Gramercy Park East,

Manhattan, New York

June 6th, 1964

Kaye woke up to a knock at the door. It started imperceptibly, far in the recess of her mind. It slowly became louder and louder. She snapped up from her sleep, rubbing her eyes. The knocking was coming from the door to her bedroom. Kaye clutched her covers quickly to her chest, jumping back in bed. Her fingers pinged with adrenaline. She got out of bed, ran to her closet, and grabbed the Colt pistol from the shoebox on the shelf. The knocking still rang out at the door. She held the gun out at arms length and reached for the door handle. She opened it, jumping back. It swung open.

On the other side of the door stood Greg Harris. His eyes were sunken in, lifeless and void. He took a step towards Kaye.

"Don't move." Kaye said.

"Or what? You'll shoot?" Greg laughed.

There was a terrible stench in the room suddenly. Greg's skin began turning from pink to white, and from white to green. His flesh peeled away from his bones, and lesions formed all over him. He walked towards Kaye, arms outstretched.

Kaye shot him in the chest. He continued on his path, becoming angrier and walking faster. She shot him again, this time in the stomach. Coagulated blood and festering liquid flowed out of the wounds. She fired twice more, hitting him in the arm and finally the head. His brains exploded from the back of his skull onto the wall. Kaye screamed.

Greg continued on his path, unflinching.

"Why'd you do it?" A female voice said.

Joan was standing beside Kaye; disbelief plastered on her face.

"It was an accident." Kaye managed.

Greg grabbed Kaye's arm. She turned and fired the gun into his head, shooting until it was an obliterated mess. He collapsed into a pool of black blood on the floor, his body disappearing quickly beneath the pool. Kaye fell in face-first, beginning to choke on the fluid. She flailed her arms trying to swim to the top. She was being dragged further and further away from the surface while Joan looked down into the blood, staring blankly.

She woke up in her bed with a scream. Tears streamed down her face. Sweat covered her whole body. Her sheets were soaked. Kaye's heart pounded loudly in her ears and her fingers were wound tightly into the duvet.

Her eyes snapped to the door; it was open, and she could see the kitchen. Moonlight came through the windows. It was silent. Her heart slowed down and she released her grip on the covers. The only sounds now were the creaks of piping in the walls and ceiling.

Kaye got out of bed, pulling back the duvet to reveal the wet spot where she laid. She walked over to the window in her bra and underwear, looking out the back of the brownstone into the alley; a few stray animals milled below.

The clock on the desk showed 4:37. She walked into her bathroom, and turned the light on.

After showering for 15 minutes, she went to her closet and put on a white pencil dress. The shoebox, recently moved to the shelf, was in it's place, undisturbed. As Kaye did up the dress, she stared at the box. Finishing, she removed the gun, taking it into the bedroom, and placed it into her desk drawer underneath some paperwork. Going back to the closet, she pulled out a vial of Raphetamine, and snorted a long line off her compact mirror. She cleaned up her face and left the room. It was just before 5:00. Kaye grabbed her keys, her overcoat, and her clutch, and made her way downstairs to the car.

The dawn was just peeking over the horizon; the first blips of light appeared in the sky. East 21st Street was deserted. She drove quickly along the empty road, spinning left down 5th Avenue and taking it southbound to West 12th street. She pulled up out front of number 42. Locking the car, she ascended the stairs. Climbing to the fourth floor, Kaye exhausted herself and waited to catch her breath at the top landing. She buzzed apartment 4C.

At first, there was no answer. She waited for a long while and buzzed again. This time, she could hear movement behind the door.

Joan opened the door slowly. She was wearing a deep purple satin robe that left nothing to the imagination. She had clutched it over herself, but upon seeing Kaye, relaxed, allowing it to fall slightly.

"What are you doing here?" Joan whispered. She yawned, opening the door wider.

"I… I don't know. I've been having terrible dreams… I can't sleep. Can I come in?"

"It's five in the morning."

Kaye hesitated, and then turned away.

"I'll go."

"No, don't-" Joan said. "Come in."

She moved over, allowing Kaye to come into the apartment. Kaye stared down at the spot where Greg had lay dead. She forced her gaze to look at the kitchen.

"You can go back to sleep." Kaye said. Joan looked at her intently. "I just need to be near someone. I don't know how else to explain it."

"I'll make you coffee." Joan said, smiling lightly. Her hair was done up; held together by a long toothed comb. She went to the kitchen and filled a blue kettle full of water, turning on the stove.

"Kirk Lorrie called in a fume of anger." Joan said from around the wall.

"What a surprise." Kaye smiled. "I ripped the rug out from under him, and Pete tore a strip off me. Won't be doing that again."

"Some accounts are better left dead."

"We can cry with cash in our hands for now." Kaye sat down at Joan's dining table. She threw the clutch down, and pulled off her coat. Joan walked back around the corner and sat down beside her.

"That's a nice dress. Where'd you get it?"

"I'm not sure." Kaye looked down over herself. "Bullock's I think."

"You'll have to take me sometime." Joan said.

"I'm sorry that I woke you. I didn't know where else to go."

"It's alright. Why can't you sleep?"

"It's always the same." Kaye began. "A terrifying dream that feels real. Greg… He comes back from the grave to kill me. He always finds me. No matter where I hide or how fast I run."

Joan sat silently.

"I'm sorry I came. You're the last person I'd talk to about this."

"Stop apologising." Joan said, lighting a cigarette. Kaye took one from her purse; Joan leaned over and lit it for her. "I'm learning to sleep now. I would go days on end without closing my eyes, at first."

"Why didn't you turn me in?" Kaye said suddenly.

Joan smoked and leaned back in her chair.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about it. I thought about how to do it, how to exonerate myself in the process-" She puffed. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. I'm not angry enough about it."

"Every time I hear a knock at the door, I wonder if it's them. My heart races and I wonder if this is the last time I'll see my apartment. My car. My friends. I keep waiting to be dragged away to a truck and driven downtown, never to be seen again." Her hand shook; the cigarette wobbling between her index and middle finger. "But it never happens. It's the cleaners. It's a friend. It's someone pressing the wrong buzzer."

Silence.

"I've lost everything a hundred times in my mind. I wake up, and I'm still here." Kaye said.

In the kitchen, the kettle began ringing. Joan slid her cigarette into the holder on the ashtray and ran to get the water. She poured it into a press full of grounds, and brought two mugs to the dining table. She went back and brought cream and sugar.

"I won't turn you in." Joan said, pushing down the plunger in the press. "If that's why you're here."

"It's not why I'm here. You mean more—you mean more to me than that." Kaye said, staring at her toes. "If I just wanted assurance, I would have asked for it ages ago in passing."

Joan smiled.

"I really didn't like you, when we first met." Joan picked up her cigarette once again. She poured the mugs full of black coffee. "You were cheeky and quiet. And I didn't like that."

Kaye looked up from the ground.

"I knew you owned the place." She said, smoking. "There's one person in every office that everyone fears, and everyone loves. You're Sterling Cooper's darling."

"Maybe, for a while. Once you're an old maid, the charm wears off." Joan put sugar and cream into her coffee and she took a sip. Light was starting to pour through the shades behind her.

"Doubtful." Kaye smiled, taking the coffee. "Were you and Roger together?"

"For a time. It feels like ages ago now." She smoked. "Who spoiled it?"

"No one. Just the way Roger looks at you, lingering."

"I was in my early twenties when we met. Eyes on the sky. He can be so charming, sometimes. He swept me off my feet." Joan drank. "The forbidden nature keeps it fresh. We'd sneak away to be together all the time. Slowly, it got old for me. Then he had two heart attacks last year and it dried up. I realised what he was. And that he was never going to change."

"Who else have you seen?" Kaye said.

"That you would know? No one. I'm discreet; I've made that mistake before. At the old firm, I was with someone; Paul. He and I were together all of two weeks. He had a mouth the size of Manhattan."

"I suppose he didn't understand what discreet office romance meant."

"Certainly not. What about you?"

"I'm fond of Stan."

"I thought you'd been with him." Joan grinned.

"He's all over the place. One minute he wants this, the next he wants that."

Joan raised a brow.

"Stan wants Peggy." Kaye said, drinking her coffee. "He hates her and he loves her."

"He doesn't seem like he knows what he wants, at all. Joey casts an eye at you." Joan smoked.

"Joey's just… a child. He's cute but constantly churlish. He's a puppy that craps on your carpet to impress you."

"Doesn't strike me as competent with women." Joan said, sipping her coffee.

"He's the boy who sat behind you in class and pulled your braids. A real Gilbert Blithe." Kaye smoked. "He likes you too, despite his crass commentary."

"I'll never get past the fact that he's a scuzzy runt."

"He's picking me up for the Stakes today. We'll see how he plays his game."

"Lucky you." Joan butted her stub into the ashtray.

Kaye drank her coffee silently for a while.

"What do you think of Don?" She broke.

Joan thought for a while.

"He's our handsome husband. He keeps you on the edge of your seat. It's something, watching him work."

"You haven't been with him? "

"We have an understanding." She drank.

"Familiarity?"

"It seems you know him too." Joan said.

"He's exactly who you expect him to be."

"Really? He's lured many into a false sense of security."

"Some people want to be fooled."

"Unfortunately true." Joan stood up, walking to the kitchen and placed her mug down on the counter. Kaye butted her cigarette. She walked over to Joan's sofa, threw herself down and reached for a large remote. She clicked the TV on. Children's cartoons had yet to begin, and the news was still cycling. Joan tightened the satin belt around her robe and sat down beside Kaye. She leaned over, grabbing the coffee table, and pulled it closer to prop her legs up.

"You don't have to stay with me. Go back to sleep. I'll lock the knob on my way out." Kaye said.

"I'm already up now." Joan said. "And I rarely have good company."

Kaye gave a slight smile, and leaned back into the couch. A re-run of the CBS Evening News was playing now; Walter Cronkite was regaling in monotone detail the events of the past week. Kaye leaned forward, grabbing the newest TV Guide.

"How to make millions without really working." She mumbled, reading a subtitle. "Sounds legitimate." Joan's eyes were stuck on the TV. Cronkite had gone into a brief stint about the Vietnam War.

Kaye's eyes became heavy as she read along the article, and soon she found them closing. She let the magazine fall into her lap, and fell asleep. Her head tilted slightly and she slumped over onto Joan.

Joan looked down, shocked briefly by a head nestled on her shoulder. She pulled a blanket from beside her on the sofa, and threw it over both of them. She went back to watching Cronkite finish his broadcast.

It wasn't long before Joan's eyes became heavy too, and she leaned her cheek onto Kaye's head and fell fast asleep.

"… and that's the way it is." Cronkite said.

The Belmont Stakes Horserace

Aqueduct Racetrack, Queens, New York

The sun was shining brightly over the wide raceway at Aqueduct. The crowd was the biggest seen at the Stakes, just over 60 000 strong; even the grounds leading up trackside were full. The Sterling Cooper team had driven separately to the track, rolling up at different intervals, and meeting in their lower balcony seats. It was almost 80 degrees by noon.

After leaving Joan's apartment earlier in the morning, Kaye drove home and arranged the afternoon with Joey over the phone. She left Gramercy Park and picked him up in the Mercedes.

Gibson was on Kaye's mind the whole ride. They had come in for a slapped-together pitch the previous day that did not stick. Fred Bingham, the rep from Gibson, despised the thought of their guitars being used by hippies and miscreants. He iterated that the ad was good for rock stars and fools. After a brief five-minute display, he left stating that he would only return when an appropriate product was presented. Pete followed him out, and assured him that by the coming week they would have a finished product ready for market. Kaye rang out Peggy for doing poor research on the company before putting together a pitch. Don rang out Kaye for not being on top of the team. Saturday at the Stakes was a welcomed break.

"I've never been to a race." Joey said. He and Kaye were sitting in the bleachers. "Too upperclassman for me."

"Then why'd you come?" Kaye said.

"You needed a date."

"Thanks for the chivalry." She adjusted her white sunhat, and put on a pair of sunglasses.

"You—you look good today." He said.

"I try." She said, lighting a cigarette. She rifled through her purse, pulling out a silver flask and passed it to Joey.

"What's this for?"

"To make the time more bearable."

Joey took a swig and passed it back.

"Who's the favourite?"

Kaye took a swig between puffs. She cinched the top and slid it back into her clutch.

"Northern Dancer. He's won the other two races in the American Series."

"You said you weren't into horse racing."

"I read it in the Post."

"So that's who I'm betting on?" Joey stood up.

"I suppose."

"Well who are you betting on?"

"Put five bucks on whoever the number three ticket is."

"You like a good underdog story?" Joey smiled.

"I hate it when the good guy always wins." She said smugly.

Don was standing halfway down the concrete aisle when he saw Joey and Kaye. Betty was at his side. She was wearing a cream dress, white sunglasses and a thin gold belt around her midsection.

"We're down there." He motioned to Betty as they moved towards Kaye. Joey had left the seat, and walked by Don waving as he made his way up the stairs, and towards the betting booths.

"It's a beautiful day, finally." Betty said, taking a seat beside Kaye. Kaye looked over at her, and then down to the track. Don sat down beside Betty.

"Celia was okay with the children?" Betty asked.

"I cleared it with her on Tuesday." Don slid on a pair of gold aviators.

"Where's Roger?" Kaye asked.

"He's circling around Dave Packard, in the lower bowl area." Don said. "His seats are just on the other side of the aisle."

"What a coincidence." Kaye mused.

Joey was returning with two stubs in his hands. He made his way to his seat. Don made the formal introductions of Betty to Joey and Kaye. Kaye didn't bother reminding Betty of their previous meeting.

"How long have you been together?" Betty said to Kaye.

"Oh, we aren't—" Kaye blurted. "Joey's just a copywriter, at the firm."

"Yes, I'm just a copywriter at the firm." He snipped.

"Just a day out of the office, then." Betty smiled.

Joey tossed Kaye her ticket, it fluttered in the air and fell to the ground beneath her.

"Don't" Kaye whispered to Joey.

"Don't what." He said.

"Don't. I'm not in the mood. You knew what I meant." She looked down at her father's watch, and then to the ticket she had removed from the sticky concrete.

"Roman Brother." She murmured.

"Burley Parke's horse." Betty started. "He's good. His sire won the Long Island Handicap in '56. He's the descendant of Plucky Liege."

"Finally we have someone who knows horses here." Joey said. "I bet on Northern Dancer; tell me I'm wrong."

"He's bound to do well. He's powerful, agile, and quick on his feet."

Joey smile.

"It's in the bag." He said.

"I wouldn't be so sure." Betty added, covering her eyes to see out on the track. "We're not at Belmont. The ground's looser here. He's short, and heavy; 12 furlongs is a long stretch. His jockey, Hartack, can be a real menace sometimes too."

Don turned to face Betty.

"When did you learn all this?" He said.

"I love riding." She lit a cigarette. "I've had a lot of time to read this year."

"It sounds tiresome." Kaye asked.

"When I was younger. My father owned a horse, a beautiful palomino named Cutrona. She was lighting fast. We kept her at my Grandfather's stables. Every Saturday we'd go out for a ride."

"You never told me that." Don said.

"You never asked." Betty smoked. "I've ridden a bit lately. The weather hasn't been as cooperative as I'd hoped."

"Betty." Roger said, walking down the row to sit beside them. "Good to see you."

"Roger." Betty smiled.

"You remember Jane."

"Of course. What a beautiful dress."

"Found it in the back of the closet." Jane responded. "I hope I look half as good as you when I'm your age."

"Doubtful." Kaye said quietly. Betty held her composure.

"Everyone play nice." Roger said.

"You met with Packard?" Don interrupted.

"He's near the stables. I think he's got money into a horse down there, Hill Rise. I spoke with him briefly but he didn't seem overly keen."

"How long have you and Don been together?" Kaye said, moving Betty's attention over.

"We're not actually…" She hesitated. "I'm his ex-wife. We're—we're trying to be close, for the children."

"I see. You still wear the wedding ring?"

"Oh—well I am married." Betty paused, using her thumb to spin her ring. "I suppose this seems confusing."

"I'm sure your children appreciate the effort."

Betty said nothing.

The fanfare was mounting as more people moved from the stables to their seats. The ringside area was filled with bottom-feeders wearing leather jackets and white t-shirts. It was 30 minutes until the race when Roger moved the team into place down closer to the stables. The press were still crowding the stable, trying to get pictures of the jockeys and their animals preparing to leave.

"They're so tame. I imagined they'd be chomping at the bit by now." Joey said. He was standing beside Kaye, leaning against one of the rails, looking over the sea of cameras.

"That's not them." Betty said. "They use lookalikes for pictures."

"Oh."

"The real horses are behind the stables, with their trainers and jockeys."

"A walking horserace encyclopedia." Joey said.

Dave Packard was standing nearby, leaning towards the edge of the white rail at the opening gate. He was in a brown polo with beige slacks; mud clinging to the hem.

"Only a Californian would wear slacks to a horserace." Roger said.

"What's Roger on about?" Betty asked Don.

"That's the computer man from California."

"He's talking with a trainer. Which horse is he with?"

"Hill Rise." Roger said.

"Finnegan's horse." Betty said.

Packard finished speaking with the trainer at the gate and began making his way down the trail, coming close to the Sterling Cooper group as he moved towards the stands.

"Shame about Hill Rise." Betty blurted as he began to pass by. Roger shot a glance.

"Whatcha mean?" Joey said, still facing the stable.

"He had promise in California. But he's out of his depth here."

"You think so?" A voice broke from behind the pack. The 50-something Packard had spun on a dime and slowly trudged towards the crew. "He won the California Breeders' Stakes last year. Runner up at the Derby."

"Northern Dancer's a better horse." Betty said, finally looking at the man. "Third at Preakness puts Hill Rise behind Dancer."

"The purse for third is still nice." Roger said, smiling.

"No one comes to the Stakes to lose third." Betty replied.

"He can win." Packard said. "He won eight straight going into the Derby, he lost because Finnegan pushed him too hard early on."

"Now he's lost, twice? Oddly coincidental."

"You'd put your money on Dancer, then?" Packard stepped further in.

"No." Betty thought. "Quadrangle."

"Quadrangle!" Packard shouted. "He's 13 - 2 at odds. Ycaza is immature. You can't be serious. Hill Rise is a 2 - 1."

"It's not all about the horse, Mr…"

"Packard. Dave Packard." He snapped quickly.

"Betty Francis." She said. "It's about the jockey kno-"

"-All the more reason to put money on Hill Rise!" Packard cut in. "The Shoe is unstoppable. Two-time Derby winner, he won Preakness last year on Candy Spots, and he's a three-time Belmont winner. If anyone's going to win, it's Bill."

"You stopped me too soon. It's about the jockey knowing his horse." Betty said, turning to face the stables. "Shoemaker is jumpy. Hill Rise is not. I read in The Rider that Horatio Luro offered Northern Dancer to Shoemaker and he turned him down on an odds bet. Then he lost the Derby and Preakness. He's mad about that, I'd bet."

"Madness is often the fuel that keeps the fire well lit over the finish line."

"I'll take a cool hand over a hot head. An angry jockey makes a nervous horse. A nervous horse won't split when he needs to." Betty turned back to face him. The team was watched closely. "Ycaza isn't seasoned like Shoemaker. But he's calm, and he knows his horse well. He's not angry. On the other hand, Hartack's a hothead. He pushes Dancer too hard. This course is long. He'll tire before the end, leaving room for Quadrangle to win."

"Care to make a wager to that effect?" Packard said glibly.

"What did you have in mind?" Don cut in.

"If your woman really knows her stuff, I was thinking a four figure sum would be enough. $2000 on Hill Rise to win."

Don stepped towards Packard.

"On Quadrangle it would pay out, what, fifteen thousand?" He said.

"All the more reason to make the bet!" Dave grinned. "You have four grand to lose, and fifteen to gain if she's right."

Silence.

"Keep your money if our horse wins." Don said suddenly.

"What?" Roger butted in.

"We're from Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, here in New York. If the horse wins, you let us represent Hewlett Packard."

"Ah. So you do know me." The man pushed his hands into his pockets. "Ad men, eh? One might begin to think this was a setup."

"If we're wrong, it's the easiest two thousand you ever made." Don continued. "If you're wrong, you get the best to represent you. It's a win."

Don held out his hand. Dave hesitated, looking around, and then reached out and shook it.

"See you at the winners circle, then." Packard said, stepping back and leaving the stables for the stands.

"How sure are you that Quadrangle will win?" Roger said to Betty.

"It's a horserace." Betty replied. "It could go any direction. I've followed the past two seasons closely. I told him where I would put my money. I didn't make the bet for you."

Roger exhaled deeply through his nostrils. He turned, looking up to their seats in the stands. Jane was sitting alone, looking down at them.

"We should get to our seats." He said.

"Good afternoon. We're coming to you live from the Belmont Stakes horserace at the Aqueduct Raceway in Queens, New York.

A loud speaker boomed above the Sterling Cooper teams' heads as the horses began saddling in the paddock. It was twenty to 1:00 in the afternoon now.

"For the second time, the famed Belmont Stakes is run at Aqueduct, the Big A, while Belmont Park is being reconstructed. The thousands gather early for the 96th running of this climax of racing's Triple Crown; at the challenging distance of a mile and a half…"

The announcer's voice melded into the background as he began announcing special guests.

"Are you nervous?" Joey asked Kaye.

"For what? I bet five bucks."

"I mean about Quadrangle winning, ya nut."

"Being nervous won't change the race."

"This could go tits up, really fast." Joey leaned back, placing his arm on the chair-back behind Kaye.

"Then be happy, because your friend at CGC would never find out you blabbed."

"This is one hell of a long shot." Roger said, turning to Don.

"And your idea worked so well?" Don said.

"At least I can back out and try again." Roger turned back to face the track. "You've saddled us with this."

"I trust Betty."

"Hill Rise is saddled…"

Packard, who was sitting on the other side of the aisle stood up, looking down to the paddock on his lower left. He watched as they attached a tan saddle to his horse.

"There's Elliot Burch and Manny Ycaza." Betty pointed down to the dirt.

A man in a tan trench coat and another in a brightly coloured jockey suit were wading through the paddock, cameras trained on them. They pushed through the crowd, and were followed, until they arrived at Quadrangle.

"Willie Shoemaker climbs aboard Hill Rise… Quadrangle, Orientalist and Roman Brother form the parade out of the walking ring…"

Betty pulled out a pair of binoculars she had put in her large purse. She held them to her eyes, observing the horses in parade form.

"The horses are on the track for the Belmont Stakes, and the band plays them to the post with the traditional 'Sidewalks of New York.'…"

The volume in the stands was mounting. It became difficult to talk.

"I've been meaning to ask you—" Joey said, leaning over to Kaye. "Are you and Stan a thing?"

Kaye pulled out her flask and drank a sip.

"No. Why?"

"He told me he really likes Peggy. But he acts like he wants you."

"He told me the same." Kaye said.

"So you have talked to him. I thought maybe you two got together."

Kaye turned to face Joey.

"What gave you that idea?"

"Well you left the club with him. On Friday."

"That doesn't mean we're together. It means he was looking out for me."

"Of course. I guess I assumed." Joey paused. "Do you want-want to get a drink after this?"

"We can talk about it later. The race is about to start." She said.

"Northern Dancer warms up a bit on the back stretch, before heading for the starting gate, set on the turn for the race at Aqueduct…

"Assistant starters load the gate… and we're now ready for Fred Caposella's race call."

The deep-voiced announcer let off the horn and gave it up to the famed jockey-turned-announcer to start the race.

Betty sat calmly beside Don. She held the binoculars still, staring straight at the gate. It was far off left in the distance.

"It is now post time…" a new nasally voice said, echoing throughout the park. The roaring crowd silenced instantly. The world held it's breath.

A loud bell rang out at the track. The white gates snapped open and the horses bolted out of the stocks. The crowd erupted in cheers as they desperately glimpsed for their favoured horse to take the lead.

"They're off!" Caposella shouted. "That's Orientalist going to the front with Hill Rise; Shook with Quadrangle, Northern Dancer, Roman Brother, Brave Lad and Determined Man in Eighth…"

Roger looked over at Packard in the next aisle. He had binoculars to his face, sitting immobile, his eyes trained on his horse. A cigar was dangling from his lips.

"Coming up to the straight for the first time with Orientalist still in the lead, Hill Rise and Shook battling for second with Quadrangle, Northern Dancer, Roman Brother, Brave Lad and Determined Man in eighth…"

The horses were a long way off, still getting into the track. They were learning the dirt now, breaking into their strides, and much like a marathon, preparing to outlast each other.

"Coming through the straight for the first time, it's Orientalist getting a three length lead; it's Shook, Hill Rise and Quadrangle battling for second. That's Northern Dancer with Roman Brother, Brave Lad and Determined Man."

"Who the hell is Orientalist? I should have bet on him." Joey said.

"It's a long race." Betty said without looking from her binoculars. "It's anyone's right now."

"Guess who's there the first time, that's Orientalist in front, as Shook moves up from the outside second, Hill Rise is third, Northern Dancer; fourth, with Quadrangle and Determined Man with Brave Lad."

"Shoemaker is pacing himself well. Hill Rise isn't breaking a sweat yet." Betty said.

"You said he'd lose." Kaye said.

"I'm betting on his anger. He'll jump the gun, push too hard, too fast."

"I never have that problem." Joey said, bumping Kaye's arm and winking. He watched her eyes roll as she looked away.

"They swing around the clubhouse turn that way, with Orientalist showing the way, with Shook, Hill Rise, Quadrangle and Northern Dancer battling for second position. After that it's Roman Brother, Brave Lad and Determined Man is still last."

The horses were being pushed now. The stronger, younger, horses were outlasting the slightly older and more experienced horses.

"They continue around the turn, going into the back stretch, it's Orientalist in front out by a length and a half. It's Hill Rise and Quadrangle with Northern Dancer beginning to move. Roman Brother along the rail. And then it's Shook, with Determined Man and Brave Lad."

"He's pushing now." Betty said, beginning to smile. "He's trying to jump second and put the other's back."

"What does that mean?" Roger said.

"It means Quadrangle is waiting for the front stretch, just like he should."

Dave Packard peeled his eyes away from the binoculars briefly. He smiled, nodding at Roger, and then looked back at the horses.

"Straight down the back stretch, that's Orientalist in front, with Northern Dancer. Quadrangle beginning to move down the outside, Roman Brother is along the rail. To that, Shook, Determined Man, and Brave Lad."

Caposella's voice sped up and became louder as the race passed the halfway point.

"Steady..." Betty mumbled.

"Continuing along the back stretch, Orientalist still in front, that's Quadrangle and Hill Rise with Northern Dancer beginning to challenge. Shook moving up fifth, Determined Man sixth, and Brave Lad is seventh."

Quadrangle was staying back. Packard was now on edge of his seat, leaning over to get a proper glimpse of the horses at the turn.

"Hartack's pushing." Betty said. "Dancer won't handle it. He's got too far to go."

"Northern Dancer won't win?" Joey sulked.

"I don't think so." Betty said, bobbing while staring down the binoculars. "He's going to tire out."

"They come through, the five turn that way, with Orientalist still in front. Hill Rise begins to move down with Quadrangle, and Northern Dancer forcing the pace. After that it's Roman Brother and Shook."

"What's happening?" Don turned to his ex-wife.

"Shoemaker is pushing Hill Rise. He's trying to make the final bolt."

"Is he going to make it?"

Betty remained silently glued inside the binoculars. Packard lowered his briefly, and then stood up, bringing them back to his face.

"We're around the turn now, it's Orientalist and Quadrangle; Quadrangle is on the inside getting the lead; it's Quadrangle in front of Roman Brother, who moves up alongside with Northern Dancer third! Orientalist is back to fourth, after that it's Shook and Determined Man."

"Go!" Betty shouted as she stood up. She shrieked, "Yes!"

Quadrangle was now passing the other horses with ferocious speed. Ycaza had waited on his moment and timed the leap for the last furlong. Shoemaker on Hill Rise and Hartack on Dancer threw their horses into pursuit.

"At the end of the stretch, now that's Quadrangle in front by a length, and Roman Brother and Northern Dancer quick alongside. And at the eighth pole now, Quadrangle really pulling away finally for the half. It's Roman Brother on the inside coming on second and Northern Dancer is third."

"This is it." Betty grinned.

"After the 16th pole, Quadrangle pulling away by two lengths and Roman Brother in second!" Caposella shouted.

Dave brought the binoculars down and let them rest on his chest. He sat back in the chair, staring as the horses approached the very end of the track before the finish line. He looked over at Roger.

Kaye and Joey stood, watching the horses seconds from line.

"Doesn't look like Roman Brother is gonna pull through." He yelled.

"Better than Hill Rise." Kaye replied.

"As they pull up to the finish line, it's Quadrangle ahead by two lengths! Roman Brother - second, and Northern Dancer; third, and Hill Rise was fourth."

The screams of crowd were deafeningly loud. Everyone stood up in the final moments as each horse crossed the line. The applause was a wave of constant sound, washing over the stands and proceeding down trackside.

Don began clapping, turning to Dave Packard and nodding. The horses slowed their gallops down to trots on the track, and began making their way around to paddock; Quadrangle moved to winner's circle, in the front of the stands.

Paul Mellon, the owner of Quadrangle, grabbed the reigns and walked beside his horse as it made its way into view down the parade walk.

Betty looked up to Don.

"I bet you're glad you took my advice." She beamed.

"I am." He said.

As Ycaza stepped off the horse and the press moved in to take photos, Roger made his way over to Dave Packard. He was now standing in the aisle, his wife at his side, avoiding the flood of people trying to leave.

"I don't know how she did it." Dave started. "I've seen some long shots before. That was something."

"Luck be a lady." Roger smiled. "We're at Rockefeller Center, by the way."

"Let me stop you there-"

Don had now made his way to stand beside Roger. Dave addressed them both curtly.

"Listen, I have to make my way back home this evening. If you want HP, you'll have to meet us in California. Can you do a meeting this week? Wednesday midday. When I touchdown, I'll have my secretary make the arrangements."

"Wednesday then." Don extended his hand. Dave met it, smiling.

"Bring that wife of yours." Dave said. "Seldom you meet someone like that."

The older man turned and began walking up the steps.

"California, then?" Kaye said, walking up from behind Roger and Don. She lit a cigarette.

"It would seem so." Don said.

"We'll leave Monday." Roger said. "I'll get Joannie to call Pan Am; arrange our flights. We'll leave in the morning."

"How long will we be gone?" Kaye asked.

"I suppose a week; depends what they want. Budding plans?" Roger said.

"I want to know if I should pack a swimsuit."

"Oh pack one anyways." Roger said. "It'll keep us on the deadline."

Jane walked over with Betty in tow.

"All this for a two and a half minutes stint? This would have been much easier staying home."

"I'm sure you've done worse." Kaye said, blowing a plume of smoke. Jane scoffed.

"Can we go, Roger?" She said.

"I'll call you, then." Roger placed his fedora on his head, extended his arm for Jane, and escorted her up the stairs and out of the stands.

"Joey, let's go!" Kaye shouted. "I want to leave before we get stuck in traffic."

The young man pushed through the crowd around him and stepped up beside his bosses.

"See you Monday." Kaye said to Don. She and Joey walked up the stairs.

"It's not often our interests cross paths." Betty said, as they followed Kaye and Joey out.

"Thank you." Don said.

"For what? I didn't do anything."

"You did a lot." He looked up, avoiding some people who ran by. "Mr. Packard seemed to take a shining to you."

"His type like to be told what's what."

"He wants you to come to California with us."

Betty walked beside Don silently.

"We'd leave Monday morning, arrive in San Jose midday. Meeting on Tuesday, and probably come home Friday."

"It was a leap of faith coming here, let alone California." Betty said. "This was already more than I thought it would be."

They walked without speaking until they had come out underneath the Big A sign at the entrance of the raceway.

"I'd like you to come." Don said. "Sally, Bobby and Gene too. I'll arrange the hotels for you and kids. We won't have to stay at the same hotel, if you prefer."

"Oh not this again." Betty said. "How many more times do we have to do this? This was a stupid idea. I should never have come. Henry would be furious if he found out."

"You came for Sterling Cooper. It was nothing more than that."

"Yes it was!" She raised her voice. "It was a date, Don. We were on a date. This was a date. Mr. Packard didn't flinch calling me your wife. No one batted an eye."

They were approaching the parking lot now; Don's Cadillac was in view a few rows over.

"You didn't seem to mind." He said.

"You're incorrigible." She said, walking up to the passenger door. Don unlocked the car, and pressed the auto-locks open. Betty slid inside and sat down. "The worst part is that everyone knows! No one asks, because everyone knows. Trying to explain it to Ms. Sharpe was embarrassing. What are we? Adults playing pretend."

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it." Don said, throwing his overcoat into the backseat with his fedora.

"Enjoy what?"

"Everything today." Don brought his voice low. His eyes narrowed, his lips tightened. He spoke in quick, quiet bursts. "You loved every minute of it. The way Dave Packard prized you. The excitement of the race, and your horse winning. You loved it. You leaned into me when I put my arm around you and looked at you. You looked back. You held my arm. You ate it all. And now you don't want to deal with the reality that's set in."

"What reality?" She said. Her tone and volume lowered.

"That you want this. You want it more than anything. That you've made a mistake. The life you thought you'd live without me is worse. "

"...I left you for a reason." She managed.

"Where are they, Birdie?" He was nearly whispering. "Where are the reasons? It's just me, and it's just you."

Betty leaned back in her seat, looking out the front window.

"You came." Don said. "Think about that. You came."

"I know-I know I did." She muttered. "I just don't know why."

"Because you miss this. You miss us."

Betty sat in silence.

"Maybe." She broke. "But in any case, Henry would never let me go with you to California."

Don placed his hand over the seat back behind her.

"Tell him you're just watching the children for me." Don said.

"What?"

"If we have a client dinner, I want you there. I want to show the kids around; spend time out with them. It will be a nice vacation. You can watch them while I'm out doing work. The kids will know the same."

"Henry's coming home tomorrow. I'm picking him up from the hospital in the morning. I can't spend any more time away."

Don grabbed a cigarette and lit up.

"I'm inviting the kids to come. I want you there."

The starter whined, and the Cadillac came to life. He shifted the gears, pulling out of the stall and turned on the air conditioning. The crowds were still leaving, making the parking lot a gridlock.

"If we came." Betty paused. "I'd want the children and I in the same room. Somewhere nice, and near the water. I don't know what they have for hotels out there, but a Hilton or Four Seasons. With a view."

"Are we negotiating?" Don smiled.

Betty looked out the passenger window.

"I can't promise anything."

"I'm not asking for promises."

The car had finally cleared the parking lot, and was gliding over the roads in Saturday afternoon Queens traffic. The 678 North was a slow roll, but still moving. Once they boarded the 100 North past New Rochelle and Bronxville, the trip ran much smoother.

The Cadillac pulled up outside of 42 Bullet Park Road a little after 2:30. Don got out, walking around the car, and helped his ex-wife out. He walked her up the stone path to the front entrance. She unlocked the door with the keys and pushed it open.

Betty moved through the egress into the front hall and Don was already upon her. He grabbed her arms and turned her around, kissing her. Betty threw down her coat, and pulled off her shoes. She kissed him hungrily, running her hands down his chest. The buttons of Don's shirt came undone quickly, and he picked Betty up in his arms bringing her to the couch in the living room. He unzipped the cream dress and tossed it away. Her stomach churned with desire. All of her extremities sensitised as Don pressed himself upon her.

They had said nothing; the look in each other's eyes was enough.