madison_avenue (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} madison_avenue) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} silverage,@ 2011-08-01 12:46:00 |
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When: A hot August morning
Where: Sterling-Cooper
What: Don tries and fails to get some work done
Rating/status: PG / Complete
If he never heard the name "Lyndon Johnson" again, it would be too soon.
He had completed his idea. It was simple - beautiful, really. Just a young girl picking flowers, and the simple voiceover of a soothing voice saying "Lyndon Johnson. For her future". No mudslinging, no fear tactics, just haunting and lovely.
Until that ass of a PR manager decided to bomb the girl to death and blame it on Goldwater. It was disgusting, and Don didn't want anything to do with it. He let Campbell take over - the sniveling kid would bomb a hundred little girls if it meant getting ahead.
So Don took to his office, telling his new personal secretary Selina (who was on time for once - what a day!) to hold his calls for an hour. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn't. Something about the buzzing fluorescent lights held some sickly quality that he just barely couldn't ignore. Something about his office was too warm - and then, when he removed his jacket, too cold. He loosened his tie, and slumped in his chair, cigarette in one hand, a finger of rye in the other.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his children, play with that dog he had gotten for Sally. Betty he could take or leave, but he would let her perfume stay wafting in the house. He would eat some dinner that she had made - or, better yet, that Carla had made - and just be amongst his children in a quiet, comfortable home.
He sipped on his rye. What a day, indeed.