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Pete finally lands the whale of a client he's been looking for in the form of his delusional old college pal Horace "Ho-Ho" Cook. The guy has a dream to make jai alai the national pastime, with the help of the Sterling Cooper marketing team. He wants to take one of the sport's rising stars and give him an adventure show that will air on all three networks (in color!) and do print campaigns as well. Don sees that the guys are just happy to milk this fatted calf and his multi-million dollar bankroll, and tries to put a stop to the unseemly and mildly unethical behavior. But even Bert Cooper and Horace Sr. are on board with the waste of money in order to teach Ho-Ho a lesson and give him a reality check.
The team has hit a brick wall with their other big client, Patio. Their commercial director quit, so Sal steps up to the plate. He's delighted, so much so that he does the entire opening number of Bye-Bye Birdie, with dance moves, for his increasingly confused and highly adorable wife. But even after Sal's commercial delivers a lovingly and carefully crafted shot-by-shot recreation of the famed scene, the Patio people don't like it, because they belatedly realize that not every redhead is Ann-Margret.
Peggy has had it with her apartment and her two-hour-a-day commute and decides to move to the city, and while her sister Anita is surprisingly supportive of this decision (if a smidge jealous), Peggy's mom is none too pleased. She tells Peggy in short that she'll be raped if she goes to the city, but she's quieted by the sounds of her new TV. Peggy runs into a smidge of trouble in getting a roommate, when she gets pranked by the ad guys after she places a prim and proper ad on the bulletin board. Thankfully, Joan's around to provide sage advice on how to get a fun, swinging single to move in with her. And that's about all the Joan we get, aside from her killing the insects that escaped from the ant farm after a jai alai incident.
Meanwhile, a very pregnant Betty is having trouble coping with her father and her life in general. Given the fact that Gene's been letting a delighted Sally drive a car and eat ice cream during the day, letting Bobby wear the helmet of a dead German soldier while regaling him with tales of women and "the clap," lecturing Betty about the dangers of smoking (so forward thinking!), telling stories about how Betty used to be fat and generally complaining about her choice in husband, her dismay is understandable. However, Betty's still shocked when Gene collapses and dies at the supermarket. Thankfully, he left very detailed funeral arrangements. Sally's the most obviously distraught, though Betty seems to be suffering a silent pain after losing both of her parents. Still, Sally rips into her parents and aunt and uncle and then is forced to seek comfort in TV.
Want more? The full recap starts right below! Gene leaves the house with both kids dressed in their school clothes. Cut to Bobby in the back seat of the car, looking bored as he listens to Gene drone on about roofing or something. Bobby's apparently difficult to excite, because when we pan forward we see that Sally's driving the car. Of course, this might not be the first time this has happened, especially since Sally seems to be driving both competently and at the speed limit, which is a combination I wish more people in LA would master. Gene instructs her really to pay attention, and given that that's what he's doing to her, she basks in the glow......before we cut to Peggy's mother Katherine complaining that she just watched fifteen minutes of news and heard "nothing about the Holy Father." Peggy: "He's still dead, Ma." She's still in a very good place, at least with respect to being hilarious. After her mother complains about her TV not working, Anita emerges from mopping and other household chores, and Peggy bitches to her about her belief that her super has been sneaking into her apartment in order to pay her inappropriate, if tame, attention. Anita, who appears to have let go of any Peggy-related jealousy or animosity from last season, says she would offer a room, but their mother took her only spare. Which is fine with Peggy, as it turns out, given that she drops her voice and confides in her sister that she wants to move to Manhattan. Anita thinks that's so far to go, but Peggy informs her that that's the point -- she commutes almost two hours every weekday, and it's wearing on her. Anita gets that, but points out that the rents in Manhattan are "outrageous" (let's talk in forty-five years, honey); Peggy counters that she'll get a roommate and will save a lot on subway and cab money. Anita doesn't need any further convincing to get an upgrade on her vicarious living through her sister, and with a mixture of apprehension and awe, asks if Peggy's going to be one of "those girls." Peggy, with an answering smile: "I am one of those girls." Well, not quite, but last week helped. As will your upcoming talk with Joan, not that that's a surprise.
In the SC conference room, Pete tells a man of his approximate age this: "I observed your wishes for secrecy, but now is the time." Considering the man in question was once Pyro from X2: X-Men United but has since lost a battle with a proto-self-tanner, the consequence of which seems to be that he's been forced to sport a horrendous ascot and go by the name of "Ho-Ho" for the rest of his life, if he wanted to keep his appearance a secret, I can understand why. Anyway, Bronzo gives his audience (Sal, Paul, Harry, and Pryce) many suitably dramatic pauses on his way to telling them that he wants them to advertise jai alai, which in seven years, he says, will eclipse baseball. Seeing Paul's eyebrows head straight for Jupiter, he adds, "Go ahead. You can laugh." I'm not sure I agree -- the fact that they're currently not all on the floor suggests a serious deficiency in their collective ability. He goes on to pitch the fronton and its seating as positives before getting to some good-looking guy he says is the best jai alai player around (no idea whether he's fictional or not, and don't care.) "I'm terrified of him catching balls in the face." Proving this show's ability to resist the cheap laugh, we do not cut to Sal at this point. However, the laughs are coming regardless, as Bronzo, upon hearing that most of the advertising budget will go toward television, expresses his desire to have the hot jai alai player on TV -- not just on a sports show, and not merely on one network. "Like when the President addresses the nation? Tuesday night, eight-thirty to nine -- all three networks, the same show." But unlike when the President addresses the nation, I think it's safe to say there will be bipartisan agreement that it sucks. The best part is Pete's shit-eating grin on how much money they'll be getting just to indulge Bronzo's delusions, and when Bronzo goes on that no one's ever done the simul-network broadcast, Harry starts to point out one of the fifty-three reasons why that might be, but upon seeing Pete's Cheshire Cat impression, amends his statement to, "That's true." Heh. Paul, realizing that he's a supporting player in the motion picture Bronzo's Millions, offers the idea of a big, splashy, Desi-Arnaz-starring musical followed by a jai alai match, and all the other junior players join in as Pryce licks his lips in a very British way, that is to say figuratively. Just when it looks like they might mortgage Bronzo's ascot to up the advertising budget, however, Don enters the room. He seems politely bemused by the spectacle of Bronzo at first, but upon hearing Bronzo commit a million bucks to SC's efforts, which he says is only a third of his ad budget, Don looks like he's moving from skeptical to somewhat horrified. Pete, however, has no such reservations: "As they used to say at the freshman mixer, when you get a yes, you go home." I'm thinking Pete got used to late nights out until Trudy came along.
Outside the room, as he's leaving, Bronzo tells Don he'd love to buy him dinner and run some slogans by him. Don's saved from having to answer by Pete pointing out to Bronzo that they'll be the ones doing the buying, so all Don has to do is shake Bronzo's stupid, stupid hand. When Bronzo and the boys are gone, Don, still somewhat in disbelief, tells Pryce, "During the Depression I saw somebody throw a loaf of bread off the back of a truck. It was more dignified." That person must have been wearing an ascot too. Pryce, mildly sarcastically, wonders in response if Don will have trouble sleeping tonight. "I've seen clients far more defenseless than he." One wonders if they're hanging out with Duck at the moment. Pete then returns from walking Bronzo to the elevator and makes a gleeful remark about fatted calves, which only prompts Don to ask if he told Pryce who "this idiot's father is." You see, his dad, "Horace Sr.," is very connected to Bertram, and he's not sure either man would approve of what just happened. Pete sniffs that Bronzo is his age, and just because he was born with a lot of money doesn't mean they shouldn't make his dream come true. Don walks away in mild disgust, but when he's gone, Pryce remarks to Pete, "Nicely done, my boy." I'd detail all the ways Pete could read too much into that comment, but I would like to accomplish something else in my lifetime.
Gene, dressed in a suit, enters the kitchen with some folders in hand and tells "Elizabeth" to get off her feet for the baby's sake. Betty tells him to wait until she finishes washing the dishes, to which Gene responds that she's "cleaning up for the maid, just like your mother." Well, at least he can tell them apart now, and I'm sure Betty's pregnancy boobs thank him for it. Betty sits at the table and gets out a cigarette, but he holds out a hand: "I don't like watching you commit suicide." Rather than ask him if there are any further orders he'd like to give her in her own home, she settles for inquiring as to what he wants, so he opens the folders, in which are his post-death arrangements. Betty would rather not discuss this subject, but he plows on, telling her that funerals are a dishonest business -- people don't want to think about them, and that's how they get you. "Remember what happened with your mother?" I'm picturing wacky antics involving switched cremation urns, but Gene doesn't elaborate, instead basically saying that Betty will be his executor, given that she took him in, and he'd also like her to have her mother's expensive coats. Chinchilla or no, however, Betty continues to be over this conversation, and starts to get up, but he grabs her wrist and sighs that he shielded her, and as a result she's too sensitive. Sally would get a good chuckle out of that if she weren't already planning to cry for the rest of her life. Gene goes on that the way he raised her is probably why she "married this joker. If you'd even known what was possible!" Betty takes this all in curiously but noncommittally, but when Gene blusters that he's done and they don't have to talk about it again, she decides to speak her mind, saying she doesn't understand why they have to discuss such things when he can see so clearly how much they upset her. "It's selfish and morbid. I'm your little girl." Of course, those words seem a little ironic considering she's now standing over him while eleven months pregnant, but she plows on that she knows it must be horrible to be facing death such as he is (I'm paraphrasing). "But can't you keep it to yourself?" She stomps off, folder in hand, as Gene wonders if giving dead animals to someone so sensitive was the smartest final act he could have done in this world.
Ken, Harry, and Sal approach Don's secretary, and Ken somewhat apprehensively asks what kind of mood Don's in. The girl, just as nervously, replies, "I'm never right." Heh. Don then opens the door and asks if he needs a coat, and his tone of voice doesn't exactly suggest he's in an Ann-Margret-like mood, which makes it all the tougher on Ken to break the news that the planned director for the Patio commercial dropped out and left them high and dry. After asking what Ken would have done if the need to fire the director had arisen and getting a "Durr, hadn't thought of that" fly-catching expression in response, Don tells him to have Sal do it, as it's a single-shot endeavor for which Sal did the storyboards. "I could go on, but I don't think I should have to." And there's the Don Draper single-sentence life philosophy I've been searching for. He leaves, and Sal restrains himself from acting out the storyboards in delight. For now, at least.
After a closeup on a flyer offering free kittens, we see Peggy move it aside so she can post her own ad, one looking for a roommate. It's typewritten and asks for a woman who's "clean, responsible, considerate" and also "serious and financially secure." I'd hope Peggy knows that if she gets even three of those five it will be like winning the lottery.
At home, Don sips a drink and reads the paper as Bobby and Gene appear in the kitchen handling a box full of the latter's mementos. One of said trinkets is a Victory medal Gene was awarded in France and which he takes great care to show off to Don before commenting, "I should have another for beating the clap!" Given his proclivities, so should Don. After a great geezerly laugh, Gene pulls out the exhibit, a German spiked helmet with a hole marking the spot through which Gene apparently shot the helmet's owner dead. He goes on to muse that he killed a lot of Germans, and when Bobby tells him war is bad, he acknowledges that that might be true, "but it makes a man outta you." He puts the helmet on Bobby's head as he adds, "Ask your pop!" and Don, who's been watching much of this with an air of making up his mind exactly when to intervene, is happy enough for the cue as he tells Gene to stop it already. Bobby asks if he can't keep the helmet, and despite the fact that Don points out that there was a person in it, Gene tells him to keep it on. Don, of course, does not merely accept this challenge to his authority, and gets up, physically removes the thing from his son's head, and leaves the room. But while that last move may have added to his macho swagger, it also means he's not there to see Gene get a mischievous look on his face and remove a Japanese fan from the box with these words, "There was this girl." Of course, with only general principles to guide me, I'd guess that Don would find this particular subject a lot less distasteful.Oh, dear. With Sal writing something in bed while wearing pajamas that leave almost as little of him exposed as would a full-body condom, Kitty emerges from the bathroom wearing a sheer lime-green negligee. Erroneously thinking that this effort will increase her chances of spousal relations, she initiates some kissing, but after a few tepid moments he calls an end to it by saying he's working. She worriedly says something's wrong, not realizing that if she really wants to get her husband in the mood, all she has to do is invite Ken over for dinner again. He vaguely says that he's not himself, which is hilarious in that you'd think in that case he might actually hit that, but she repeats that for the last few months, something's been wrong. "I don't need that much, but...I do need tending." Funny how that seems so much more delicate than, say, "plowing," even though we're talking about the same thing. Eventually, Sal blames his work situation for his lack of sexual enthusiasm, saying that with the advent of photography, his days as an illustrator are numbered, and now he's nervous, as he has a crack at something that actually has a future. Kitty encouragingly says it's been building to this, "and tomorrow you'll triumph and come home a conquering hero." Sal, however, is doubly concerned b
ecause the entire thing will be a one-shot deal, since it's a recreation of the beginning of Bye Bye Birdie. Not being the enormous queen that is her husband, Kitty needs help remembering the scene in question, so after Sal refreshes her memory, he animatedly tells her the girl will be holding a can of Patio as he starts to act out how the spot is going to go. Kitty looks enthralled at first, but after Sal has performed the entire thing for her with extremely enthusiastic execution of the attendant hair-tossing and shoulder-turning and pouting and the like, her smile fades to the point where she looks like she's seen a ghost. The ghost of Paul Lynde, to be more precise.
Don enters Bertram's office to find the Bertram, Pryce, and "Horace Cook," Bronzo's father. After Horace mentions that he and Don met at Lincoln Center, Bertram says he heard about Bronzo coming to them, and Pryce pipes up that Don felt it would be best "out of deference" to let Horace in on the joke. Horace already knows about Bronzo's jai alai dream, however, saying Bronzo's convinced of its financial potential. Pryce chimes in that there's no reason to doubt that, to which Horace replies, "Are you drunk?" I think I like this guy. He goes on that the sport is "like Polish handball. You can't even play it if you're left-handed -- there's no wall on that side." In fairness, it would have been an even worse financial prospect if the righties had been shafted by the wall's position. Bertram doesn't need to hear any more to offer to make Bronzo off-limits to SC, but Horace is all, not so fast -- while Bronzo's plan makes no sense, if SC refuses him he'll just go someplace else. "My son lives in a cloud of success, but it's my success. Perhaps when that evaporates and his face is pressed against the reality of the sidewalk, he'll be of value to someone." Especially if he's lying over a puddle. Bertram offers that he was raised to kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, and I'm not necessarily doubting him but I wouldn't have thought that start in life would have led to a permanent attachment to bow ties. Don uncertainly asks Horace if he wants them to proceed, and Horace sighs that when they put Bronzo's trust aside for him, he was a little kid. "We didn't know what kind of person we were making." A poetic answer and all, but with the money that's at stake I wouldn't blame Don for asking the question again just to be sure. Bertram insists that Horace stay for lunch, and Don cordially shakes his hand while Pryce nearly wets his trousers with glee.
Paul presents a list of "ideas" to Lois (hey, she didn't get fired either! Once was enough, I guess) as Ken and Harry watch and guffaw. Remember of course that (a) Peggy was mean to Lois, at least from the latter's perspective, and (b) the boys have interacted with Lois before, so their choice of prankster is eminently logical. Cut to Peggy answering her phone (her private line, I'm guessing) as "Margaret," which is the name she put in the ad. Lois, making her delivery sound a little younger, introduces herself as a twenty-two-year old named "Elaine," who has a good job and is interested in a roommate. Peggy's pleased at first, but gets less so when "Elaine" goes on that she works in a tannery around animal carcasses all day, so she doesn't have pets. "The smell makes them go crazy." The boys are cracking up, and as easily pleased as they are I still have to admit this is hilarious to watch, with Elisabeth Moss's reactions being one of the best parts, as usual. Peggy tries to extricate herself from the suddenly grim conversation, but "Elaine" plows on, saying she has to find a place near a hospital, as her face is badly burned and she needs "frequent prescriptions for unguents and salves." Hee. Peggy is getting more and more flustered, but catches on when Lois starts talking about how she's going to need some help with the bathroom and loses it altogether in the middle, immediately joined in peals of laughter by the boys. Peggy's offended dignity causes her to stand, and she's like, "You know what? You're a jerk!" Language like that will help fight off all the rapists.
Gene banters with Sally about his "salt tooth" (don't ask) while eating ice cream at the kitchen table. He offers her some, and when she tells him Betty doesn't let them have ice cream before dinner, he replies, "She afraid you're gonna be fat like she was?" Funny how one little sentence from her dad can make Betty seem so much more understandable. He adds that Betty's mother used to drive her into town and make her walk home to lose weight, and then asks if Sally remembers Grandma Ruth. Sally: "She gave me a ukulele." One way to be remembered, all right. Upon hearing that Sally hasn't learned the instrument, Gene tells her she should -- she's smart. "You can really do something. Don't let your mother tell you otherwise." Kind of the gruff old man version of Oh, The Places You'll Go! Gene gets Sally to partake in the ice cream, and then comments, "This tastes like chocolate, but it smells like oranges." Here's a game to play at home: How many times can you say "I smell bread" before Gene has a stroke?
Out to dinner, Bronzo is regaling Pete and Don with tales involving Montezuma's Revenge, and then Pete tells Don that Bronzo thinks a photo of JFK enjoying jai alai would be a great endorsement. Somehow, it seems fitting that those two thoughts came so close together. Bronzo then waxes philosophical about how his father made his money -- he rented ships for troop transport during "the war," the point being that he was a profiteer and didn't do it out of any patriotic loyalty. Bronzo's scheme, however, while it may sound silly, has the potential to get people psyched about a new sport, "and people are gonna be dying to do business with me, even my father." That's the least likely thing about this entire scheme by far. Which is sad, because all this shows that Bronzo is one of those too-rich boys who still long for Daddy's approval, but considering he's getting the benefit of millions of dollars in 1963 to help him work through his issues, I can't feel too sorry for him. Don opines that Bronzo should take the decisions he's making a bit more seriously, causing Pete to seriously consider yelling "FIRE!" to get Bronzo quickly away from Don, but Bronzo wants to hear Don out, so Don tells him that while they're happy (in Pryce and Pete's case, ecstatic) to take his money, he thinks he should reevaluate "this particular obsession. You can do better." Pete looks like he might put in for a vacation that very night, but Bronzo, after looking confused for a few moments, laughs and erroneously concludes that Don's just employing a sales technique, and says he learned a lot about advertising from the galleys of a book by "Oh-GIL-vee." Oh, brother. Don, pronouncing the name correctly, asks why, then, Bronzo isn't retaining Ogilvy, but Bronzo evenly replies, "Because Campbell talked me out of it." As Pete restrains himself from a completely beatific smiles, Bronzo adds that they need to get one thing straight -- "if jai alai fails, it's your fault." Don looks at Bronzo like he's suddenly a lot happier about taking his money.
Peggy's back at the bulletin board taking down her ad, which now has the "Margaret" circled and a "Hi, Peggy!" written on it. Heh. Joan enters the break room and, after amusedly observing what Peggy's up to, says she thinks the right girl could have a great effect on her. "I do, however, find your ad unfortunate." She adds that Peggy's ad reads like "the stage directions from an Ibsen play," and opines that using "Margaret" is the wrong approach. Peggy thinks the name is more adult, but Joan points out that that's the problem -- getting a roommate in Manhattan should be about two girls having an adventure. She gives Peggy
some suggestions for the ad including "fun-loving," "gallivanting," and a bunch of other words I'd, as much as I love her, never connect with Peggy. Peggy thanks Joan, but Joan cautions her, referring to the bulletin board, "Don't put it up there. Everyone here knows you." I think Peggy should also thank Greg for being such a loser that Joan's going to be forced to keep working, but it has to be acknowledged that the price of her advice is little barbs like that one. Peggy, however, doesn't waste any time in sitting down and taking notes on what Joan just told her.
In the middle of the night, Don awakens to Betty...
...and we cut to him entering his study. He opens a desk drawer and, from a box therein, takes out a picture of a stern-looking couple. He turns it over to see that on the back is written "Archie and Abigail, 1928." No doubt moved to some degree by Bronzo's speech about his dad and also by Gene's continuing presence, he turns the picture back over and stares at his dad's image for a good long while. Well, it was only for a few seconds, but as you know the show doesn't tend to waste any time in making points such as these.
Pete catches Don on his way into SC the morning, contracts in hand. "[Bronzo] is all dressed and ready for the oven." Savoring the moment not a little, he adds that perhaps, given his earlier trepidation, Don would like to deliver the papers to Pryce himself, and adds, following Don to Pryce's office, that he spent two years at Dartmouth protecting Bronzo from "shylocks," so he deserves to enjoy his payday. Meanwhile, inside Pryce's office, Ken and John Hooker are tossing the pelota around while Paul and Harry watch, everyone giggling like schoolgirls. Don dispatches Hooker to get Pryce, taking his cesta as he goes with a bemused expression. When Hooker returns with his boss, the latter is grinning ear to ear as he compliments the "boys" on their work, and then Don tries to pass the pelota to Ken, only to wing it straight into Bertram's ant farm, smashing the glass. Hee. Everyone giggles some more at the fact that they found the one thing in the world Don isn't any good at, and Don, in the spirit of things, leaves with this: "Bill it to the kid." Not the last time we'll be hearing those words, I'd imagine.
Bobby's in the back seat again, but this time Gene's driving. Which is more normal, surely, but given that he's been smelling citrus fruit that isn't there I think I'd rather take my chances with Sally at this point. Sally kisses up to her grandfather a little, who smiles before resuming his usual gruffness by telling her not to keep him waiting this afternoon. Insert your own joke about deceased pots here. There's some talk about him going shopping for fruit that afternoon, and Sally requests peaches...
...and then a friendly and energetic young girl named "Karen Erickson" (played by the always-enjoyable Carla Gallo from Undeclared and Carnivale, just to name a couple) comes in to see Peggy, and after mentioning that she works at a travel agency, tells her, "Everyone on the first floor loved your humorous ad!" Heh. I hope Peggy buys Joan some flowers or a nice gift certificate. The girl tells Peggy she thinks they could be friends, and Peggy, hilariously stiffly, tries to sell the idea that she's fun. The girl mentions that her last roommate was always shutting her door, while she feels there's only one reason to do that, and she babbles about getting along with men better than women and not liking sailors and blah while Peggy looks like someone who's decided to try to conquer her fear of roller coasters and is realizing she's probably going to vomit along the way. But after some stumbling over the fact that Peggy works longer hours than the girl, it looks like they might actually become "roomies." I bet they'll be getting stoned together, too. Awesome.
Gene has failed to pick Sally and Bobby up, and it's apparently been quite a while, as Betty arrives on the scene. Sally asks what happened, and Betty reasonably tells her it probably slipped his mind, because she doesn't know about the nonexistent oranges.
Joan covers her face with a rag and sprays the poor ants dead. They may be the first casualties of jai alai, but I doubt they'll be the last.
Sal is showing the fruits of his labor to the SC boys and the Patio client, complete with an Ann-Margret look-alike, a recreation of that silly running around, and insipid lyrics about saying goodbye to sugar -- and the clients hate it. Sal looks chagrined, but Don firmly points out that this is exactly what they asked for. To their credit, the clients don't deny that, but they still feel that something's not quite right about it. Even at this point, if you pay her any attention you can see Peggy smiling to herself, and I'm glad she's at least having some fun with her Cassandra status. Ken offers to send a dupe back to the office with the clients, but they firmly reiterate that it's not what they're looking for. The meeting breaks up, not without Peggy throwing a rather triumphant side-eye Don's way, and then Harry frustratedly tells Don and Roger that even though the ingredients are there, the Patio guys are correct - something's not right, and what could it be? Roger: "It's not Ann-Margret!" And while I don't personally view that as a detriment, I'm still forced to conclude that Roger earned his paycheck this week just with that one line. Also, if you're keeping score, Pete is waaaaaay ahead of Ken this week.
Sally's sitting on her stoop, playing with a doll, when the Oh Shit moment we've been waiting for arrives and a police car pulls up. As if we didn't already know what was coming, as Sally goes to get Betty, the officer doffs his cap as he gets out of the car. He doesn't drag it out, and neither will I: Gene is dead. Sally wails as Betty leans against the column for support, but she recovers quickly, so he tells her that he collapsed in line at the A&P. He does not add, "While buying peaches for a girl who will now feel guilty about that for the rest of her life," but he might as well have. Betty stammers incoherently, but the officer is forced to tell her that they need instructions with respect to Gene's body. Betty acknowledges that absently before heading back inside and shutting the door, leaving a distraught Sally to walk up shakily and rest her head against it. Oh, this poor child, seriously. But at least she has parents who will talk her through this difficult time!
Speaking of whom, Don's in his office when Sal drops by, saying he thought he'd "bring [him]self to the woodshed." Heh. Don deadpans that it must be horrible to have a client insist on something and then change his mind once he sees the finished product. "I hope it never happens to me." Sal's not comforted by Don's self-deprecation, but just as he takes a seat, Don's secretary opens the door and informs him he's got an urgent call from Betty. Don doesn't look like he's anticipating it, and when he hears the news he looks severely bummed and tells Betty he's very sorry. Once he's off, he tells Sal, who's picked up at least a general idea of what's going on, that he has to go, but he shouldn't ruin the only good thing to come out of the Patio debacle. "You are now a commercial director." Sal giddily asks how he knows Don isn't just saying that to spare his feelings, and Don replies that he'll know when he hires him again. He gives Sal a friendly clap on the arm, and Sal looks like he might burst with joy. I think Kitty's still going to go untended, though.
Peggy and Anita walk Katherine into the living room, having her cover her eyes. Given the news Peggy's about to break, they should have taped up her ears as well. When they let Katherine look, she's delighted to see a new TV, which she pronounces "beauty-full." Heh. Anita, who's totally become BFFs with Peggy, who apparently paid for the TV, prompts Katherine to thank her, but the TV is obviously the cushion to the blow that's coming, as Peggy informs Katherine about her plan to move to Manhattan. Katherine takes it even worse than the daughters expected, snitting that family is cheap these days, and they should take the obvious bribe of the TV back, because it'll just remind her of how stupid Peggy thinks she is. Anita defends Peggy, prompting Katherine to up the guilt quotient by telling "both of yous" that someday they'll feel the broken heart she's carrying. (Hello, resistance to change and saying goodbye.) After a pause to smoke, she tells Peggy, "You'll get raped. You know that." Amazingly, Peggy isn't rendered speechless here, but the conversation doesn't improve, so the daughters leave the mother to sulk. Anita tries to say it didn't go that badly, which at first seems like spin, but indeed, as Peggy says goodnight, you can hear that Katherine has turned the TV on. Righteous anger doesn't stand a chance against that thing. If it did, I would have spent a lot more of my life outdoors. The program continues...
...without missing a beat into the scene, which starts with Sally once again hiding under the dining room table. William and Judy have made it up already, and William toasts to "Eugene Hofstadt Number Two." Don doesn't get the reference, so Betty, who looks like hell, explains that there was another Eugene Hofstadt at his bank, hence the addition to his name. I think I would have preferred "The Second Eugene Hofstadt," for reasons both immature and obvious. Judy offers that he's with Ruth now, and Betty replies that she hopes so; she remembers him once asking what happens when he gets to heaven and has two wives. William makes a crack about Gloria that gets everyone to laugh momentarily, but that's all Sally needs to hear, and after Betty bites into an overripe peach that was apparently in Gene's car (not sure how that works with the timeline, but whatever), Sally comes in and berates them for laughing and for apparently being unaware that Gene is gone forever. William and Don at least try to mollify her somewhat, but Betty, without even looking at her, tells her she's being hysterical and sends her off to watch TV. Sally looks to her father for an alternative opinion, and Don looks conflicted, but defers to his wife (...again), and as Betty looks distraught, Sally leaves...
...and heads into the TV room (and she's still in her damn ballet outfit, heartbreakingly enough). She settles down to watch a news report about a Buddhist monk fatally setting fire to himself, and you'd think Buddhism might be a source of comfort at a time like this but apparently you'd be wrong. We cut to a shot of her lying on the floor in the dark as the adults carry on in the kitchen...
...and then we cross-fade to a shot of Don once again waking up in the middle of the night, with he and Betty still in their clothes this time. He gets up and covers his wife with the blanket, and we see a tissue in her outstretched hand as Don leaves the room. He opens Sally's door to find her asleep, her copy of The Decline And Fall Of The Roman Empire in the crook of her arm. Aw. He then goes into Gene's bedroom and folds up his cot, presumably as a last act of respect for a fellow soldier, and the strains of "Over There" continue to play as the credits roll.
John Ramos is a writer and film producer living in Los Angeles. You can reach him at couchbaron@gmail.com.
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