Don Draper leaned against the outdoor bar sipping an Old Fashioned and watching the becrowned and bejeweled crowd mingle. He was on his fifth and already calculating a strategic exit. The garden party was the first donor event of the Folk Life Museum's first fundraising campaign and Don was thoroughly bored. The curtain had been drawn back only to reveal an endless series of hard handshakes and polite inquires into his profession, his non-existent pedigree, his broken family life. He had done his time chatting up the other board members, swatting off attempts to commandeer his time for various committee work, and had finally retreated to the bar on the far side of the garden, the one less trafficked. He stared out at the mass of smartly dressed men and chiffon-draped women and felt only dread.
Dread for what he would have to endure as a newly anointed member of this crowd. Dread of going home to his new wife. Dread of acknowledging that he had once again made a mess of his life. If anyone knew how to go through the expected motions of life it was Don Draper, but as he took another sip of his Old Fashioned and stared out at the crowd in a general, unfocused way, he sensed that he might not have the stomach for it anymore, and so he dreaded the awful unraveling of a life he was still just starting to ravel.
If he left the party early, he would be obviously missed. And then where would he go? Home to Megan? She would be thrilled to have the unexpected time with him, would likely even initiate sex—she had lately made it a habit to drop to her knees in front of him and take his cock in her mouth as a way of welcoming him home from work—and yet, Don had grown increasingly bored with her youthful enthusiasm. Of course, she had stopped working once they were married. Of course, she had taken up her duties as his wife with the seriousness that only a young bride can. Of course, she was accomplished and well-educated, and had she come along to the party with him, she would have fit right in and elevated him in the eyes of donor and board members alike with her breathless charm and finishing school wit. And yet. If he had to admit anything, he would have to acknowledge that his boredom with her had begun even on the honeymoon.
Don ordered another Old Fashioned with the dreadful thought that he was going to ruin another beautifully young and hopeful girl.
Alone at the bar, how unlike you.
A voice he knew well. A voice he knew so well he didn't need to look to know who it was. Betty. He turned and took in the sudden appearance of her. Had he not seen her in the crowd?
What? All the interesting woman are taken?
It took him a few moments to compute what she had said, but once he did, he simply said, Apparently not.
She almost rolled her eyes, as if she couldn't even be bothered to go that far. She took a sip of her drink. Something clear. Probably vodka.
You're here because why? Don wanted to know.
Betty tossed her head. Henry. Donors.
And yet Henry isn't here? There was something different about her that piqued Don's curiosity.
He saw that he had affected her, that she was the one computing unexpected information now. He took the moment to take her in, to observe the changes in her. He couldn't help but look her up and down and when his eyes returned to her face, he saw that this too affected her.
But then she shrugged. She scanned the room, disinterested, and said, Neither is Megan.
Don looked at her directly. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? He felt his dick come to attention.
She took another cool sip, finishing the class of whatever she had on the rocks. Have fun, she said as she looked at him directly now before setting the glass down on the bar and walking off.
Damn.
Don watched her walk off, her slow and nonchalant swagger as she headed across the green expanse of lawn to a clutch of potential donors. Had she done that intentionally? He felt his dick activated, ready. He watched her approach a group of five standing in a small circle, drinks in hand, polite conversation in full force. Betty entered the group effortlessly, bringing some joke or witty comment that made the whole group break out in knowing laughter.
And then he saw it. The man she stood next to reached his hand out in a friendly manner to her shoulder, laughing and placing it as if to acknowledge her witticism. Don watched as the man then let his hand fall casually down Betty's back, glancing off her shoulders down to the small of her back and then to her ass. He saw the man grab her ass and release it just as quickly. A lover's grab stolen in plain sight. Betty didn't break character at all but played to the crowd that couldn't see what was happening right in front of them.
And Don knew then. She had approached him. He hadn't been imagining anything: he knew what was different about her now. He watched her as she seemed not to acknowledge the man next to her while being very aware of him at the same time. Don knew that dance very well. His cock grew harder just watching her.
When she excused herself from the group, Don drained the rest of his drink, sat the glass down on the bar and took off after her. He watched the man from the group watch her leave, but he didn't seem to have any intention of following her. Don tracked Betty and she headed into the mansion's garden level doors. He quickened his pace so as not to lose her. Inside, the sudden darkness of the house made him stop and search for her. He heard high heels clicking on the tile floor and he saw her walking down a hallway looking into rooms as she went. A servant rounded a corner and Don heard Betty ask where the powder room was. The maid pointed and two doors down. Don hurried, passing the servant and Betty was already in the powder room and closing the door behind her when Don stuck his hand into the opening and stopped the door in its track.
