They're going to figure it out."

Kaye reached into the small pocket on her skirt, and removed a brown vial.

"What's that?" Joan asked. "I don't need it."

"Raphetamine. It calms your nerves. Or so the bottle says." Kaye pulled one pill out and gave it to Joan who looked at the pill for a long moment before swallowing it. Kaye reached and held Joan's hands. Joan looked down, and then up to Kaye's eyes.

"I'll drive you, we'll go this afternoon. We can talk on the way."

"Alright." Joan said. "What should I do about the..."

"Get rid of it." Kaye said. "As soon as you can."

Neither spoke. Kaye let Joan's hands go.

"One of the officers asked me on a date." Kaye said.

"What?"

"He came back up after the meeting. Asked if he could call me."

"Why?"

"He wants a date. I'll get him drunk and get him to talk. Men love to talk." Kaye looked to Joan.

"Be careful." Joan said. "Thank you, anyway. I feel better now."

"Good." Kaye said. Joan's hands had ceased trembling. "If you need me, I'll be next door."

Kaye walked out of Joan's office and back into the Creative Room. Stan was still reading the magazine and Peggy had begun copying down slogan's with small drawings beside them on a piece of paper. Joey was crumpling up used paper and trying to down them into the waste basket on the other side of the room. The guitar was sitting on the sofa, and Kaye picked it up again. She began plucking the same rich chords repeatedly. Stan looked over to her.

"Wise men say…" She began singing. Her voice had a sweet curl that was hard to describe. She was no Sandra Dee or Patsy Cline, but was simple and clear.

"Only fools rush in,… but I can't help, falling in love with you."

Stan had put the magazine down, and Peggy was listening now. Peggy thought of her torrid affair with Pete Campbell. She was appalled that it had come back to her listening to the song. She remembered the feeling of joy and hope when being around Pete; the rush of excitement. Then she remembered being in the hospital and Don looming over her whispering, "It never happened. It will shock you how much it never happened."

"Shall I stay… would it be a sin?"

Don walked around the corner, a coffee in his hand. He was about to speak when he saw the creative team staring in silence. He looked over to see his protégé, sitting playing guitar. His mind threw him back a decade. It was 1953 again. He was telling Anna Draper how much he was in love with Betty Hofstadt. The wrinkles were gone from his face and his eyes were still bright, and so were Anna's.

"If I can't help, falling in love with you."

He thought of their marriage, and their wedding day. He saw Betty walking down the isle towards him with her veil over her face, and finally, he removed it. There was something about the great hope he saw in Betty's eyes; something he thought would endure through even the most foolish of his decisions. He was wrong. Don turned to see Roger beside him, watching Kaye.

"Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, something's are meant to be."

It was 1952 in Roger's mind. None of the complications of his life existed as they did now. He had just met Joan Holloway and she was hired as their head secretary. The beautiful bodacious redhead gave him the look that knocks a man on their ass as she walked back to the secretary's pen. And that's when Roger knew he had to have her. He would do anything. His mind clouded and he stopped seeing straight. He smiled thinking of the older days of his life.

Joan had come out of her office to the sound of music and to see Roger and Don in the hall, peeking in the creative room. Joan followed suit.

"Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can't help, falling in love with you."

Joan remembered Greg as he once was. The stalwart safety that his life offered her away from the unknown of a relationship with Roger. She may have worked her way up past men like Paul Kinzie, but she got caught on Roger. She thought of how kind Greg had been in the beginning. Like a breath of fresh air. He took her on dates to beautiful places, showered her with gifts; was a true gentlemen. She shuttered thinking of his cold lifeless body, melting away in lye and muck at the bottom of a swamp. She longed for important companionship. A meaningful relationship. She was thankful for Kaye. Even if the girl was a bratty child. She actually cared.

"For I… can't… help, falling in love… with… you."