SAL: No, Dammit, I will not be one of three Art Directors!

DON: Sal, it’s fine. The point is to grow. 

SAL: That’s easy for you to say. You’re not going to get lost in the herd. We’ll come out at the end of this and you’ll still be the only Don Draper. 

DON: I know how you feel. But Ted and I are taking on equal responsibilities. 

SAL: Don’t pretend you aren’t what you are. Even Ted Chaough knows he’s not a threat to you. 

DON: Aren’t you the one who told me you’re glad you had someone to work with at your level? 

SAL: Oh, you mean Dr. Zaius? 

DON: What do you have against Stan? 

SAL: Nothing. Stan’s great. Oftentimes, I even envy him. But, Don…threesomes run the risk of leaving an odd man out. At my age…and the industry the way it is…I’d be it. 

DON: I guarantee that wouldn’t be the case. 

SAL: You can’t do that. You couldn’t do that eight years ago…you couldn’t even do that when you were in charge. Or when Lee Garner Jr. got loaded and gave Harry Crane a ring. 

DON: That isn’t fair. 

SAL: Don’t you dare tell me…about fair. 

Sal sits with a cup of coffee and a paper at a simple yet upscale diner. The only other open seat is next to him. A white man in his late twenties sits down next to him. The attending black waitress pours him a cup of coffee. 

MICK: Thanks, sweetheart. Hey, listen, I wanna offer my condolences. It was a great man your people lost.

She develops a look of consternation, but fights to be friendly. 

WAITRESS: …Thank you. 

She finishes pouring the cup and walks away. 

MICK: Crazy day, huh, pal? 

SAL: I’ll sip to that. 

MICK: He was doin’ a lot o’ god, too. 

SAL: Indeed. 

MICK: I fought in Vietnam. Lotta young men, black, white, red, yellow, all of ‘em layin’ it on the line, puttin’ their country and their families ahead of themselves. 

SAL: You have any friends that didn’t make it? 

MICK: Damn right I did. 

SAL: I’m sorry to hear that. Truly. I’m Sal. 

MICK: Mick. 

A particularly effeminate, well-dressed young man makes his way past the counter. Mick and Sal take notice. Mick chuckles as the man passes. 

MICK: Goddamn Queers. Just about lost my appetite, huh? 

Mick laughs. Sal forces a grin. 

MICK: Gotta hit the can. Be right back. 

Mick stands up and saunters to the bathroom. Sal finishes the last of his coffee, puts a few dollars on the counter, extinguishes his cigarette in Mick’s fresh cup of coffee, and exits the diner. 

Don and Sal sit in Don’s office. 

SAL: Well, don’t everybody shout at once. 

DON: Sorry. Sal, there’s no easy way to say this…

Sal takes a drink and gulps. 

SAL: Don, you’ve fired me before. I think I can handle it again. 

DON: It’s not that. God, no. 

SAL: Then what is it? 

DON: We have an opportunity. A big one. And it will require some cloak and dagger for the time being. Which means minimal staff. 

SAL: And secrecy. You know that won’t be a problem with me. 

Don grins. 

DON: No. Sal, you’re invaluable. You know that. But we’re going with Stan on this one. 

SAL:…Oh. Stan’s good. 

DON: He’s just closer to the account. I wish I could say more. 

SAL: I understand. So, if you don’t mind my asking…why bring it up at all? 

DON: I feel like I owe you that much. 

SAL: You’re burdened with my dark secret…so you wanted to burden me with yours. 

Sal smiles. 

The conference room has just cleared. Everyone, including the men from Jaguar, seem displeased by what has occurred within. Pete storms past Sal. 

PETE: Where’s Draper? 

SAL: Take a breath. 

PETE: Out of my way, Sal. 

SAL: Nerves are raw right now, there’s no need to-

PETE: To what, Sal? No need to get riled up? Over JAGUAR? The biggest account my name has ever been on? Don Draper-

SAL: Don Draper is the only reason any of us are here right now with a desk and a paycheck. You of all people should understand that.

PETE: AND WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN? 

SAL: Come on Pete, it isn’t some big secret how many times that man’s axe has been pointed at your neck. But he never brings it down. Do you know why? 

Pete says nothing. 

SAL: Because he’s not afraid of you. 

Pete turns away, and marches to Don’s office. 

Which means tomorrow, you’ll get to find out what Sal is up to! 

Harry, Sal, and Ken sit in the empty break room, smoking. 

SAL: I bet it was a woman. 

HARRY: No.

KEN: You really think…

SAL: Look, the last thing I want to do is tarnish the man’s name…any further than hanging himself already can…

HARRY: But…?

SAL: Men like Don and Roger, and the rest of us, for that matter, can’t behave with our wives a train ride away. Can you imagine if they were in another country half the year?

KEN: And you think, what, Rebecca found out?

SAL: I’m sorry I brought it up. Anyone who gives Pete Campbell a black eye deserves better than our posthumous criticism.

The Kid and Joan enter the bathroom.

JOAN: You keep liquor in the bathroom?

KID: Sure, why not?

The Kid closes the door. He plants a clumsy kiss on Joan’s mouth. He grabs her chest.

JOAN: Not so fast.

KID: Shut up.

Joan slaps his face.

JOAN: Don’t ever say tha-

The Kid drunkenly hits her in her face. He grabs her hair and bangs her head on the wall. Her forehead bleeds. He unzips his pants and tries to force her head down. Joan resists and claws at his face, drawing blood.

Outside, Sal approaches the bathroom, eager to use it. He goes to knock, but stops when he hears what sounds to be a struggle, and a woman saying “Stop!”. He opens the door, and witnesses the disturbing scene before him. 

SAL: Morton, what the hell?

Sal pulls Joan away. He shoves the Kid into the wall.

KID: Mind your own business, you old queer!

Sal’s jaw drops. He grabs a bottle of cologne from the sink and smashes it over the Kid’s head.

JOAN: Oh, my God!

SAL: You’re a piece of garbage, Morton. And you throw one tacky party.

Sal looks over at Joan.

SAL: Shall we?

They leave. The disturbance in the bathroom has gone unnoticed, as the gathered masses have been singing “Auld Lang Syne” and throwing confetti beneath a banner reading “1959”.

SAL: And it’s meant the world to me that-

JOAN: (Through tears) Shhhhhhh….

Dissolve into the past. Joan stands by herself in a living room full of people. Music plays on a large turntable next to her. She is younger, more wide-eyed, and grinning from ear to ear, to no one in particular. A young man with drink in hand stumbles up to her.

KID: Hey, gorgeous.

JOAN: Hello.

KID: I’m Morty.

JOAN: Joan.

KID: Joanie, this is my place. And you look like a girl with reeeeal taste.

JOAN: (Giggling) I suppose so. What do you mean?

KID: I’ve got a bottle of something that’ll knock your socks off. Guaranteed.

JOAN: I’ll have a drink.

KID:  Follow me.

Joan looks around, and with a shrug that reads “What else am I going to do?”, she smiles and follows him through the mass of chatting, drinking, folks, right past Sal Romano, who sips a glass of champagne and eyes the two.

TO BE CONTINUED

Joan stands by herself in an empty office, staring out the window, clutching a tumbler of brandy. Her hand subtly shakes. The door opens and she jolts around with a start. It’s Sal.

SAL: (Surprised) Joanie.

JOAN: I’m sorry, Mr. Romano. I’ll leave.

SAL: Don’t give it a thought. (Grinning) Pour me one and I won’t report you.

Joan chuckles and pours one for Sal, who shuts the door and walks over to her. She hands him the glass.

SAL: I know I already congratulated you…but I just thought it would be inappropriate if I didn’t also say just how…

Sal chokes on his words, clears his throat, and regathers himself.

JOAN: Sal?

SAL: We’re all so…so god. damn. proud of you, Joanie.

Joan’s eyes water and her lip begins to quiver.

SAL: And it’s meant the world to me that-

JOAN: (Through tears) Shhhhhhh….

TO BE CONTINUED…

Harry and Sal walk down the street.

SAL: I just don’t understand what’s so important that I had to cancel my-

HARRY: You’ll know very shortly.

Harry wrangles Sal through the doors of a diner.

SAL: Okay, Agatha Christie, enough with the-

Paul, in full Krishna garb, steps off his stool and smiles at Sal.

PAUL: Hare Krishna, Salvatore.

Sal’s eyes grow as wide as dinner plates. He takes a moment to breathe.

SAL: Please, God, tell me it’s chemotherapy.