In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description! Finished? Click here to close.
Yucky flashbacks to Dick Whitman's childhood in a whorehouse -- culminating in watching his mother forced to take on her sister's husband while very pregnant with his little brother -- bookend some rather bizarre mental connections for Don that, in the end, make him a stranger in his own home. Seems Megan had a miscarriage when they returned from Hawaii, with which information she unknowingly creeps his girlfriend Linda right out. Don eventually gets the remorseful -- and surprise-I'm-religious Catholic -- Linda back onboard with his usual abusive panache, but the strangeness of the situation carries over into everything else when old clients stir everybody up in new ways.
The Jaguar guy that forced Joan to sleep with him for her partnership -- the full details of which Don still doesn't know, but make him coldly sympathetic when she tenses up about it -- comes back in, demanding the firm do an end-run around his British corporate bosses so he can drum up some radio business. What follows is a thing of hideous elegance, as Don manages to torpedo the guy and Pete and SCDP's standing with Jaguar, but so subtly that even Roger -- whose eyes sparkle as Don enthusiastically makes them all look like assholes -- can't even really resent him for it.
Little does Don know that -- just this one time -- his irritation with Pete is completely valid and he deserves this sock in the nose: After a swinger-foreshadowing dinner party with two other couples Pete jumps at the chance to put his bachelor pad (and manly sideburns) into play. He gets laid, in exactly the uncomfortable and dorky/rapey way you'd imagine, but when the woman's husband beats the shit out of her and she comes to the Campbells for immediate aid, Trudy has to lay down the law: If you can't cheat on your wife with at least a Don Draper amount of class, then you are out on your ass. He ends up in his bachelor pad full time, his only friend the oddly obsequious (yet mesmerizing) Bob From Upstairs.
Peggy's tumultuous relationship with her underlings gets more tense, not less, after she misfollows some excellent advice from her fabulous secretary. After finding a huge jar of "feminine powder" with accompanying horrible copy on her desk, she bounces back with the usual Peggy aplomb -- but it's another supportive late night convo with the lovely Stan Rizzo that lulls her into complacency and, eventually, turns it into a Ted Cheeoooggguuughgh loyalty test.
Ken gets embarrassed when Heinz Beans (the Don campaign about how beans are eternal and whatever) brings in Heinz Ketchup (the always punchable Kip Pardue) for an intro meeting that he quickly explains is a ruse because he is very jealous of Ketchup and feels underadmired for his Beans. This is delightful on every level, especially the Ken part, so Stan relays the information to Peggy in a way that makes her laugh beautifully... And tell Ted immediately, because her love life is too complicated and she doesn't want her work boyfriend knowing about her Skype boyfriend. The day, just as she realizes telling Ted about it crossed some lines, he threatens her job if she doesn't get on Ketchup's jock immediately.
Lots of plot, which is nice, and a formal parallelism between the stories that the show doesn't always follow so doggedly, but is usually a literary comfort when they do it, which is pretty seldom. In the end, Don is once again paralyzed by a net of personal associations and connections between like every woman in his life, stupid fucking Pete is looking ripe for some Bob manipulations, Trudy is a superhero, poor Megan is getting understandably weirder by the second, Roger's still talking about his mommy, Joan's never seemed so lonely, and Peggy's right where she needs to be: Caught between her new life and the few connections she's maintained with the old.
Week: Just kidding! Nobody knows. It's a big secret like always. -- Jacob Clifton
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Well, I know you've all been waiting with bated breath to catch up on the happenings in Cos Cob, so let's open on the fact that there are currently two women getting ready to leave the Campbell home. And no, since we can see two men who are ostensibly the women's husbands in the background, this hasn't been That Kind Of Evening - at least not yet. However, some talk of Hair, vulgarity, and "simulated sexual acts" certainly is suggestive enough, particularly since Pete's clumsy enough to use simulated sexual acts regularly as part of his courtship rituals. While this genteel conversation is going on, an oblivious Trudy is trying to sell the two men on some block-association chairmanships or some such. They're both ready to step a few years ahead into The Ice Storm, but she keeps the conversation from getting out of hand, which is more than I can say for her husband, who essentially makes dates with each of the other women (the excuse of him having a connection for theater tickets is flimsier than, well, the tickets themselves). And they even know about the other! When everyone's gone, Trudy sighs big enough for two people at how exhausting that was, while Pete flips on the TV to catch up on the news. She asks him to turn it off, but his only response is to do the opposite via the remote control, and while that thing is bigger even than the cell phones I had in the '90s, it at least punctuates his actions with satisfyingly loud clicks.
Don's in the elevator when the door opens to reveal Rosen having a little financial discussion with his wife, and obviously, Don's face is like greeeeeat on several different levels. After he promises to stop by the bank at lunch, Rosen confides to Don that he thinks Sylvia's been sending the cash he gives her to their son. Don tells him he doesn't have to explain in a voice that practically begs him not to, but Rosen doesn't catch on as he goes on that Don's lucky Megan works. Don sighs that Megan doesn't earn much, but Rosen thinks that'll change. Don then claims to have forgotten his cigarettes, and Rosen gives him a lecture about that, but Don doesn't seem annoyed, probably because he knows he'd be in for much worse if Rosen knew that he's actually doubling back to see Sylvia. Good God, man, if that little exchange turned you on, maybe just moving into a whorehouse would make sense. It'd close a circle, at least.
Speaking of which, after Sylvia opens up and smiles that she knew it'd be him, Don fixes that middle-distance stare that lets us know he's going into a flashback; sure enough, as "I've Got Five Dollars" plays in the background, we see a blonde sitting in a room that's decorated in "Forties Bordello." When we flash back to Don's position, he's a boy of about thirteen or so (his voice has changed, at least), standing to Abigail, who's pregnant and telling a woman who will prove to be her sister that she's pregnant, so this must be only a few months after Archie, his father, died at the hooves of that horse. The sister, "Ernestine," tells Abigail that Mack, who's just joined them (and is still played by the same actor, Morgan Rusier, that's depicted him all the way back to "Babylon," which due to late adoption by the site was the first episode of this show I ever covered), is with her and is "the one that brung ya," and as such can be thought of as Dick's uncle, and Abigail thanks him for opening his rooms to them.
Mack graciously welcomes them, but his statement that they "can always use a little help around here" is one we're all familiar enough with this show to be wary of, Abigail included from the look on her face. After an awkward silence - even for Mad Men, we're over quota at this point - Abigail has Dick deal assist Mack with the bags, but before he does, she orders him to keep his eyes down and mind his own business there. Unusually for me, I have not seen the episode in advance of recapping it, but I'm still going to guess Dick's going to live to regret not following that advice. As Mack, who by the way is keeping it classy by wearing an undershirt/suspenders combo, and Dick start to head up the stairs, the blonde from earlier appears and tells Dick that he's a good-looking kid before counseling him thusly: "Find your own sins. Stay away from Mack's." Dick looks puzzled, but Mack's dismissive answering chuckle gives me the chills, as does his assertion, after confirming that Dick grew up on a farm, that he's the rooster of the place. Although I will hand it to Dick for his response: "You help all the hens?"
Present-day Don has just finished his own hen-helping, but it hasn't alleviated Sylvia's anxiety about the upcoming dinner the two of them and their spouses are having, referenced in the elevator by her husband a couple scenes ago. They light up - the recently discovered fact that the maid smokes being their cover, and speaking of keeping it classy, they're doing it in her bed - before Sylvia asks if he doesn't mind sitting across the table at a friendly dinner with his wife and her husband, given their clandestine activities. Don replies, with both the tone and the words of the sociopath he usually is, that he doesn't think about it, and adds that they're both good company. Instead of asking what planet he's from, Sylvia agrees before revealing that she only consented to the dinner because Rosen wants to impress Don. Don counters that he only assented because Megan kept asking, for she likes Sylvia. And Sylvia likes her! We then hear from the radio or TV about some severe destruction in Vietnam, just in case you needed an extra clue by association how legendarily bad an idea this affair is, and then Don gets up to go to work with a smile and a quip that no matter what happens, they at least got something done that day. And on top of that, he hands her a wad of cash, counseling her to say she found it in the cookie jar. I mean, I know she's unaware of the thoughts of the whorehouse he was just having, but still: Of all the things that have ever confounded me on this show, her answering beatific smile has to be in the top ten.
Peggy's assistant, who in the interest of diversity reporting I will tell you is African-American, enters to tell her that "Mr. Mathis and Mr. Gifford," the two lackeys she bossed around last week, are outside. Peggy asks the assistant "Phyllis" why she didn't tell her, so Phyllis closes the door and basically reports that they're scared to come in. Peggy gives a hilarious eye-roll that has a significant bit of "Well, I guess that's understandable" in there before starting to explain that she's had their job. Phyllis jumps in that she knows, and she knows Peggy's had Phyllis' job too - which is why she thinks Peggy would do better to be as encouraging to the boys as she is to Phyllis. Peggy suggests that Phyllis lend her "whatever book you just read and save me these little lectures," but there's no sting behind the words - in fact, the wry tone suggests Peggy and Phyllis are pretty buddy-buddy, which is nice. I just hope if Peggy sees Dawn again, she doesn't give in to the temptation of bragging about how she leaves her purse alone with Phyllis, like, all the time.
With an impish smile, Phyllis heads out, and then the boys - there are actually three of them; I'd guess the new one is an art guy - come in like they're entering the principal's office, and Peggy's order for them to sit down and quick retraction of same does nothing to assuage their unease. She tells them, essentially, that their idea is all wrong for their agreed strategy (that being that pimples cause you not to have fun; on a side note, the account is Clearasil, and while we already knew that was a CGC account, I guess this means that Peggy is having client lunches with Pete's father-in-law now?), but when they start to file out like they've just been flogged, she stops them and, with a smile that wants to be real but still looks at least 70 percent fake, gives them the most stilted and uncomfortable speech about "how you are" and her high standards, and it wants to be affirming, but it's so bad that one of the guys actually has to rescue her from it, and when they're gone, she looks less than pleased at her performance. Even using low standards, Peggy, that was a C-minus.
Oh, remember how Trudy allowed Pete to get an NYC pied-à-terre? Well, the place is at least appointed more nicely than I would have guessed, although for everyone's sake we'll refrain from bringing in a black light. Entering the place with its owner is Wife Number One from earlier, who stands nervously in the center of the room and turns down Pete's offers of food, drink, and music. He then compliments her lipstick - see what I mean about the cultured subtlety - which is all it takes to result in a makeout session and a trip to the bedroom. Damn, lady. At least make it look good by getting the theater tickets up front.
Time for a little poach-the-client meeting in Don's office, as with Ken and Benson in attendance, a youngish dude (played by Kip Pardue, and between Yale being his alma mater and his naturally oily demeanor, I can't believe it's taken this long for him to be cast on this show) is talking about all the things DDP has done for them in what sounds like an effort to see how high SCDP will jump to try to get him. The power structure becomes clear when we recognize the other guy as Raymond Geiger, the Heinz beans client - you know, the one Peggy yelled at last year - and he's apparently brought the younger guy, who represents Heinz Ketchup, in after he wondered how Beans was making such good numbers. Ken asks what they can do for Ketchup, then - whereupon "Timmy" tells him to let him know. After some subtle WTF side-eyes between Ken and Don, everyone gets to their feet, and Timmy makes it clear that this wasn't an official visit.
Benson goes to walk him out, but Raymond stays behind - whereupon he informs Ken and Don that they are to have no further contact with Timmy. This isn't because he doesn't like their performance - "you guys are doing a bang-up job" - but because he doesn't want "that polished Polack" coming in and taking advantage of all the hard work he did making Beans and Sauces into something. He works up a head of steam about how he taught that kid everything he knows - the fact that I'm not even paraphrasing does suggest your imagination could use some work, Raymond - and has gotten nothing but disrespect in return, so his position is that if SCDP even so much as sends Timmy a Christmas ham, "well, I'd rather retire than watch that guy screw my girlfriend." I wouldn't consider this the most subtle way of getting to the point, but anything to get Don to see that sleeping with his neighbor and friend's wife is a lapse in judgment he from which he might not return. Raymond stomps out of there, refusing Ken's offer to walk him out, whereupon Ken can't believe how weak Raymond is. Don, however, defender of Mohawk Air back in the day, tells Ken that although he knows Ketchup is the Chivas Regal of accounts, Raymond's business was instrumental in saving the company, and as such they're going to need to follow the "dance with the one that brung ya" credo (looks like everything Don knows, he learned at the Best Little Whorehouse in Pennsylvania), and maybe now's a good time to take a little break so we can all push the crushing irony off our shoulders.
Wife Number One is lazily getting dressed as she informs Pete he's out of toilet paper before telling him she might come back to town that Friday; Pete's essentially like, "How nice for you." She doesn't seem to pick up on his noncommittal tone, but after she chatters at him for a bit, he sits on the bed with a salesman's smile and says he really needs to get back to the office. "Can you move it along a little?" She doesn't look thrilled, unsurprisingly, but in his defense, one of the cardinal rules to having a successful affair is not to let it make you late to things.
In the building's laundry room, Megan is berating her maid with a list of cleaning-related transgressions when Sylvia enters. The maid says she's sorry, but Megan fires her anyway; when she's gone, Megan apologizes to Sylvia before bursting into tears. Sylvia suggests they go upstairs, and when Megan tells her she doesn't want to go back up until the maid is gone, Sylvia is like, "Along with your silverware." I mean, I wasn't thinking of it in exactly those terms, but there's a reason security escorts you from the building when you get fired, you know?
Cut to upstairs, where Megan is telling Sylvia about a storyline for her character, and the ins and outs of it make it no surprise to learn the genre is "daytime." Megan's smile then fades as she reveals that she had a miscarriage, and after a fairly funny bit in which Sylvia thinks she's still talking about her TV character, Megan tells her it happened in real life, and only a few days earlier. Sylvia's stunned, and she's not the only one, as it was my impression, although I don't remember it being explicitly stated, that Megan didn't want to have kids with Don, or at least wasn't ready to, but she explains that she was "sloppy" in Hawaii, with the time difference and all. This is a lot for Sylvia to take in - given her affair with Don, part of her had to wonder how often Don and Megan still have been having sex - and it doesn't get any easier when Megan confesses that she didn't even tell Don, and now she's feeling a lot of Catholic guilt over the whole experience. Sylvia probably is too - Megan's comment that "you were raised the way I was" is telling - as she assures Megan that she's not a horrible person, but Megan demurs; with her career taking off, she wasn't sure what she even wanted to do, and when the miscarriage happened, she was relieved that the decision was made for her.
Perhaps sensing how deeply Sylvia is feeling this, Megan asks if anything like that ever happened to her, and Sylvia reveals that it did, about a year after she gave birth to her son, which makes me wonder if she wanted another kid, given that she obviously never had one since. I wonder if the experience rendered her unable to have any further kids? She goes on that while she understands some of what Megan's feeling, the rest of it is foreign. "Because I was raised the same way, so I would never even consider that my decision." Not having been prepared for this confession to turn into a pro-choice/pro-life debate, Megan says she feels terrible, and she's sorry she even brought up the subject, at which point Don shows exquisite timing by arriving home. It's heartbreaking to see Megan attempt to put on a brave face as she greets him and takes his coat, and when they're alone, Sylvia's basically like, you'll excuse me to go vomit now, right? Megan says she doesn't have to rush off while Don looks like he's going to bore straight through her with his gaze in an effort to determine what exactly is happening here, but Sylvia gives nothing away - until Don says he'll see her tomorrow, and she's like, what? Where? Who? As my tennis coach says when anyone flubs a shot particularly egregiously: That's pro, Sylvia. Don reminds her about the dinner, and she's like, ohhhhh, right, hahahaha how could I forget that, and remember the part where I need to go throw up?
Peggy finds a container of "Quest Feminine Powder" and a folder with some attendant copy on her desk. Cut to her coming in to see Chaough and asking him if it's a new account, as she didn't get the memo. However, when Chaough reads from the paper in the folder that it "kills overly critical bacteria" and that the target audience is "professional women and other Olsons," he laughs that it's someone's idea of a joke. Peggy: "When you want them to be funny, they're useless." Hee, but I have to say that's the best work I've seen from them out of an admittedly small sample size.
Okay, I've been rooting for a Joan scene, but obviously I should have qualified that, as she's reading in her office when a familiarly disgusting voice cuts in: "Hello, gorgeous." I mentioned last week how that word coming out of a stranger's mouth was bad, but now that the speaker is Herb Rennet, the guy from Jaguar who demanded Joan's body, it sounds like oversexed, sweaty nails on a chalkboard. Joan handles his grossness evenly enough, even getting to use her intimate knowledge of him for good instead of evil, as when he tells her he knows part of her is happy to see him, she replies, "And I know there's a part of you you haven't seen in years." This actually shuts him up, and then Pete comes running in like he lost track of a mischievous canine, which feels about right. Herb waddles out, and Joan stares daggers...
...and then she marches into Don's office: "He's here." She heads straight to his bar and keeps her eyes on the drink she's making as Don watches her with wordless concern before eventually leaving. If not for his unwavering respect for Joan, would there be anything left to like about the character?
Pete and Benson are taking care of Herb (Benson has to remind Herb that they've met before; also, Herb is a sweaty mess from climbing one set of internal stairs) when Don enters, whereupon Herb gets down to business: He knows SCDP is going to make "some fancy-schmancy" TV spot, the bill for which is mostly going to be footed by the dealers. Don: "That's how it works." Heh. Unfazed, Herb goes on that he needs foot traffic, and as such needs something that's a little more targeted to his actual dealership in Englewood rather than toward Jaguar in general. Don points out that Herb, as well as the factory guys, have already contractually approved the work and the media buy, but Herb tells them he'd like some retail radio in there as well that will include the phone number of his dealership in spots local to him. Pete's like, great, how much more are we talking here, but Herb, with a tone you'd use on a slow child, tells him there will be no increase - they can just adjust the proportions to, say, 60 percent local radio instead of national. Pete protests that that would take a real bite out of the national campaign, and I'm surprised he's not seeming to sense just how sleazy this guy is, but Herb's like, well, I don't know about that, but it's not really relevant, because SCDP is going to be the one to push for the change, because "you're so damn persuasive." Don stares at Herb like he'd sic a spooked horse on him if he had one handy, but Pete, recovering his usual oily demeanor, assures Herb it'll be taken care of. Herb shakes Pete's hand but probably senses that trying to do the same with Don would be a good way to lose at least a finger, so he grossly tells Benson to show him "the sights," adding that he must be like "a kid in a candy store around here." God, if they let this guy run around loose, SCDP's going to have to take on every woman in the company as a partner, and even Benson looks terrified at the prospect. Don expresses further frustration, and then, getting only Pete's placating platitudes in reply, snaps, "I wish you'd handle the clients as well as you're handling me." And we've found the sentence to deflate Pete's smug, self-important smile. THANK GOD. I didn't think anything could, given that his receding hairline apparently failed.
Peggy's pouring herself a drink in her darkened office as she makes a phone call, and Stan's voice replies, "Jimmy's Condom Warehouse, where the rubber meets the road. Jimmy speaking." Hee. Peggy laughs, but soon she's confessing to Stan, who's toking up, that everyone hates her at CGC. Stan: "Well, that was bound to happen." Hee. Peggy doesn't flinch at that one, and then Stan gossips about "Raymond J. Beans"'s visit and all the drama with "Ketchup" (that's how he refers to Tim, heh), adding a part we didn't know, which is that Ken apparently spent two weeks crowing about Timmy coming in. Peggy giggles, but covers and gets off the phone when she sees Chaough appear in her doorway. Chaough affably tells her she's allowed to make personal calls after five, particularly ones that make her laugh, but when she reveals that her former co-worker was telling her a funny story about an old client, she fails to see the cartoon dollar signs that appear in Chaough's eyes as he asks what happened. After Peggy gives him the nutshell version, you can see the possibilities swimming in his mind, but he doesn't linger, merely leaving with a comment about how nice it is to hear things have gone badly after you've left. Oh, Peggy. I wouldn't begrudge it in the literal sense, but if you end up metaphorically screwing Stan I may never forgive you.
When Don arrives home, apologizing for being late, he finds Megan in a robe. She tells him she's not feeling well, and she didn't cancel because she thought she'd be better, so he should go without her. I'm guessing she doesn't want to face Sylvia with her knowing Megan's secret, especially after her confession resulted in judgment, but not knowing anything about that, Don reluctantly agrees, with the stipulation that she go straight to bed. Don, some weird things have been turning you on, but promise not to fuck Sylvia on the restaurant table?
Pete's on the couch watching TV when there comes from outside some frantic pounding and screaming. He and Trudy open the door to find Wife Number One, obviously having been beaten badly about the face. From nearby, Husband Number One's voice calls to "Campbell" that she's his problem now, which is lovely on many levels, but does at least call Pete out in front of his wife. And given that she's probably within earshot, I'm guessing Wife Number Two is pretty happy it isn't her. As Trudy goes to moisten a cloth for Wife Number One's bleeding nose, Pete first offers to call the cops and then to take Wife Number One to the hospital, but she declines both offers, and then Trudy shoos him off to get some cotton wool. He doesn't look too thrilled about leaving them alone, but the cat's already out of the bag, wouldn't you say?
Unsurprisingly, Rosen and Sylvia are already seated when Don arrives, and Sylvia of course doesn't look any too thrilled to hear about Megan's "indisposition." Rosen, however, obliviously brings up the foreign events of the day, one of which is the incident involving the U.S.S. Pueblo in North Korea. Rosen then goes on a weird little rant that manages to be both belittling and respectful toward the Vietnamese and the North Koreans but does end with his correct assessment that the U.S. is losing in Vietnam. Rosen then gets a call from, everyone expects, his service, but rather than stay alone with Don, Sylvia beats a retreat to powder her nose. Well, at least her judgment is better than Don's, not that that's saying much. Don sits back down for a lonely Old Fashioned and smoke...
...while a frustrated Pete informs the women that there's no answer at whatever friend or family member's place he just tried on Wife Number One's behalf. Trudy says in Pete's direction that they should find her a hotel, and then goes to get some ice for Wife Number One's badly swollen face. Once Trudy's out of the room, Pete gets a snarling expression on his face and wonders what Wife Number One said to her husband, while Wife Number One nudges Pete out of the way for the least likable person in the room when she - somewhat playfully, no less - tells him to take her to the city, as she wants to be with him. I mean, not to make light of the domestic violence, but since she's doing it herself, I don't feel too bad in saying I kind of want to slap some sense into her. When Trudy returns, Pete reports that the Old Greenwich Inn has rooms. Wife Number One asks if Pete can take her there, but he suggests a taxi, whereupon Trudy tells him not to be silly - she'll drive Wife Number One (who I think is in her nightgown under a jacket?). Pete of course then backpedals and says he'll do it, but Trudy won't hear of it. "It's best this way." Her tone gives nothing away, which is just as well, because her words contain enough foreshadowing to chill Pete to the bone.
Rosen and Sylvia return to the table with the news that Rosen has to go in to work, but Rosen insists that the two of them stay because he doesn't want to fall out of favor at the place, as if famous heart surgeons generally have trouble with that sort of thing. After last week's glacial, diffuse affair, I appreciate that this one is thematically tight (possibly too much so, if anything), with every storyline related to parties faced with the decision of what to do when someone is pushing the limits of acceptable behavior - even discounting the title, against the wartime events, it's not a stretch to say it's about appeasement versus taking a stand. However, that doesn't excuse flimsy plotting, and Rosen being called away twice in two episodes at just the most convenient time for the plot is a bit much. Regardless, this is happening, so Don persistently tries to engage Sylvia with offers of wine and questions about the Italian menu (the character is Italian, as the casting of Linda Cardellini may have suggested) while she treats him, fittingly enough, like they're on opposite sides of the Cold War. Eventually, he stops screwing around and directly asks what's wrong, so she tells him she doesn't know what they're doing, and, referring to their spouses, she adds, "Just because they cleared their place settings doesn't mean we're alone." She goes on that he loves making them look foolish, but as we all know, there's only so long Don can be denied what he wants before he turns horrible, so he tells her he understands. "You want to feel shitty right up until the point where I take your dress off. Because I'm going to do that. You want to skip dinner? Fine. But don't pretend." This lovely little speech is broken up by cuts to them falling into her apartment intertwined in each other's arms, and again, while the themes of the episode work well enough for me, this is a hackneyed directorial choice done many times before, and given that this is only Jon Hamm's second effort as director of a Mad Men episode, I suppose it's to be expected. But seriously, we even actually get a shot of him unzipping her dress. (I don't recall his first effort, "Tea Leaves," being a standout either.) She wonders what would have happened if their spouses had been there - would it just have been someone else's dress? To clarify, she reminds Don that he told her he and Megan were drifting apart, but he tells her he wants her all the time, and if now she suddenly is looking for something more serious than that, it's news, isn't it? The waiter shows exquisitely convenient timing by appearing and asking, "Have you decided?" and rather than let that level of obviousness speak for itself, Don is like, "HAVE you?" Sylvia replies by ordering for both of them and then adding to the waiter that they're in a bit of a hurry, which I guess goes to prove, in light of the revelation about Sylvia's beliefs, that Don Draper is more powerful than God. Not that most of the viewing audience needed any convincing.
Back to the assignations (the intercutting happened all through what I just described, but the restaurant part is over now), and Sylvia apologizes, saying she had no right to be jealous. I agree, but how disappointing that that seemed to be her only sticking point after Megan's tearful episode rather than any complexity involving sympathy for Megan, and how pedestrian that one of the examples of someone taking a stand is Don telling yet another woman on this show that it's his way or the highway. She cautions him they can't fall in love, and then the climax happens as the opera music that's been playing through the scene reaches a crescendo. It's probably not a good sign that we're three episodes in and I'm exhausted by these two already.
Pete is nervously watching Carson, and the fact that he's somberly discussing wartime news rather than delivering a hilarious monologue can't be a good omen for Pete's fate. Carson tells the audience that before they get some new information about JFK's assassination, they're going to watch a special report on the Vietnam situation, and he'll return in fifteen minutes...
...but we don't know if Pete stays up to watch it, as we cut to him in bed with the lights off when Trudy finally returns. Of course, he's awake and she surely knows it, but she says nothing as she turns off the light and heads into the bathroom. Pete, as fearful as you are and should be, surely you know the basic truth that putting the reckoning off only makes it worse.
Don arrives home to find Megan sitting in the living room in her bathrobe, and after a brief inquiry and explanation of the evening, Megan confesses the news about the miscarriage. Don's face does a reasonable job of caring as it pauses before asking if she's okay and if she went to the doctor. After confirming both and telling him she was six weeks along when it happened, he offers that he wishes she'd told him she was pregnant, so, voice breaking, she continues to come clean, saying she wasn't sure what he would have said, or what he would have wanted. He replies that she should know he'd want what she'd want, which sounds supportive but really is classically revealing of how hollow he is inside, and asks if she does want to have a kid. She tells him she does, definitely, but isn't sure if now is even the right time to discuss it, "and I guess that's why I didn't tell you. But I should have." He agrees and tells her he'll have the conversation if she wants to, and she smiles and leans onto his shoulder. "Now I can go to sleep." Again, it'd seem more positive if Don didn't already look ready to chew his own arm off to escape this.
Pete enters the kitchen to find Trudy sitting at the table, he tries to "Good morning" her and to make a quick exit, but her voice rings into his back: "Couldn't you just pretend?" She contemptuously goes on that she let him have the apartment. "Somehow I thought that there was some dignity in granting permission." Her volume climbs as she adds that all she wanted was for him to be discreet, and yet here Wife Number One lives on their block! Pete tries for a casual denial, but it's not going to fly: "There's no way for me to escape, to not be an object of pity while you get to do whatever you feel like." She tells him she won't stand for this anymore, and he snidely asks if she wants a divorce, but he doesn't reckon on this coming speech: "This is how it's going to work. You will be here only when I tell you to be here. I'm drawing a fifty-mile radius around this house, and if you so much as open your fly to urinate, I will destroy you." I didn't think I'd see Trudy join Betty, Mona, and now Joan on this list of divorcees on this show, but I might have known if she ever did, it would come this enjoyably. Pete snits that she's going to realize that, referring to his infidelities, she doesn't know anything for sure, but Trudy isn't about to cede him the last word: "I'll live with that." Having no answer, he leaves, and after she contemplates Wife Number One's blood still on one of her dishtowels, she sits back down to contemplate a post-Campbell existence. This scene may have hit the "refusal to collaborate any further" theme without all that much subtlety, but in this instance I sure don't care.
Peggy enters her office to find Chaough, who hands her a folder saying it contains what they have so far, "but I want you to find out everything you can on Heinz Ketchup." Uh oh. He's got his trademark friendly smile on, giving Peggy a false sense of security in telling him she can't do that - she learned the information from a friend, and she doesn't want to betray that trust. Since, from the account she heard, SCDP is SCDP, Ketchup is Ketchup, and never the twain shall have another meeting, Peggy could rationalize what Chaough is asking for as not the worst breach of ethics or friendship, but she's right to try to draw the line now, as this can only lead her places she's not willing to go. Of course, it's possible that even a whisper of Ketchup being unhappy in his current situation could alienate Beans, but regardless, the flipside of Peggy standing up for herself is that Chaough's got a chance to test her loyalty here, because otherwise I'd think normal protocol would be for him to turn her tip over to his Accounts team and leave her out of it. And test her he does, as he speculates that she needs a friend more than a job. "I didn't know that. I'm in advertising." With a few additional words that are meant to be more reassuring, he hands her the folder and heads out. She looks bummed, but at least he spared her any comments about the collaborative process.
Speaking of collaborators, Pete, prompted by a disingenuously prodding Herb, is telling the assembled group about the plan to gut the national ad campaign, and if you look down the table you can see one shot of Harry staring open-mouthed at what that would mean for his television budget. The elder of the two UK Jaguar guys asks Don if he's really in favor of this migration to radio, and Don replies that it's hard to argue with a more direct appeal to customers. He goes on that it's an "exciting new angle" to use direct sales on a luxury vehicle, and it may be fairly clear to us that he's playing a rather sarcastic devil's advocate here, but the bit drives the point home: "I mean, forget about radio. How about a mailer? Or a circular in the Sunday paper?" Pete tries to tell Don that that's not what they had in mind in a "stick to the script" tone of voice, but Pete should know it's not his day to get people to toe the line, as Don lets the dripping sarcasm spread to his facial expression as he goes on he's sure there are people in New Jersey who will listen to their car radio and jump and the chance to buy a Jaguar "at a low, low price." Hee. He goes on that there's no reason to limit themselves when they could be selling to truckers and housewives, but the head Jaguar guy, playing it straight, points out that the original creative approach was to target customers that could afford luxury vehicles. Don, though, has to get one more good one off about how this approach moves cars, even used ones, and it's hilarious that he's drawing on his own past as a used-car salesman and even more so when he's like, Herb, amirite? Herb weakly tries to agree that yes, this approach moves cars, but Don, in pretending to go along with Herb's plan while making it seem more déclassé than bologna on white bread, has effectively killed Herb's offensive without having to fire a single shot. Herb and Pete flail around a bit more, but the Brits' minds are made up - they're sticking with the original plan. Everyone files out (Don hilariously shaking Herb's hand on the way, which Pete berated him for not doing earlier) except Herb, who stays behind to harangue Pete for letting Don talk: "The guy's not a salesman." Of all the things I love about this scene, Herb equating Pete with himself is certainly up there, not least because Herb has not a clue what really just happened...
...unlike Roger, who uttered not a word in the meeting, but now comes into Don's office: "That was the deftest self-immolation I've ever seen." Don denies knowledge of what he means, but then Pete comes in and blasts Don. "I still have [Herb's] spit in my hair!" There are only a few minutes left, so I really don't want to pause to make a joke that will make both you and me ill. Pete asks why Don can't follow the rules, and Roger mildly backs him up in pointing out that Herb's a client, but Don wants to make sure We Get It: "And so we just keep saying yes, no matter what, because we didn't say no to begin with? You know what this is - it's Munich." Pete is unimpressed by this textual theme and storms out, which is just as well, since there's precedent for these three discussing war ending in punches being thrown. This leaves Roger to turn to Don and lightly note that his mother would have pointed out that Don's options were dishonor or war. "You chose dishonor; you might still get war." Don: "That was Churchill." Hee. Unfazed by Don's historical knowledge, Roger bails...
...and then we cut to Pete contemplating the remains of his horrible day when Benson, sunny as ever, pokes his head in and says he doesn't know how Pete does it, being the first to arrive and the last to leave. Pete sighs that he doesn't either, and remarks that he's glad it at least seems like he's doing something he loves, but Benson drops the façade, at least a little, in telling Pete that he spent a year in finance "watching identical men in identical suits sneak drinks out of a desk drawer while counting other people's money. You make this look a whole lot better." Pete does look like this speech makes his day at least one percent less of a wreck, but when Benson offers to get him something from downstairs, he asks if he'd grab him some toilet paper, since he was supposed to get some for his wife and he forgot. Benson's happy to do it, and he probably wouldn't even care if he knew that it was for Pete's new permanent-residence bachelor pad, but even so, Pete looks lost and alone as the scene comes to an end. Too late, but now he knows to underestimate Trudy at his peril.
Don stops by Sylvia's back door (literally, my God, you guys) and makes a date for the morning...and then we cut back to the whorehouse, wherein Don watches through a knothole as the pregnant Abigail gives it up to Mack. The blonde hooker from earlier amusedly chastises him in passing...
...and then we're back to the present, where the original "Just A Gigolo" plays as Don reaches his door...and then decides to sit out against the hallway wall instead of going in. I mean, I've been covering him for over five seasons now, and he's getting harder to figure out, not easier -- which isn't a compliment -- but I suppose, given the positioning of the flashback just now, that he's tired of being a collaborator to his own lies and transgressions. Too bad, Don - talk and heavy-handed gestures are cheap, so do something about it. And I'd suggest by starting with losing the flashbacks - they never accomplish as much as you seem to think. See you week.
John Ramos is a writer and film producer living in Los Angeles. His new film, a documentary on online privacy and the sale of personal data called Terms And Conditions May Apply, recently premiered at the Slamdance Film Festival in January. You can get news on it from the film's Twitter account. Also, you can email John at couchbaron@gmail.com, follow him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/couchbaron, or check out his blog, "Pull Up A Chair," which he'd just love for you to stop by.