The Four Seasons San Jose,
2050 University Avenue, East Palo Alto, California
June 12th, 1964 - 8:12 PM
Betty Francis kicked the door to her hotel room open with her foot. She was carrying a full bag of clothes that she, Sally, and Bobby, had picked up shopping earlier in the day. Sally was distracted with Bobby in the hallway and didn't obey her mothers requests to open the door.
Betty huffed loudly.
Gene was cooing softly in his crib, sucking on his thumb. Betty dropped the bag of clothes near the door and walked into the suite. Bobby and Sally followed. Sally walked into the adjoining room and locked the door, so she could change into night clothes. Bobby went into the bathroom.
"How did the boardwalk go?" Henry said, smiling to his wife. She walked up to him as he lay on the bed, and kissed him.
"It went well. Sun was beautiful and warm. I wish you were there." She said, leaning back on the bed beside him, placing her head into the crook of his neck.
"I'm sorry. I really wish I had more stamina. I'm just wiped. I don't know what it is. I guess maybe I do need to take it slowly. Kids were well behaved?"
"Very well. They met some boys on the beach who entertained them for a while. Seemed like a very good time."
"Californian's are well mannered in my experience." Henry said. "Lazy bums, but generally well mannered."
They both laughed.
"Mom, can I watch some TV?" Sally asked, exiting her bedroom.
"Yes, sweetie. Only for a few minutes. Then it's bed."
"Alright." Sally said, turning away and walking back into the bedroom. A loud click was heard and slowly the volume rose from the television set. Bobby leaped out of the bathroom in his night clothes and sped into the bedroom behind Sally.
"I was thinking we could go out, once the children are asleep. Have Don come and watch over them." Betty said.
"Whereabouts would we go?" Henry said.
"Perhaps we could walk around town, or go out together. Visit some nice cabaret. A late dinner. What do you think?"
"I'm… I'm just too exhausted, dear." Henry yawned. "I just want to relax tonight and sleep early."
"Alright, that's fine. I guess I won't be out too late then."
"You're still going to go out?"
"Well… why not? We're only here for a few more days, and I want to get the most out of this trip. I feel like you're avoiding going out."
"That's not fair, Betty. I want to go out, and I do want to spend time with you. I just don't have the energy right now."
"So, because you don't have the energy, I have to stay in?"
"I think that's appropriate. A wife should be at her husband's side. Assisting him when he needs it. Especially considering the circumstance."
Betty sat up in bed, and looked out the window at the dusky sky.
"I don't understand. You spend all day saying how much progress you've made, and then at night, it's like you don't acknowledge any of it, and sleep all the time." Betty chirped.
"Birdie…"
"Don't call me that." She snapped. "I've told you, I don't like when you call me that."
"Sorry, Betty. I am recovering, I don't know what you want from me."
"I want you to come out with me tonight."
"And I told you; I am too tired." Henry rebuffed. "If you want to go out so much, fine. Go out."
"I will." She said firmly. "I will be back at a decent hour, and I won't disturb you."
"Alright." Henry raised his arms, surrendering. "Don't go far from the hotel. And call me once you're at the cabaret, or wherever you're going. Be safe, please."
Betty smiled.
"I will." She leaned over, kissing Henry on the forehead. "Thank you."
The Fairmont San Jose
170 South Market Street, San Jose, California
June 12, 1964 - 8:35PM
Donald Draper sat comfortably in the Californian lounge of the Fairmont hotel. The large slatted oak window shutters were swung open; many of the booths were occupied. He was seated at the bar, an Old Fashioned in his hand, a cigarette in the other, and a newspaper in front of himself. His fedora sat on the bar beside him. The room was inundated in a thick fog of smoke and it had the musty stench of overly humid air that moved infrequently. He had tried calling up to Stan and Joey's room, but they were both gone. Peggy was nowhere to be found either.
A gorgeous foreign woman in her forties with jet black hair and equally dark eyes sat to Don's left. Her skin was a deep olive, tanned from the sunshine. She appeared to be with the gentleman on her own left; a stout, dark man with large bulldogish features and a slightly unbuttoned shirt. His chest hair peeking through the collared area. He was very loud, and spoke rapidly, in what seemed to Don to be Italian. A friend was beside the man. They had drunk three bourbons in the time he had been there. The woman did not seem very interested. She drank little, and what she drank, she drank slowly.
Two seats over to Don's right was a man in his mid-fifties. He had his full overcoat and hat still on, and had been staring at a letter he held in his hand for the entire time Don had been at the bar. He drank intermittently and always had a cigarette going. He sighed and sulked.
"If you're going to bring your wife to a bar, at least talk to her." The woman said, seemingly to no one. She smoked and blew it out, facing the barman. She had an Italian accent that was only perceptible on accentuated vowels.
Don smiled.
"What about your wife?" She turned to face Don. "Did she return to her room, bored of vain conversation?"
"I'm not married." he said.
"Yet, you have an empty seat beside you, and sit as if you are."
Now the woman turned to face him. Her husband and friend weren't paying attention, and continued chattering away.
"Old habits." He said, turning a page of the paper. He drank the Old Fashioned.
"You are as I imagined, then." She said. "How do you Americans say it, wistful?"
"And what are you longing for then?" He closed the paper, and slid the cigarette between his lips.
"Excitement, gioia di vivere. The joys of life, you understand?" She said.
"And you married him?" Don raised his gaze to the woman's husband. They both faced him momentarily. She turned back to Don.
"Giorgio wasn't always like this. He had that fire too, you know? Once upon a time, in a land far far away. I see that same fire in your eyes."
"I take what I want, when I want it." he said. "Anything less is compromise."
He looked up and down the woman's black silky dress. It hugged her form tightly.
"It's a Schiaparelli. Tutto originale. You like?" She said giddily.
"I like the woman underneath." He gently placed his hand on her leg, rubbed it slowly, and then brought it back to his own leg. Her cheeks reddened slightly.
"You are very bold." She grinned. "I like boldness. It says a lot about character."
"I'm in Room 513." Don said. "Knock after midnight."
"I'll make sure to bring a change of clothes."
The woman ran her hand quickly up the inside of Don's thigh. She felt what she came for, and then retreated gleefully. Don sipped his drink, and averted his gaze back to the paper.
"Were you talking to my wife?" A bristly voice announced. Giorgio leaned far forward on the bar, staring at Don intensely. He grimaced.
"She asked me for directions." Don said. "Looking for a hotspot in town."
Giorgio turned his stare towards his wife.
"Whatya doing talking to this, stu cazz." He rumbled. "I know this place, we don't need help. Thank you very much." he trailed off in Italian.
The woman turned and winked at Don. A man sat down beside Don, quickly, on his right, pulling the stool in and out in a fluid motion.
"Whiskey on rocks." he snipped. His voice was political, low and drawn slowly. He sounded midwestern. Clean, without any discernible accent. Don turned to face him and recognized him instantly.
"Duck?" Don said.
Duck turned to face Don, removing his coat and throwing it over his chair.
"Oh, for cryin out loud. What are the chances." he said. "Well, I guess pretty high considering the circumstances. Finding you amongst the degenerates."
"What does that say about you, then?"
"Oh, I know. No reason to go up against the great Donald Draper." Duck brought up his hand and then lowered it.
"Why are you here?" Don asked.
"Same as you. Looking for business. Intermingling with pleasure." Duck peered over Don's shoulder, gazing intently at the woman behind him.
"You have a job?"
"Of course I got a job." Duck said indignantly. "The moment I was out of Sterling Cooper I was through the front doors of Grey, working my way up the ladder. Roger couldn't see true talent if it walked into his office and smacked him in the face."
Don finished his Old Fashioned in one fell swoop. He smoked.
"What are you here for? Sunkist? Placerville Hardware?" Duck said.
The barman brought over Duck's drink, placing it in front of him. He drank a long gulp.
"I'll show mine if you show me yours." Don said.
"Secretive, huh? Wouldn't be hard to figure out. I have connections back in New York. Grey's a big agency you know, much bigger than Sterling Cooper. The resources are endless."
"Seems like you should have left eons ago."
"You know, that's always what it is with you." Duck snapped. "The stupid, adolescent, snide comments, always trying to make yourself seem bigger and more macho than everyone else. It's that touchy creative bullshit that will sandbag you forever. Rise above it Don."
"To rising above it." Don raised his glass. Duck stared at him, indignantly. He finished the whiskey, and signaled the barman for another.
Don reached into his billfold, and pulled out a ten dollar bill, placing it on the bar. When the barman returned with Duck's drink, Don spoke.
"Mine, his, and hers." He motioned to both Duck and the woman.
"Thank you, signore." She said to Don. The barman took the bill.
"Hello there." Duck said to the Italian, leaning past Don. She smiled lightly, but turned away.
"I'm an ad man. New York, East coast area. Not many of us you meet out here." Duck pressed on.
"No, I suppose I have not." She said.
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Hey!" the thunderous sound of an Italian accent resounded in the air. "Don't you start talking to my wife."
"Sorry, didn't know she was spoken for." Duck said, backing away quickly. "My mistake."
"I thought so." Giorgio grumbled. "You two stronzi better watch your mouths."
Don stood up, placing his fedora on his head. The Italian woman looked up at him.
"Good luck, Duck." Don said. "I'm turning in."
"I don't need luck." Duck said brazenly. "I've got the talent in spades."
It was at that moment that Peggy Olson walked slowly past the lounge, looked in, and saw both Don and Duck speaking together. She froze momentarily. Don noticed her and began walking towards her.
He slowed as reached Peggy.
"Duck's here." he smirked drunkenly.
Duck waved to Peggy enthusiastically. Peggy did nothing.
"Careful." Don said. "He's a real charmer."
Don walked away, the soft clack of his Oxford's resounded in the lobby.
"Mr. Draper!" a voice yelled from across the room. Don searched his horizon. The front clerk was holding a phone in his hand. "I've been trying to reach you."
Don walked up to the long oak desk.
"Yes?" he said.
"A Mrs. Elizabeth Francis has been trying to get a hold of you for the last 10 minutes. I called up to your room, but I see you are not there."
"Is she on the phone?"
"Yes, here."
The clerk passed Don the phone receiver over the countertop.
"Hello." Don said.
"Are you busy? I didn't mean to bother you."
"No, I was out. What do you need?"
"I was hoping for a ride. I… want to go to the party tonight that the Girling's invited us to."
"You do? Doesn't seem like your crowd." Don said plainly.
"No, not conventionally. However, when in Rome."
"Alright." Don said. "I'll pick you up in 15 minutes. We'll head straight from there."
"See you then."
The line went dead.
Mount Sinai Hospital
New York City
June 15th, 1964 - 10:04 AM
Keller McKeenan was well known in New York City. You would never see his face or name on a billboard, or a park bench running along Broadway, or even on the back page of the Post or the Times. He wasn't a star, a senator, or a socialite. It was difficult to even find his name in the White Pages, let alone his business in the Yellow. McKeenan was a man who kept to himself until he was called upon for his services. Then he would get to work, and would not stop until the job was done.
He was getting on in life now and his greater days, though behind him, were not forgotten. It was precisely because of this reputation that Joan had stored his information, which she heard from a friend during a ruthless divorce.
McKeenan grumbled along as old men do. He wore a brown bowler hat, a dark brown suit and oversized slacks that rode nearly past his navel. His suspenders were thick, his tie was red, and his shirt was an off-white collared affair. He spotted Kaye as he approached the hospital, sitting on the bench in the small gardens area beside the entrance. She looked disheveled and thin and had large bags under her eye. One eye was obscured by a bandage. Her right hand clung to an IV stand. She was in her hospital gown.
"Good day." He said, sitting down beside her on the bench. He leaned his cane upon the armrest and removed a newspaper from between the fold of his arm.
"Hello." Kaye responded, without looking at him.
"Beautiful day, today. Little chilly though." McKeenan mumbled, reading the Sports section. He had a faded Irish accent.
"Yes it seems." She said.
"Your friend called me." He started from a brief silence. "She told me I'd find you out here in the mornings."
"You're the P.I, then?"
"Yes. Keller McKeenan, at your service, Miss."
"Good. Joan was quick. I need you to look into a man named Kirk Lorrie..."
"Firstly, we should discuss a few things." Keller removed his hat, placing it in the empty space between himself and Kaye. He then removed his leather driving gloves.
"My retainer is $500.00 up front. I charge weekly, based on hours worked…"
"That's fine. Whatever it costs." Kaye cut him off.
McKeenan turned an eye to her, looking her up and down.
"You have the money, then." He said quietly.
"It won't be a problem."
"Alright. Secondly, I will contact you for a meeting once I have found what you're looking for, and no sooner. I will give periodic updates via telephone call to a number you specify. That is the terms of the deal. I cannot be bothered to…"
"Deal." Kaye said.
McKeenan caught himself.
"I see."
He reached into a small sack which had been slung over his shoulder, and removed a pen and a small pad of coiled paper. He jotted down the date.
"Who or what are we finding?" he said.
"His name is Kirk Lorrie, and he works for Consolidated Cigars in Rose Hill."
McKeenan wrote slowly and methodically. His penmanship was impeccable. It took half a minute to write a sentence. He paused after writing to look up.
"What is it you want from him?"
"I don't want anything from him. I want his despicable life to end."
"I think you have the wrong bloke, love."
"Not like that." Kaye blurted angrily. "I want him to regret ever meeting me."
"Humiliation, then."
"I need leverage. Enough to ruin him."
"I understand." McKeenan wrote. "Weakness?"
"What?"
"What is Mr. Lorrie's weakness? Every man has one. Either his pride, greed, lust. What's his weakness?"
"Women." Kaye said, looking off into the courtyard gardens.
"Don't tell me he did this to you, love."
"In a way, I suppose he did." She paused. "But not directly."
"Good. I'd have to call the other bloke if it was true."
The old man smiled. Kaye faced him momentarily, and appreciated his gesture.
"The typical executive." He said.
"How long is this going to take?" Kaye asked.
"That depends on how obvious his weakness is."
"Well, I have until the 24th at midnight."
"I can't guarantee anything that soon." Keller said. "But I won't waste more of my time. I have enough to go off."
The old man stood up, picking up his hat and placing his leather gloves over his hands.
"You'll do it then? I haven't even paid you."
"I'll be back tomorrow morning." He said, placing the bowler hat onto the crown of his head. "Have the money in cash in a manila envelope. Good day, Miss."
The old man gently tilted his head, tipping his hat. Kaye smiled and nodded. He waddled away, out of the courtyard.
Redondo Beach Boulevard
Half Moon Bay, California
June 12th, 1964 - 9:06 PM
Don Draper and Betty Francis pulled up to the large house at the end of the Boulevard slowly, looking for a space to park the rental two-tone blue Mercury Monterey. On the opposing side of the street there was a patch of grass and curb that was open; Don spun the car around and parked. The rest of the street was littered with many cars, mostly in and around the driveway of the large modern home facing the water. Many were small Volkswagens.
"What have we gotten ourselves into." Betty said excitedly, walking towards the front door.
Don followed her up the path, recognizing the red Country Squire Station Wagon in the driveway. He eyed it as Betty knocked on the large front door. A moment passed and it was swung open quickly by a hefty gentleman with a large beard, shoulder length black hair and a large smile. He wore a pinstriped button-up shirt that had rolled sleeves to his elbows. His large rotund gut hung out of the totally unbuttoned shirt.
"We were invited... by the Girlings." Betty began.
"Everyone is welcome here." The man's large broad grin broke through his beard. "Come in. No need to knock on Fridays. I'm Admiral."
"I'm Don, this is Betty." Don said.
They both entered the house; the door closing behind them. It had large vaulted ceilings and a massive sunken seating area around a hanging fireplace. The windows were floor to ceiling along the back wall. It was an entirely open concept in the main room. Through the windows one could see a clear view of the bluffs which rolled down to a small beach and then onto the Pacific Ocean which was only now lit by the dim light of the moon.
The room was full of people; people of all types and seemingly all walks of life. There were many shaggy-haired men in loose-fitting clothing and sandals. Men in suits stood near the windows speaking to each-other in a hushed manner. The women wore anything; dresses, shorts, skirts, blouses, swimsuits, and even one woman was in undergarments. It seemed most were in their 30s and 40s, but some were well into their 60s. A thick haze of smoke, mixed from cigarettes, cigars, and dope, misted the room.
Don and Betty stood at the edge of the sunken area, staring.
"Is it always like this?" Betty asked the large man.
"Almost always. Sometimes more, sometimes less. This house is mine. The guests are everyones."
"You came!" a loud voice sprung from the crowd. Kip Girling peeled away from a co-ed group, hopping over the couch and moving swiftly to shake Don's hand. Admiral had disappeared.
"I didn't know how it would stick." he continued. "I'm glad you decided to join us."
Don smiled.
"Thank you." Betty said. "Is your wife here?"
"Of course." Kip gestured, pointing outside the windows. Both Betty and Don now noticed that beyond the glass was a pool and a seating area just below view. Kip guided them close to the windows. A large stone patio area emerged beneath them, sunken into the rocks of the cliffs behind the house. The pool was about 30 by 15 feet, and took up most of the patio itself. There were stairs beyond the patio that extended down to the beach, far below.
Annabelle Girling was in a purple bikini-swimsuit, laying on a lounge chair with a towel wrapped around her midriff. Her breasts were much larger than what they had seemed beneath the airy cotton shirt at Poplar Beach. She was fit, and had little fat on her body anywhere. Betty looked over at the swaths of young men in soaked shorts lazing in and around the pool. Kip knocked on the window. A few people looked up, including Annabelle. She smiled at Kip, and saw that Don and Betty arrived. Throwing herself up from the lounge chair, she quickly made her way up the steps to the landing of the rear door, sliding it open. She ran up to Betty and threw her arms around her. Betty was shocked at first, but slowly brought her arms around Annabelle before they released and separated.
"I am so glad you came!" She exclaimed. Her bright eyes moved and shone up to Don.
"We came to see what California had to offer." Don held Anna's gaze.
"You won't be disappointed." Kip interjected. "We've been coming for a few years now. It never fails to be interesting and exhilarating. It's so nice to just get out of the cycle. Leave the world behind and meet with like-minded individuals, carving their own path through the concrete jungle."
"It's a beautiful house." Don said.
"Admiral bought it just after the war. Made some money in steel I believe. He doesn't talk much about it." Kip said.
"Is his name Admiral, or was he an Admiral?" Betty asked.
"No one really knows." Annabelle whispered, giggling. "That's the mystery of the whole thing. Some say he worked for the Navy, some say he fought alongside Patton. Some say he's a scheister, who swindled an old lady out of her new house. No one gives a straight answer."
"It adds to the fun of the thing." Kip said. "Can I show you around?"
"Lead the way." Don said. Betty and Annebelle followed behind.
Kip led the foursome through the kitchen, which was off the right wing of the main room. It had all modern amenities; double ovens, tall cabinets, and more floor to ceiling windows with views of the bay. A few stragglers were eating sandwiches at the table in the kitchen. Two waved to Kip and Annabelle.
Down one of the two main hallways, Kip showed them Admiral's study; full of books and a desk with chairs for sitting around and discussion. The other rooms were mostly bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms. The other hallway held more bedrooms, and another sitting room with a large television. Many were crowded around watching repeats of the Twilight Zone which had come on at 9:00. Eventually, they convened in the main room again.
"There's only really one rule in the house." Annabelle began. "If a door is closed, don't open it. If you're done in a room, open the door. Simple."
Betty looked at Don quizzically.
"You want a toke?" Kip asked. He reached around to a drinks hutch where a few dope cigarettes had been rolled and left for the taking on a platter. "It's free. Admiral buys it all fresh each week."
Don looked to Betty, who had a curious look still on her face.
"When in Rome." Don said to her.
Kip lit the end of the joint, and inhaled deeply. He passed it on to Don, who did the same. They both exhaled slowly.
"What am I supposed to do?" Betty said.
"Have you never smoked dope before?" Annabelle grinned. "Goodie, you know I love teaching." She said to Kip.
Kip waved her on. Betty took the joint apprehensively, placing it to her lips.
"Beginner's be warned." She said loudly. "Inhale slowly, about two thirds of your breath, and then inhale the last of your breath with fresh air. Hold it for a second, then exhale slowly. This isn't a cigarette. It needs to get deep into your lungs."
Betty followed the instructions. She looked down at the joint afterwards, analyzed it, and then passed it to Annabelle, who in turn took a long deep inhalation.
"It stinks." Betty mumbled. "What am I supposed to feel? I don't feel anything."
"It's been 15 seconds, sweetie!" Annabelle laughed. "Give it a few minutes."
"You'll start feeling more sensitive to things." Kip said. "You might get hungry, thirsty, loud, giggly, a host of random sensations. You might feel euphoric. It's hard to describe."
"It's something you absolutely have to experience." Annabelle chimed in.
Kip took Betty, Don, and Annabelle outside; down the rear staircase, and onto the patio area. Admiral was sitting at his covered bar, near the railing on the far side of the space. A flock of people were around him, including many tanned young women in revealing clothing.
"The man's like Hugh Heffner." Don said.
"Better looking in the face though. And more modest." Annabelle said.
A smooth jazz song was playing on a record player, sitting underneath the portico of the small pool house.
"I'm going to get a drink. Birdie?" Don said.
"I'll have a glass of wine. Whatever is red." She replied.
Don broke away from Kip and Annabelle and walked across the pool deck. He approached the barman.
"An Old Fashioned. And a glass of whatever the best red is."
He reached into his inner breast pocket and snapped open his billfold.
"It's free, brother." A gravelly voice said. Don looked up to see Admiral raising his glass to him.
"Thank you." Don said. The barman began to work on his requests.
"How are you enjoying California? Is it the sun or the women that are getting to you first?"
Don surveyed the view.
"Maybe both." he said. "The fresh air is a welcome change."
"You must be from New York." Admiral chuckled. He stood up and made his way over to Don.
"Have a seat." He said, commandingly. Don sat beside him in the stool. "I'm thinking you're an executive of some sort, no?"
"Advertising. Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce."
"I've never heard of you." Admiral said. "But I suppose that's why you're here, isn't it."
Don nodded.
"It's a lot better here. I used to be in New York. Did my work out of New York. I felt trapped. Like a rat in a maze; everyone living on top of each other. The air's just always dense with cold, or dense with heat." Admiral said.
He finished off his drink and slid it to the barman who stopped filling Don's drink, and poured straight whiskey into Admiral's glass.
"The air is fresh and always clean. The summer lasts forever. The women are always young. I'm the King of Babylon." He laughed lightly.
"What do you do?" Don asked.
"All sorts of things. I have my fingers in many pies, you see." Admiral drank. "Helps me leverage all these great parties. Anyone in attendance here has been invited by someone else, who in turn invited someone else, and so on. Some don't return, some do. The best have been here for years. Like your Kip and Annabelle."
Don spun around to face the crowd of people. Everyone seemed to be enraptured with themselves and exactly what was happening around them.
"She's something eh? That Annabelle." Admiral said from the silence. He watched Don's eyes wander to her. "What a fucking body. Melons the size of my head." He burst into a laugh.
"They're always here?"
"Every Friday since January of '63 I think. I like to tell them I'm the one who saved their marriage."
Don gave a puzzled look. The barman brought his and Betty's drink.
"You know what it's like, I'm sure. You get married, things seem great. Everything's happy for three or four years. But slowly, you fall apart. You have kids. You get bored of each other. The sex dwindles. The love fades; whatever real love is, I have no idea." Admiral drank. "That's why I never got married. I can do whatever I want. Complete freedom. I've probably been with more than half the women here."
Don sipped his Old Fashioned.
"Aren't most of them married?" he asked.
"Yes." Admiral stood up, his great belly extending out from his shirt. "A good portion, I'll bet. They're just more free, you understand? People, when they come here, admit to a sort of laissez-faire attitude towards themselves. Their obligations. Their work. Their families. They leave that at the door. When they have that attitude, you can just have them. The men too, you know. Your boy Kip, he's been around the block a few times."
Don looked over to his ex-wife. She was glowing under the dim exterior lights of the patio. She laughed loudly at something Kip had said. He moved his stare to Annabelle. She looked away from the laughter long enough to catch Don's eyes. Her lips closed around the joint she held, and she smoked, exhaling slowly. A slight grin flashed across her face. Don smiled back.
"You could have her, you know?" Admiral cut in. "She wants you."
Don snapped from his stupor, turning to the old bearded man sitting beside him.
"That's what my house is about, brother. Take what you both want." Admiral raised his large hand and placed it onto Don's shoulder. "The difference between New York and California isn't the affair, my friend. It's that you boys out there like to pretend it isn't happening."
Don looked out at Annabelle once again. She swayed slowly in the breeze of the night and the music in the background. She passed the joint to Kip who inhaled before passing it once again to Betty. Betty contemplated it before giving into the ritual once more. Don's senses tingled. Everything was more vibrant.
"Thank you for the drinks." he said.
"Anytime. Play safe." The old man said, drinking his whiskey.
Don took slow strides to return to his party. He passed the wine glass to Betty once he arrived, and sipped his Old Fashioned. Annabelle extended the final snub of the joint to Don. He inhaled it, and then extinguished the butt of it with his shoe into the white pavers beneath him.
"I see you met the man of the hour." Kip said excitedly. "What did you think of him?"
"He's… interesting." Don said. "He has lots to say."
"Mostly about women, no doubt." Kip smiled. Annabelle looked at Don. He said nothing, unsure of where to go.
"I'm just playing with you, Don." Kip said, laughing. "He likes to think himself a real playboy, that's for sure."
"How are you feeling?" Annabelle said to Betty.
"I don't know." Betty said, timidly. "I feel… like pins and needles in my hands. In a good way. Everything seems so… bright, and beautiful. Everything is funny." She giggled. "I can see the attraction to this."
Don clutched Betty's side.
"Who knew you'd be a true Californian by the time you left." he said.
Betty smiled at Don. She lingered watching his face, remarking each divot in it's features. She ran her eyes down his side, towards his hands. She took a large sip of wine.
The night continued on. Kip, Annabelle, Don and Betty moved back into the home as the cool air began to take hold on the pool deck. They sat down in the sunken living room beside some college aged students, engaged deeply in a debate revolving around Communism. Everyone had refilled their drinks.
"What a terrible thing to spend time arguing about at a party." Betty said.
"Most of them won't remember their stupidity tomorrow." Annabelle replied. "College kids are like that."
"When I was at Bryn Mawr we avoided politics."
"You'll have to excuse me." Don said. "Men's room?"
"Oh, it's back in that first hallway on the right when you go inside. Pick one of the doors. There's bound to be a bathroom somewhere." Kip said.
Don ran his hand down his wife's back slowly and then pulled away. He walked across the living room and up the few stairs to the main landing. He moved down the hallway, stopping at a couple, deeply engaged in each other's mouths, and not watching carefully where they were moving. Don brushed past them and went into one of the bathrooms. He closed the door.
Once inside, he steadied himself with a splash of water in his face. The dope was taking a more significant hit on him. Mixed with his Old Fashioned, he was having trouble concentrating. After relieving himself, he wandered back to the jade-coloured sink and washed up. He loosened his tie with his index finger.
There was a knock at the door. It was not coming from the front door, which came from the hallway, but from the adjoining door which led into one of the bedrooms.
"It's occupied." Don said, facing the mirror.
"I know." A familiar feminine voice replied. Don froze, grabbing a hand towel and dabbing at his face to clean off the remaining water. He walked over to the side door, opening it. Annabelle stood in the doorway. She had let her hair out of it's done-up position.
"I need to use the washroom too."
Don stood motionless for a long moment. He held her gaze. He was about to speak when Annabelle began unwrapping the towel from her waist, revealing a purple bottom piece to her bikini.
"Are you going to let me in?" She asked.
Don hesitated again. He leaned back from the doorway. Annabelle pushed herself against Don, moving him further into the bathroom. She turned and closed the door behind herself.
"You haven't done this before, have you?" She asked, smiling.
Don moved swiftly. He began kissing her neck, running his hands down her back to the string of her bikini. He pulled it until it came undone.
"Oh, you have done this before." She moaned quietly. She reached down to Don's belt, undid the clasp, and then unsnapped the button on his pants.
Don proceeded down to her bottoms and quickly undid them as well. The bikini fell to the floor. He began kissing her intensely as she pressed herself onto him. Soon his pants and underwear were removed.
"I knew you wanted me… too." She managed through deep breaths. Don picked Annabelle up and pushed her into the wall.
"I'll be fast." She managed. "I haven't been able to shake this thought all evening."
On the other side of the house, Betty sat alone with Kip in the sunken living room. Euphoria had taken over her mind, and everything seemed to be much more intense. She thought of nothing but the immediate; the beautiful art all over the walls. The bright colours of everything; from the carpet, to one of the college boys red shirts. She giggled sometimes for no reason in conversation.
"And just why aren't you laughing like me?" She smiled at Kip.
"Because." He smiled back. "Once you get used to it, you learn how to control it. You learn how to do other things under it's influence. Cannabis is one of the most beautiful and helpful things for me. I chose not to remain under it's lull. You can spend hours high, sitting and doing nothing. I prefer to do many other things."
"What sort of things?" She asked.
"Read, write, sing, play music, paint, garden, sex, masturbate, amongst other things."
"My goodness." Betty said, her cheeks reddening entirely. "That is... A lot."
"Come with me to the Study." Kip said quickly, rising from the sofa. He extended his hand to reach Bettys. She looked up at him, hesitating, but took his hand.
"We shouldn't be gone for long though." She said, following him down the corridor. "I don't want Don to get lost. What about Annabelle?"
"Anna knows her way around, and he'll be fine!" Kip said. "He'll find us eventually."
Betty followed at close proximity. A few people passed by them in the halls, emerging from the bedrooms along the hallway, and heading towards other rooms or back towards the living room. She spotted Don in none of them.
Once they reached the study, they came upon two couples of men and women. They appeared to be completely detached from reality, staring into the abyss of nothing. They made odd cooing sounds and spoke gibberish on occasion.
"What's wrong with them?" Betty said quietly, observing.
"Acid. They're in the middle of, what I presume to be, a fairly good trip."
"How do you know?"
"I know what happens when a trip goes bad." Kip said.
"What does it feel like?" Betty asked, walking into the room further. She looked at the four people closer. They sat on pillows all across from each other. One was laid back on the ground.
"It's hard to describe with words. Everything moves, almost as if the world itself has a pulse." Kip walked past the group to a large bay window on the far side of the long Study. "You feel euphoric now, but in those kinds of states, you aren't even here. Mary Jane amplifies everything around you. Alice takes you to Neverland. A place you've never been and you'll never be again."
"You make it sound magical."
"It is, in a way. The closest to Nirvana we'll probably ever get." Kip leaned against the bay sill. "This was one of the reasons I kept coming."
"The drugs?"
"No." he laughed. "The view out this window."
Betty approached cautiously, walking around the tripping hazards on the floor. She stood beside Kip, and looked out the window. The view was unobstructed and complete. It encased the perfect collection of trees on the edge of the cliffside, and one could clearly see the beautiful roll of the bluff as it led down a steep embankment to Redondo Beach below. It somehow had the ability, even by moonlight, to convey the grandeur of the scene.
"By daylight, this is the best place in the world." Kip said, looking down to Betty. She held his gaze. He looked deep into her eyes, reaching out his arm and placing it around hers at her side. She didn't protest immediately. He moved closer to her, facing her with his chest. Leaning down with his hand upon her cheek, Kip kissed her.
Betty opened her mouth and welcomed the kiss. She closed her eyes, and allowed him to control the moment. He placed his arm around her back, and she put her arm around his. They spent a long time, uninterrupted, standing in front of the darkened window. Kip slowly moved his hands over her body, massaging certain areas for effect. She loosened herself to him. He ran his hand underneath her dress, and down under her pantyhose.
With her right hand suddenly, she grabbed Kips, stopping his movements.
"You don't want this?" He questioned.
She did nothing.
"I'll go easy." he said quietly.
"I've made this mistake before." She said. "When I was upset… with Don."
"I see." Kip slowly moved back and away from Betty. He let her arm slip out of his, and his hand fell from her cheek.
"I'm sorry." Betty said.
"I'm the one who's sorry." Kip said. "I made an assumption. People here are generally... unencumbered."
"Some inhibitions never leave."
"That's a good thing. It means you're not easily thrown off course." Kip said.
Betty grinned.
"Thank you."
"Let's go find Don. I'm sure Annabelle is around here somewhere." He said.
Kip grabbed Betty's hand, leading her around the couples on the floor, and out of the Study and into the Living Room.
Don peeled himself off of Annabelle in a quick motion. Her legs were weak, and she held onto the counter and towel rack to steady herself.
"Wow." She mumbled, sweat trickling down her chest and face.
Don smirked, reaching for a towel and rubbing himself down.
"You're… exactly what I imagined." Annabelle smiled. "Your wife is a lucky woman."
"Years of practice." Don said, reaching for his underwear and trousers. Annabelle grabbed a shirt from the pile above the towel rack, and put back on the bikini bottoms with her towel wrapped around her waist. Don buttoned his shirt to the collar, tightening the tie once again. He slicked his hair with some oil he found on the counter.
"I'll see you out there." he said, looking at himself in the mirror. Annabelle laughed coyly, leaving quietly through the door in which she entered.
Walking down the hall, she made her way towards the Living Room, spotting Kip and Betty talking with Admiral, who had come inside, and a few others in a small circle. The lounge jazz was now playing inside.
"I love large parties." Admiral said loudly. "Small parties, there's never any privacy."
Annabelle placed her hand over Kip's shoulder. He turned to face her, leaning in and kissing her gently. She kissed back.
"Thank you for taking care of my husband." Anna said to Betty.
Betty blushed, her eyes widening.
"I should thank him for showing me around. The view from the Study is beautiful."
"He took you to the Study, did he?" She looked at Kip. "You must be something special. He barely takes me to the Study."
"The Miller's are in there." Kip said.
"And they will probably be in there for days." Anna replied.
Over Kip's shoulder, Don appeared.
"There you are!" Betty changed tune quickly. "We were wondering where you went."
"I got lost." He said. "I walked into something I wasn't meant to see."
He looked at Annabelle. She grinned.
"TI hope you found what you came for." Kip said to Don directly.
They held eyes for a moment, Kip being the first to break into a slight smile. Don's smile disappeared.
He sat down beside Betty, wrapping his arm around her waist. She leaned into his embrace, her head tilting onto his shoulder. She interlaced her fingers in his, feeling the warmth of his skin in hers. Everything else faded away slowly. Admiral laughed somewhere behind her; Kip held Annabelle at his side. Everything between them was quiet for a while.
The Fairmont San Jose
170 South Market Street, San Jose, California
June 12, 1964 - 11:55PM
Stan Rizzo and Joey Baird were stumbling around in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel. They were both wearing leather jackets and dark sunglasses they had bought at a stand on the boardwalk outside the Coyote Creek Bar. A joint hung out of Stan's mouth and he smoked it gingerly, passing it to Joey. They laughed loudly, falling onto the couches.
The front desk clerk approached them.
"Excuse me sirs, you cannot be here. Please either make your way to the bar, or proceed to your rooms."
"Fine. Ya party pooper. Won't you join us?" Stan slurred drunkenly. Joey reached over, ridiculously far, trying to pass the joint to the clerk. The clerk turned his nose up immediately and shuffled off towards the front desk.
"Hey be careful when you sit down." Joey said. "Wouldn't wanna shove that stick further up your ass."
Stan and Joey burst out laughing. The clerk rolled his eyes.
"Peggs sure ran in quick." Stan said.
"She probably got too hot and bothered staring at me all night." Joey said.
"Sure, just like that chick dancing, right?"
"Hey. It was her face up close that threw me off my game. It was all fine under the dim lights until I looked closer."
"Yeah that's what it was."
Joey got up from the lobby couch and began throwing lob punches at Stan's arms.
"Ow!" he shouted. "Okay, Sonny, calm it down."
Joey reached out his hand and grabbed Stan's, pulling him up from the couch itself. They both sauntered towards the elevator, pressing their floor. As the doors closed. Stan pressed the first floor button.
"What are you doing?" Joey asked.
"Wanna go check on Peggs." He said.
"You dog." Joey smiled. "Go get the bitch."
They both laughed again. The elevator proceeded up to the next floor, opening, and allowing Stan out. He stepped out into the hallway turning and waving to Joey, who began making obscene gestures while hip thrusting the air around him.
Stan waltzed while humming a tune up to Room 104, knocking on the large white door with multiple raps. There was no answer.
"Room Service!" Stan said in an extremely high pitched voice. He stepped back, waiting for the door to open. The lock spun in the striker and the door flung back.
"Bring it in." A male voice replied.
Stan snapped out of his act. His face contorted in confusion. The door continued to open and an elderly, shirtless, gentleman stood in the jamb.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Stan smiled, beginning to laugh. "I've got the wrong room."
"No worries." The man said. "Have a good night."
Another voice chimed from the background in the room. It was a woman's voice.
"Is the food here, Duck?"
Stan had turned and began walking away when he stopped dead in his tracks.
"No dear, wrong room." The man replied to the voice.
Stan turned back. Walking up to the man in the doorway once again.
"Can I help you?" the man said.
Stan pushed the door all the way open.
"What the hell?" the man continued.
There, lying on the bed, nude, was Peggy Olson. She turned her head in one movement to see Stan, standing in the doorway beside a half naked Duck Phillips.
Peggy grabbed the duvet, and threw it over most of herself, exposing only her face. Her face flushed red instantly. Her eyes nearly fell from their sockets. Her hands began trembling.
"Oh god, no. Peggy." Stan said. His face was crestfallen.
"Stan." She said, quietly. "I… I…"
Then something changed. His face went from embittered sadness to a smile. And then from a smile to a grin. And slowly he began to chuckle. And then his chuckling turned to laughter. And then his laughter turned to howling. Soon, his face was red and he was unable to breath from his laughter.
"Peggy, who the hell is this guy?" Duck demanded.
"You…" Stan managed between breaths. "You… you're with this guy?"
Stan pointed.
"Oh god, Peggs. Jesus. I mean, I know you want a mature man. But please, Father Time is a little much."
"Excuse me?" Duck said to Stan, turning to him.
"You're excused."
"Stan!" Peggy shouted angrily.
"No offense buddy." Stan said. "She's like half your age."
"And I wonder what that says about me then, hey?" Duck said, defiantly. "And what does it say about you, then?"
"Oh god."
Stan fell back against the corridor wall, bursting out once again in a tirade of laughter.
"This is the worst thing ever. Oh god, I can't wait to tell Joey. And Kaye."
"Stan, no!" Peggy shouted from the room.
"Bye bye, Peggy!" Stan shouted back. "Goodnight, Duck was it? Have a good one."
With those words, Stan Rizzo stumbled between laughter and tears down the hall, making his way towards the elevator.
