Mount Sinai Hospital

New York City, New York

June 9th, 1964 - 2:10PM

Donald Draper sat in the corner chair of the 1st floor communal hospital room. There were a few other people in the elongated stale white rectangle; some eating with visitors, some silently sitting and staring at the ceiling. The curtains were pulled around the bed in front of him; the young woman in the bed, asleep. She had bruises all over her face, bandages wrapped around her head. Her leg was wrapped in a fresh cast that was still wet and drying, and a thick tube protruded from under her gown.

Don's fedora was in his hand, he was spinning it slowly. The nurse had come 30 minutes ago to check on Kaye. She took a quick look, and then departed without speaking. He stood up and faced the window to the street. People passed by, unaware or apathetic to the suffering a few feet away.

"I'm Dr. Abramoff. Are you Mr. Sharpe?"

A young doctor appeared behind Don, clipboard in hand. He was trim, with a thick black beard and curly mid-length hair. His brown eyes were nearly as dark as his pupils. Don faced him.

"Employer. Is she going to be okay?"

"She must be a great employee, for you to be here." The doctor smiled.

Don mouthed a quick smirk. The doctor's faded.

"I can't say at this point. She's very ill. She's past the lethal dose of amphetamines in her blood. It's surprising to me she isn't already gone. I'm assuming she abuses it. She's also still a little inebriated." He looked down at his watch. "I'll be frank; the only reason she's alive is because she was drunk and high when she hit the pole. Didn't tense up during the crash. The steering wheel fractured three ribs which punctured her left lung. It collapsed; that tube is removing excess air. Broken tibia in her left leg." The doctor pointed as he moved up her body. "Windshield glass split her eyebrow, peppered her face pretty good. Up in the air how that heals."

He stood near the headboard of the bed.

"I'm honestly surprised it's not worse. The bruises and inflammation will go away in a few days, maybe by Saturday. We have her on anti-inflammatories to help. Does she have family in the area? Someone who could visit?"

"I… I actually don't know." Don said. "She never spoke about them."

"On record? Surely you have some employment records of her hiring, next of kin, things of that nature?"

"I'll speak with our head secretary." Don moved over. "She would have all of those details."

"Good. Do you plan on staying with her? She will probably wake up soon." Dr. Abramoff said.

"Sorry?"

The Doctor moved over to Don, bringing his clipboard down by his side.

"Often we find when patients near death wake up alone, they… they sometimes feel the despair of lonesomeness. Having a familiar face by their side, in my opinion, changes outcomes. Her last memory will probably be driving away from wherever she was. And whatever was happening then. She doesn't know about the accident, she doesn't know she's here."

"I'll stay with her then." Don looked over to Kaye. Her chest rose and descended very slowly and quietly.

"Thank you, Mr.?"

"Draper. Don Draper."

"I'll let our staff know you're here, Mr. Draper."

Dr. Abramoff smiled, turning away from Don and moving onto another patient in the room. Silence in the little area enveloped him. He walked over beside Kaye, reaching out his hand and slowly holding hers.


The Fourty-Niner Diner

W 49th Street & 10th Avenue

New York City, New York

June 9th, 1964 - 5:30pm

Stan Rizzo and Peggy Olson sat across from each other at a booth along the wall of the Fourty-Niner Diner. Stan had chosen the location; Peggy didn't protest. She had ordered a tall vodka and soda; Stan, a Budweiser. Their meals hadn't yet arrived.

Other patrons crowded the bar. On the television set, baseball was on; the White Sox vs. the Orioles. The Sox were winning. Stan occasionally glanced at the set above the barman, grinning and grimacing in equal measure.

"So what do you think of this whole Kaye business?" Peggy asked, sipping her drink.

"Terrible." Stan said, bringing his gaze back from the TV. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling smoke. "Lorrie's a bastard. I'd beat him if I could."

"You really like her." Peggy stated

"It's the right thing to do." He replied. "She's a fair boss. Treats us well. Gets the job done."

"That leaves much to be desired." Peggy said. "Are the accusations true?"

"Which?"

"The ones about her strong-arming him."

"Yes. But so are her accusations against him."

"I suppose. You shouldn't have done that."

"Too late now. And what do you mean you suppose?" Stan smoked. "I saved her from that scumbag."

"She said she didn't want to go to the police. Are you sure it really happened like she said?"

Stan pulled the cigarette from his lips.

"Jesus, Peggs."

"What?"

"Not trusting her is one thing, but not even trusting me?"

"I do trust you. I was just making sure."

The waitress came over and placed their meals in front of them. Stan had ordered a steak sandwich, and Peggy, a Waldorf salad. Stan butted the end of his cigarette, and then started into the steak sandwich. Peggy played around with the grapes in her bowl for a moment.

"Why'd you ask me to go out?" She said.

Stan looked up from his food.

"Because I wanted to." He smiled. "Why else would I have asked you?"

"Are we on a date?" Peggy put a spoonful into her mouth.

The steak on Stan's fork dangled in the air momentarily. He kept eating.

"Do you want it to be?" He asked.

Peggy sat thinking momentarily.

"I don't know." She said. "I don't know… if I'm ready for it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I just started my career. I'm finally doing something I love. I don't want to lose that."

"Why would you lose that?"

"Because you're the Art Director. People would just think it's so… cliché. That I slept my way to stardom."

"Interim Art Director." Stan quipped. "I could be let go at any moment. Prone to the breeze of political whims."

Peggy smiled.

"They won't think that. And how would me being the Art Director cause you to lose your job?" He continued.

"It's not my job. It's credibility. Then I might as well lose my job. I guess I'm thinking ten steps ahead."

"Don't." Stan replied. "Think of right now."

"I thought you were hung up on Kaye."

"What?"

"You two seem to have something going on."

"And that brings out the green monster in you?"

"No." She scoffed. "I refuse to be a part of some love triangle."

"We don't have anything going. We just get on well."

Peggy ate her food, gazing at him.

"Oh come on, you've had it before. You get along with someone. You like being around them, you like how they look. It doesn't mean you're attaching the ball and chain to your ankles with them." Stan said.

There was a lull in the conversation where both of them stared into the distance, eating, thinking, and drinking. It was interrupted by the barmen yelling loudly.

"Is there a Stan here? Stan!"

Stan turned around.

"Yeah?" He hollered back.

"Call for you. Telephone's over here."

Stan excused himself, stood up, and walked over to the edge of the bar near the jukebox dance floor. A seafoam green telephone sat on a ledge. He picked up the receiver.

Peggy was in her own world for a while. She had the time to reflect upon her life, her career, her past choices. She slowly chewed the sinuous grapes, grinding them into mush in her mouth. She looked over at Stan, his back turned to her. Peggy snapped up the pecans into her mouth. Stan hung up the receiver and walked back over to the table.

"It was Joey." Stan said, sitting back down into the booth.

"How'd he know we were here?"

"We always come here. Best bang for your buck in midtown."

"Ah."

"Kaye's still missing." He started. "I hope she's alright."

"She's fine. She's always fine." Peggy ate. "I'm sure she's just drunk, falling asleep on her couch."

"Like you'd be any different if you were in her position."

"I would absolutely not be drunk, given the circumstances. I'd be out applying for new jobs."

"Maybe that's what she's doing." Stan drank some of his beer. "Why do you two hate each other anyway?"

"I don't hate her. I just don't like her."

"You never say a good word about her."

"She just reminds me of those prissy girls at Catholic school, when I was a young. There were always the ins and the outs. The provocative, stuck up, beautiful girls with perfect hair and skin, and then there was the rest of us. She reminds me of them."

"Envious."

"Well look where it got them. Unemployed junkies."

Stan said nothing.

"Oh, did I touch a nerve?" Peggy connived.

"There's a difference between being tweaked out on the streets, losing fingers in snowbanks, and falling asleep after some red wine in your penthouse at Gramercy Park."

"The only difference I see is how often men think about taking them home."

Stan's affect changed immediately. His gaze became cold, and his grin slipped away. Peggy said nothing, but watched him. She smiled again, remarking that easy-going sensation created by one ounce more of alcohol than usual.

"Don't be a sourpuss." She continued.

"You just see everything in black and white; that's everyone's just so." Stan downed the end of his Bud. "Either she's a bitch or a prude; a whore or a nun. Is there no in between? Is it either disdain or adoration all the time?"

"That's not fair." Peggy barked.

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Which am I? Black or white?"

"I just know her type." Peggy managed. "I just know exactly how she thinks. She just thinks all she has to do is flash a smile and everything falls down at her feet."

"And what if that's all she has to do?" Stan said. "What if you're exactly right. And that's all she has to do. And the whole world stops. What if every man in the whole place takes his eyes off you, and turns to her. What are you gonna do about it?"

"I don't need this interrogation."

"No, I think you do. I think you both do."

"I didn't come out with you to endure a firing squad. I came because I wanted good company. It looks like I may have misjudged the situation."

Stan stood up, throwing his coat over his shoulders. He drew out his wallet, and tossed a ten dollar bill on the table.

"Take the change, and get a cab home. We've got a long day tomorrow."

"What? Where are you going?"

"Home. To sleep." He slipped up the collar on his coat. "See you at the airport."

Stan left without looking back.


"She has two weeks, or whatever the absolute minimum mandatory period is. But then she's gone! I will never see her employed here again! And I will check up on it."

"This isn't the end…" Don said. "This is the hard part…"

"Miss Sharpe, answer the question. Did you attempt to blackmail Mr. Lorrie into signing a contract with us, yes or no?" Bert barked.

"Yes or no?" He repeated.

"Yes or no."

"Yes." Bert paused. "... or no?"

"Yes!" Kaye shouted.

She was covered in sweat. Her limbs were frigid. She couldn't see from her left eye. She tried to scream but it got caught in her throat and her chest exploded in pins and needles of sharp pain.

"Oh god…" She managed, rolling over in excruciation, and looking around. It was dim in the room. The moonlight was pouring through the window beside her. She could see the streets; some cars drove by. Only a few overhead lights in the room were left on.

In the corner of the small curtained cubicle area was a chair, and in it, Donald Draper sat. He was slumped, clutching a pillow to his chest, and fast asleep.

Kaye tried leaning up but her weakness left her unable to. She couldn't lean over without nearly passing out in pain.

"Don." She whispered.

"Don." She said louder.

The man across from her snorted, changing position.

"Draper." She managed, her voice croaking.

He opened his eyes, looking up slowly to her. A smile creased his lips.

"You were supposed to wake up half a day ago." He said lowly.

"I'm sorry to disappoint." She coughed, bringing her hand to her chest, and wincing. "What time is it?"

He leaned over, looking down the hall to a clock, passed the curtains where she could not see.

"It's a little past two in the morning." Don said.

Kaye leaned back, reaching up slowly and touching her covered eye.

"Am I blind?" She mumbled.

"It will heal. A bad gouge from some glass."

"What… what happened?"

"Car accident. You hit a pole."

Suddenly a woman came around the corner. She had brunette hair and brown eyes, was conservatively beautiful, and was wearing a physician's white coat.

"Finally I hear a voice. You're awake." She exclaimed. "This is good news."

Kaye turned slowly to face her.

"I need to get out of here. I have a flight to catch tomorrow."

The doctor laughed quietly.

"You're not going anywhere for a while, my dear. You have a collapsed lung, broken ribs, a broken leg, stitches, bruises, cuts, scrapes, and an overdose to deal with."

"Is that all?" She said.

"You're lucky to be alive, you know." the doctor continued.

"I didn't catch your name." Don opened.

"Dr. Serafina Corsetti." She said, reaching out her hand to shake Don's.

He waited a moment before shaking hers.

"Call me Dr. Sara." She said, facing Kaye. "I'm normally on nights here. Dr. Abramoff filled me in early today."

"This is a good progression, no doubt?" Don asked.

"Her being awake is a very good sign. And she's lucid. She was in a medically induced coma, to deal with everything and start the painkillers." The doctor stepped to Kaye's bedside, looking down at her. "Do you know your name?"

"Kaye Sharpe."

"Birthday?"

"June 1st, 1940."

"Do you know where you are?" Dr. Corsetti continued.

"Well, I assume since I'm patched up and not dead, I'm not in the morgue."

"Sense of humour." The doctor smiled. "You might just be alright. What happened just before you woke up here?"

"I… I don't know." Kaye moved to try and sit up, wincing again. "I don't know. Something bad."

"I see." The doctor wrote down notes on Kaye's chart. "Well this is a good start. We'll pull your chest tube later, perhaps tomorrow, take some X-rays of your chest. Hopefully that lung starts healing up."

"Thanks." Kaye said.

Dr. Corsetti smiled, slid Kaye's chart back into the end of the bed, and walked over to the next patient sitting a few feet away.

"What happened?" Kaye leaned over, turning her face to Don.

He sat silently, gazing at her.

"If you don't tell me, I'll find out later. And it will be worse for you then."

"Lorrie came to the office." Don looked out the window. "It wasn't pretty."

It came back to her. She pursed her lips, her eyes widening. Kirk yelling in the Conference Room; Don's embrace as he comforted her; Joan escorting her to the ambush.

"They're waiting for you in the Conference Room. I'll be taking notes. Breathe, hear them out."

"Breathe. Hear them out."

"You remember now." Don stated.

"Yeah…" She sighed. "I remember."

"Where did you go? What happened afterwards?"

"I… It's all fuzzy. I ran back to my office. I downed a bottle… of uppers. I had a splitting headache. I was all over the place... the whiskey set in. By the time I reached the car, my head was spinning. I drove into traffic, I don't remember where I wanted to go. Probably home."

Don pulled the chair further into the curtained enclosure. He sat down more comfortably.

"I was bawling. I could barely see where I was going; mascara running everywhere. I must have… have lost control." She finished, her chest fluttering as she spoke.

"Don't worry about that now." Don said.

"You were right. I should have let it go." She snorted back tears and a running nose. She clenched her fist tightly. "I wish I could kill him."

"Hindsight lends itself well to self reflection. He'll get his comeuppance. Right now, you need sleep."

"I was so foolish. I should have… I should have…"

"Stop." Don said. "It doesn't matter. Don't look back. Keep moving forward. You need to focus on healing."

Kaye smiled slightly.

"Thank you." She said.

Don smiled.

"I'm going to go home, and get some sleep. I've left the hospital with everyone's numbers. Joan is going to come by and visit as often as she can."

"She's too busy."

"Consider it part of her position."

Don stood up, placing his fedora onto his head. He grabbed his overcoat from the wall rack, and slipped it over his shoulder. He buttoned his suit jacket.

"I'm keeping this between myself and the administrative staff. We need all hands on deck in San Jose."

"I understand." Kaye said flatly.

"Good. I will call and check in once we're landed."

Don waved once as he left. Kaye laid back down onto the bed, and fell asleep


San Jose, California

June 10th, 1964 - 1:05PM

The sun was high in the sky, and the tarmac was sticky at San Jose International Airport. PSA Flight 502 landed, screeching its wheels, and slowing without much fuss. The DC-3 took two and a half hours to get from the gate at Los Angeles to the gate in San Jose. Bobby and Sally were enraptured with their journeys; first on the lightning fast 707 jetliner from New York, and now on the smaller twin prop aircraft.

"I wanna be a pilot when I grow up!"

"There's a lot of training involved with that." Henry said, unbuckling his seat belt, grabbing the seatback in front of himself, and pulling himself up. Betty was already standing in the aisle, reaching for her bag in the overhead compartment. A cigarette hung from her lower lip.

"We were flying faster than birds!" Bobby continued.

Gene fussed in Betty's arm.

"Much faster than birds." Henry moved into the aisle. Sally was sitting in the single seat on the other side of the plane, a book in her hands. She was looking out the window at the ground crew pulling up the baggage truck to the side of the plane. One of the stewardesses at the rear of the plane was walking by.

"Our cruising speed is about 150 miles an hour. That's 3 times faster than a car." She winked at Bobby.

The front door to the plane opened and a blast of hot air entered the plane.

"Enjoy your stay in San Jose. It was our pleasure to serve you today on Pacific Southwest Air." Another stewardess at the front announced gladly with a grin.

Henry held Bobby's hand, pulling him out of the seat.

"Sally, it's time to go." Betty said, facing the cockpit. Sally stood up, closed her book, and slipped it into her mother's purse. The family moved out of the plane, down the gangway, and into the airport.

"It's nice and warm here." Bobby said.

"It's like 60 degrees Bobby. It's 90 at home." Sally interjected as they walked through the front doors.

"Yeah, but the air is just different here."

Henry leaned out over the road in the taxi pickup zone at the front of the airport. A yellow Checker cab pulled up. Betty swung the back door open and ushered the children inside. She sat down beside them and closed the door. Henry sat in the passenger seat.

"Four Seasons San Jose." He quipped to the driver. The car took off.

"This is the best trip ever." Bobby said, rolling down the back window.

"Wait 'till it gets started, buddy." Henry mumbled, turning back to face him briefly.

"Don has a meeting in an hour I think." Betty said. "We can get settled at the hotel and stay by the pool. He's supposed to meet us there afterwards."

"Alright." Henry said.

The Checker cab dropped them off at the Four Seasons shortly thereafter. Betty and the children moved swiftly to the door. Henry struggled to carry the baggage from the taxi. He moved slowly. The bellhop ran quickly to his side and assisted him by taking the bags.

"I'll get these for you sir, you just worry about your daughter and grandchildren there." he smiled widely, quickly jotting up the walkway. Henry huffed. Betty stood, holding the door open for the bellhop and for Henry.

"That coloured boy just said I was your father." Henry said.

Betty smirked and laughed lightly.

"That's not funny. Do I really look that old?"

"No, dear. You don't" She followed Henry to the front counter. "Henry, it's a compliment to me, regardless."

"I'll have to remember that when I get insulted." He put his wallet onto the counter.

"Mr. Henry Francis?" the desk clerk said.

"Yes?"

"We were expecting you. Mr. Draper called ahead. You'll all be staying in the Presidential Suite. Mahoney, here, will escort you to your room." The clerk pointed to a smartly dressed bellhop near the front desk. He already had their luggage in hand.

"We're staying in the President's room?" Bobby chirped.

"No, you dolt. That's just the name of the room." Sally shot back.

"Sally." Betty said. "Language, and kindness. It's unbecoming."

Henry hobbled along behind the family as they walked. The Presidential Suite was on the top floor of the hotel, overlooking the 101 Freeway and the Bay of San Francisco behind it. Henry tipped Mahoney the Bellhop, and he disappeared down the hall quietly.

"What a view." Betty said, standing through the window at the calm waters in the distance.

"Can we go swimming?" Sally asked.

"I don't see why not." Betty said.

"I'm exhausted, and my legs are killing me." Henry threw himself down onto the King bed. The covers enveloped him. "Can we wait?"

"I wanna go swimming too!" Bobby protested.

"Gene does need a nap." Betty said.

"I'll stay with him here." Henry said. "We can both have a nap."

There was a small bassinet near the bathroom. Betty placed Gene down into it, and then tucked him under the covers. He angered momentarily, before settling down.

"Get your swimsuits on." Betty said. "I'll change after you."

The Draper children ran quickly to the suitcases, rifling through their contents until their suits were found. Bobby jumped into the bathroom quickly, slamming the door in Sally's face.

Betty made her way over to Henry, who had propped himself up in bed. The television set was on, tuned to the news. Henry kissed his wife gently, and looked back at the TV.

"How long will you be gone?" He mumbled.

"A few hours. We'll be back before supper. I'm assuming the children will be hungry around 3:00 California time."

"Have fun." he smiled.

On the pool deck of the hotel, a mass of lounge chairs lay open for sunbathing patrons. There was a thatched hut bar near the pool; most of the people surrounding it were in tweed suits rather than swimwear. Betty Francis was laid down on one of the lounge chairs near the bar. She was in a tasteful baby blue swimsuit. She had her white wayfarers on, eyes closed, hair held back by a band, and her right leg propped up.

Sally and Bobby were bobbing around in the pool near her, splashing each other and flailing around on an inflatable toy. A Manhattan sat on the small circular table beside Betty's lounge chair. There was a slight breeze in the air, keeping the sun's direct light cool.

"Are you here alone?" a voice said.

Betty opened her eyes. It was a young man, perhaps in his mid to late twenties. He had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a striking smile.

"What do you think?" She said, rolling her wedding ring between her thumb and ring finger.

"These yours?" He motioned to Sally and Bobby. They were attempting to drown one another. Betty nodded.

"You have two beautiful children." He persisted, taking a seat beside her, but faced her rather than leaning down on the lounge chair.

"Thank you." Betty reached over, grabbing the Manhattan, and sipped it. She placed it back onto the table.

"If only they were always as agreeable as they looked." She mused.

"All children are like that, for a time. I love kids, myself." He continued.

"Do you have any?"

"No, but I hope to someday." he said. "Haven't found the right person yet."

"That is the most difficult part, don't you know." She chided.

"Where's your husband, if not by the poolside protecting his wife from sharks?"

"Asleep I suppose." Betty said.

"You're too beautiful to be left to your own devices."

"I've been doing just fine thus far." She smiled. "I think you've waded a little too far into the deep end."

"I've never been afraid of a challenge before." He smirked gladly. "In fact, I've been in far deeper waters than these."

"Oh really?"

"I'd argue I probably have more experience Deepwater fishing than half the suits here."

"I'll have to let the Cabana girls know." She sipped her Manhattan again.

"Those girls?" He laughed. "They barely get their feet wet before they get scared. I'm not out here for life. I'm here for a for a week. And I assume you are too."

"What's your name?" Betty asked.

"Does it matter?"

She sat silently, looking at the young man. There was something interesting about him; perhaps it was his youth in the end. A shadow appeared over his shoulder, casting itself long over his body, and then perturbing the sun rays on Betty's legs. The young man spun to see an older man, perhaps 10 years his senior. A cigarette dangled between his lips. He had a whiskey neat in his left hand, and a newspaper in his right. Gold sunglasses clung to the bridge of his nose. He had a Hawaiian shirt on, with beige canvas shorts. The young man made no sudden movements.

"You're in my seat." Don said calmly. The young boy turned to face Betty.

"This guy?" He pointed to Don. "This guy's the captain? You could do better."

"And yet, here we are." Don sipped his drink, looking at the horizon.

The young man stood up, running his hands along his shorts.

"If you get bored, I'm in 403." the boy said quietly.

He left without saying another word. Don moved the lounge chair to angle towards Betty. He placed his whiskey onto the circular table between them and puffed on his cigarette.

"Kids say the darnest things." He said, snapping the paper open, and flipping to the headline news. Betty laughed lightly and closed her eyes as she listened to Bobby and Sally screaming and playing a few feet away.