Work Text:
Saturday, December 14, 1963
Joan is in the bathroom when the phone rings. She's standing at the sink and trying to decide if she wants to pluck her eyebrows or leave them for later. She's also thinking about what to make for lunch. There's some leftover pasta salad in a container in the refrigerator, but she could also use up the tuna in the pantry. Then the phone rings and it's Roger.
"Remember when you said you wanted me to put in a word for you, if I heard anything?" His voice is tinny on the phone line.
"Roger," Joan winds the phone cord around her index finger and smiles in the direction of Manhattan. "And here I thought you had forgotten about me."
"You? Joanie, I'm wounded."
"Roger," Joan frowns and looks at the clock on the wall.
"Yes?"
"You're calling me."
"Yes?"
"On a Saturday morning."
"Yes?"
Joan taps a fingernail against the receiver. "What's going on?"
"Well," Roger drawls. "Let me tell you a story about a rag tag bunch of ad men, who decided to go on an adventure."
He manages to keep the story under five minutes. Roger usually knows when brevity is the best option, but sometimes he just can't help himself.
--
Harry's phone rings at 8:30 on Saturday morning. He's in his pajamas, sitting at the kitchen table. Jennifer is frying eggs on the stove. Harry has a mouthful of toast and his hand is reaching for the pot of coffee on the table when the phone rings. This is why Jennifer is the one who answers the phone.
"Oh." She shoots Harry a look from her spot between the phone cord and the stovetop. "Good morning to you too, Mr. Sterling."
Harry stands, trying to simultaneously push his chair out of the way and swallow the mouthful of food. Jennifer keeps talking.
"Is everything--" There's a pause. "Yes," she shoots Harry another look, eyebrows slightly raised. "Yes, he's here."
There's a red napkin still clinging to Harry's thigh. He tugs it away and walks towards her, reaching for the receiver. "Roger?"
"Harry!" Roger sounds distracted. "Can't talk. Just need you to come in as soon as you can."
"Come in? To the office?" Harry looks over towards the stove. Jennifer mouths, 'It's Saturday' at him. "But I thought--"
Roger coughs, cutting him off. "Need to go, Harry. See you in a bit, yes?"
"I... Yes?"
"Good man." Then there's a prolonged clatter as Roger hangs up the phone.
Jennifer slides his eggs onto a green plate and hands it to him. "I thought you said the office was closed this weekend?"
Harry looks down at the eggs, both sunny-side-up. "Can I eat these? Do I have time to eat these?"
Jennifer points towards the table and his fork. "If those people want you to drop everything and come in to work on a Saturday morning, they can wait ten minutes for you to eat some eggs."
--
Pete's alarm goes off at 8:00 am. He's already awake though, watching the numbers flip from seven, five, nine over to eight, zero, zero. After hitting the button on the alarm, he looks over at Trudy, watching him from her side of the bed.
"Go get ready." She says. "You're going to be busy today."
He looks towards the closet door. "What does someone wear when sneaking into their own office to liberate their own paper work?"
Trudy keeps smiling at him. "Something you'd wear any other day at the office, I suspect."
Fifteen minutes later Pete's standing in front of the bathroom mirror, smoothing shaving cream onto his face. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. "North American Aviation, Secor, Jai aLai, Samsonite, Clearasil." When he finishes listing them to himself he nods and reaches for his razor.
Breakfast is quiet. Trudy watches him from the other side of the table, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. Pete chews on a bit of sausage and looks down at the front page of the paper. He doesn't know what the headline actually says. When he's done eating he swallows and pushes the plate away from him. He looks over at Trudy.
"Well then, I guess I'm off." His palms are flat against the tabletop.
Trudy stands up. "I'll get your coat for you."
Walking down the hallway of the apartment building towards the front exit, Pete thinks, 'Sterling, Cooper, Draper, Price, Campbell.'
--
Sunday, December 15, 1963
Joan heads over to the Pierre Hotel around 10:00 am. Despite taking three aspirin, she's had a headache all morning. She's ignoring it. Instead, she picks up two room keys and lets the desk staff know they'll need two more by the afternoon. Then, she heads upstairs to the hotel room.
Joan makes a list:
Typewriters
Ask about phone line
Remove bed?
Television = Harry
File cabinets
Don: Apartment
Desk
The front desk calls the room at noon to tell her the movers have arrived with two filing cabinets and a stack of boxes. Joan meets them in the hallway and directs the filing cabinets into the corners of the bedroom. The brown file boxes are just stacked haphazardly wherever they can fit. After the movers leave, Joan takes out a wax paper wrapped sandwich from her purse. She sits on the sofa and unwraps the sandwich, looking around the room. She pulls out her pencil.
No clients at the Pierre
Remove sofa
Two phone lines
When Joan's finished with the sandwich, she calls Roger.
"Joanie!" He says when he picks up the phone. "Have you found us a home yet?"
"Of course I have." Joan looks over at the four room keys on the table in front of her. "We're in Room 435 at the Pierre. I have keys for you, Don, Burt, and Lane. Can I ask you to spread the word?"
"I knew we should have never let you leave us," Roger replies. "Now that we've got you back, can I insist that you stick around for a while?"
Joan looks down at her to-do list and then at the grocery list on the page underneath it. "I don't know, Roger. I need to consult with Greg about this."
"Joanie," Roger tuts at her, "you can't leave us like this. Tell Greg we just wouldn't take no for an answer."
"Well," Joan pauses and writes set up coffee service for 8 am. "I'm sure something can be worked out. At least temporarily."
"That's my girl."
--
Harry sleeps terribly Saturday night. After lying awake and in the dark for over an hour he finally gets up, grabs his pillow and a spare blanket from the linen closet, and arranges himself on the living room sofa. He doesn't want to keep Jennifer awake. Instead, he wakes up early Sunday morning with his feet hanging off the side of the sofa and what feels like a cramping muscle under his shoulder blades.
Jennifer shuffles out in a quilted blue housecoat and matching slippers. She sighs at him and heads towards the kitchen. From the noises, he assumes she's making coffee. He folds the blanket and rotates his right arm back and forth, trying to stretch out the knot in his shoulder. When the coffee is ready, Jennifer comes back into the living room with a cup for him. Harry looks up at her from the sofa.
"I should have called you. Cooper wouldn't--"
"Harry." Jennifer just shakes her head at him and passes him the coffee. Then she sighs. "I trust you."
Harry nods, then pats the space next to him on the sofa. Jennifer sits down. "Pete Campbell was in the elevator with me on the way up to the office. He said he was nervous."
"Mmm." Jennifer hums and reaches for Harry's coffee. She takes a sip. "They'll need you, it was smart for them to call you.
Harry holds his hand out and she passes the coffee back. "Well, it was this or a broom closet. Being locked in a closet all weekend would certainly have been boring."
--
Monday, December 16, 1963
Lane wakes up in a dark bedroom. The shades are pulled tight and only a thin line of light sneaks out from between the edge of the shade and the molding on the window. He can hear Rebecca breathing next to him in the bed and he slides the sheets off his legs carefully, trying not to wake her.
It's early, just twenty minutes after six. He picks up the copy of Time Magazine Rebecca's left out for him in the living room and carries it into the kitchen to read. Then the pot on the stove starts to boil and he forgets about it in favor of making tea.
Later, he's dressing to head into work and trying to decide what to tell the office staff when he sees them. He decides that timing his departure so he arrives at least thirty minutes later than usual is probably a safer strategy than sitting around and waiting for the phone call from England.
Rebecca stirs as he walks across the bedroom. "You got up early," she says, sliding out of bed and walking over to the window.
"Lots to get done today," Lane says back, fumbling through a drawer to pick out a pair of black socks.
"Who knew getting fired was such a strenuous task." Rebecca pulls sharply at the window shade, then jumps when it snaps out of her hand and flies up around the roller at the top of the window frame.
"This shouldn't..." Lane sighs. "This is a big step we are taking, Rebecca, but I still think it is the right one."
She looks back at him. "This is a step that you are taking. Apparently I am along for the ride."
Lane frowns and sits down on the edge of the bed to pull on the socks and then his shoes. Rebecca walks out of the room and heads down the hall towards the bathroom. Lane looks at the clock again. It's seven forty in the morning and he still has roughly an hour before he needs to head into the office.
--
Trudy watches Pete from across the table. "So? Are you excited?" She asks him around a piece of toast.
"Well," Pete frowns at her a little. "I'm not sure if I'd describe my mood as excited. We have a lot of work to do yet."
"I want to do something." Trudy sets down the toast. "I want them to know that you are fully committing to this project. I think I'll get a little something ready for you fellows for lunch."
"I think they know I'm committed, why wouldn't they?" Pete shakes out the newspaper sharply, folding back a page. "I'm trusting them with your father's account. With family. That's a commitment."
"Yes, exactly. And soon you'll be up for a partnership too," Trudy says. She reaches her hand out across the table to touch the tips of Pete's fingers. "I want to do what I can to help."
"Well," Pete swallows, looking down at their hands. "Don't go to too much trouble."
"Nonsense! It's your first day in your new company." Trudy shakes her head and pushes her chair back from the table. "This is worth some trouble. Just… Act surprised when I come by today. We'll make it a surprise."
"A surprise?"
"Well," she stands up and walks over to kiss him on the cheek. "We don't want them to know we're trying too hard, right?"
--
At 7:40 Monday evening, Joan and Peggy are the only ones left in the hotel room. Roger and Don went off at six for dinner with someone from Johnson's-- rumor has it they've got a floor wax to sell. Burt stuck around until after lunch, then declared the need to wear shoes in the hotel room too uncomfortable and left to make his calls from home. At 6:30, Lane offered to stay and help, but Joan waved him off.
"Go home to that lovely wife of yours," she says, shuffling a pile of scattered negatives into an envelope. "We can handle things here."
Peggy and Joan spend the next hour or so sorting through the last of the job bags and tagging logo files. Joan tries to ignore the minute hand on the clock creeping further towards the left. She doesn't think Greg will try to call her tonight. Probably.
"I'm hungry," Peggy looks Joan and then at the box on the sofa, the one that held Trudy's lunch. "Is there any food left in there?"
"No," Joan sighs. "I think Roger ate the last two sandwiches and Pete definitely finished off the cake." Joan looks around the room. Things look a bit more in order than they were, at least in two out of four corners of the room. "Lets go downstairs and get food. We can charge it to the room."
Peggy smiles at her. "I wouldn't say no to a drink."
They head down and sit in a green leather covered booth near the bar. Joan lights up a cigarette and then passes the matches over to Peggy so she can light her own.
"Lots of late nights coming," Joan says, then pauses to quickly inhale and exhale. "Greg is going to kill me."
"You going to stick with us for a bit?" Peggy asks, taking a drag from her cigarette.
"We'll see," Joan shrugs. "Greg and I haven't gotten to talk much about it yet." Joan puts down her cigarette to take a sip from her drink. Then she swirls the ice around in the glass. "He joined the army. He's away in training half the time anyway."
"That's difficult." Peggy looks back at her solemnly.
Joan thinks Peggy's trying to look sympathetic, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Greg thinks it's important to do something meaningful with his skills." Joan shrugs and takes a drink from her glass. "It just makes the apartment quiet at night. I think he'll encourage me, once we talk it over a bit more. Besides, we're just getting started, he needs time to build his career. Every little bit helps."
Peggy nods. "Well, my mother thinks I'm crazy." She exhales smoke and taps her cigarette against the ashtray on the table. "She thinks," Peggy makes a face, parroting her mother, "we're making a foolish gamble."
"Your mother wants you to be happy."
"My mother wants a son-in-law."
"That too."
After the plates are cleared away and they bill the check to the room, Joan looks over at Peggy. "It is a gamble, but I don't think it's a foolish one."
Peggy sighs into her glass. "Everyone is going to say I had to follow Don. They'll say I know I can't stand on my own."
"Most people are idiots. Don--" Joan pauses to stab her cigarette into the ashtray. "Don is not an idiot."
"We may not have jobs in six months," Peggy says.
"We will."
"And it's almost Christmas," Peggy says. "I was going to get a Christmas bonus."
"You watch," Joan says. "In six months, I bet we'll even have new office space. With brand new furniture. Maybe I'll stick around and run the administrative staff."
Peggy reaches for her purse. "Sterling Cooper Draper Price does have a nice ring to it, when you say it on the phone. Do you think these new offices will have a decent view?"
"Just you wait," Joan grins and moves to slide out from the booth. "We may even have two floors."
--
Tuesday, December 17, 1963
Peggy's alarm goes off at 6:20 in the morning but it doesn't matter because Karen's goes off at 6:00 and Peggy always hears it through the wall. She can hear Karen in the bathroom, so Peggy just turns off her alarm and stays lying in bed, waiting until she hears the door open again.
"Peggy?" Karen shouts from down the hall.
"Yes, I'm up!" She slides out of bed, scratching lightly at the back of her head and looking for her robe. She heads into the bathroom to wash her face and neck.
A little while later, Peggy's tugging a cardigan on and heading out of her room when the phone rings. "Peggy! Where are you? We need you in here." Don's voice comes at her over the line.
"Don?" She asks, blinking towards the clock on the wall. "You're starting early?"
"Expect a late night tonight," he continues, ignoring her question. "What do you know about floor wax?"
"Floor wax?"
"Makes your kitchen floor shiny?"
Peggy looks in the direction of the kitchen floor, then sighs. She was probably supposed to clean the apartment this past weekend. She thinks it was her turn. "Okay, I'm getting ready. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Don't stop for coffee, we've got some delivered." Don says and then hangs up on her.
Peggy blinks at the receiver for a moment, then puts it back into its cradle. She's standing there in her stockings and she looks down at her toes. "Shoes," she mutters to herself. "Shoes and cereal."
Ten minutes later she's pulling on her coat and telling Karen not to expect her home early.
"You can't keep working hours like this," Karen frowns. "It's not healthy."
Peggy smiles a goodbye at her and then heads out towards the street. She counts out bus fare as she walks down the hallway, then tucks it into her right coat pocket.
'Floorwax,' she thinks to herself. 'I wonder if they'll send over samples.'