The following is a work of erotic fiction and includes scenes of sexual activity. It includes characters that are copyrighted by Lionsgate Television, Weiner Bros and American Movies Classics. This story is intended for the non-commercial enjoyment of fans and should be considered a parody. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit will be made from the distribution of this story.
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Joan Holloway sat alone in her West 12th Street apartment, a half filled glass of scotch in her hand. It had not been the thirty-one year old redhead's first drink of the evening and she was certain it wouldn't be her last. Only a small lamp to her left illuminated the room, the semi-darkness around her made even more encroaching by the absence of either the radio or television. On those rare Saturday nights when she was home alone, one of those was usually on to help her ignore that fact.
The airways of both, however, had been filled with nothing but stories of the Russian nuclear missiles in Cuba and the possible American response to them. Most of the scenarios outlined by the on-air experts ended with an outbreak of war between the United States and the Soviet Union. While New York was beyond even the most optimistic range estimate of the Cuban missiles, the commentators were quick to remind their listeners that Russia had other more powerful missiles, as well as bombers, that could easily reach New York.
Cuba, however, and even more so, Russia, seemed far away at the moment and concerns more intimate dominated Joan's thoughts. For the last few years, she had been the Office Manager at Sterling and Cooper, one of the smaller advertising firms in the city. Responsible mainly for the secretarial pool, she had managed to carve out a nice little niche for herself. One that had provided her with both a position of power, at least as much as any woman was likely to have in today's business world, and a sense of satisfaction in her job. A situation that had changed as of late.
Looking back as she stared into the darkness, Joan decided she could trace the beginnings of her loss of prestige to the hiring of Peggy Olsen as the new secretary for Don Draper, the agency's creative director, some two years before. Joan saw Peggy, fresh from Miss Deaver's Secretarial School, as just another one of those bridge and tunnel girls, making the early morning subway ride into Manhattan every day, trying to raise their station in life. She had given the twenty-two year old her standard speech, included in which was the advice that if she really wanted to get ahead, then she had to be prepared to be more than just a secretary to the men in the office. It was after all, a man's world. That reality might not be fair, but as President Kennedy had said, little in life was.
In the beginning, Peggy had seemed to take her advice to heart, improving her appearance and even paying a visit to a doctor Joan recommended. The doctor, Joan knew, didn't have a problem writing prescriptions for birth control, even if the young woman seeking it was unmarried. In the fast moving world of the 1960s, such a precaution was an absolute necessity for a modern girl. Joan doubted any of the men in the office would be interested in the new girl, but who knew what might happen after a few drinks, and most of them started drinking well before noon.
It wasn't until months later that Joan learned she had seriously underestimated the younger woman. How had Peggy managed to parlay a few small copy ad suggestions, and in her opinion, that was all they had been, into a position as a junior copywriter? When Freddy Rumsen, the copywriter who had been instrumental in getting her that promotion, had been fired following a disastrous sales pitch, how had she practically walked over his grave to take over both his job and his office?
One of the reasons Joan had such power at the firm was the fact she had once had an affair with Roger Sterling, one of the senior partners. Joan filled a void in his life, mostly physical, that his wife no longer cared to. But two heart attacks had led Roger to vow to stop living life as if he was a twenty-two year old sailor on perpetual show leave, and the affair came to a sudden half.
Another source of her loss of authority, Joan knew, was due to Jane Siegel, the secretary who had replaced Peggy after her promotion. She and Joan had clashed almost immediately, their confrontation coming to a head the night Jane had gone along with some of the men in the office during a late night excursion up to Mr. Cooper's office to see some painting. The intrusion offended Joan's sense of propriety. There was nothing Joan could do about the men, but upon learning about the late night hijinks, she had immediately told Jane to clean out her desk and not to bother reporting to work the next day..
When Joan had come in the next morning, she was shocked to find Jane sitting at the desk as if nothing had happened. When she asked the girl what part of their conversation the day before she didn't understand, the only response she got was that Mr. Sterling would explain it to her.
It didn't take long to learn that not only had Roger Sterling unfired her, but also soon abandoned his vow and began an affair with the much younger woman. An affair that suddenly exploded into the open when Sterling announced his intention to divorce his wife and marry her.
By that time, Joan herself had become engaged to Dr. Greg Harris and had her own future set, or so she thought. She'd known from the beginning that Greg was sometimes capable of ugly possessive moments, but she never expected what had occurred on a recent night when he had forced himself on her, right in Don Draper's office, when she had been working late and he had come by to pick her up. Additionally, Greg had also lately become upset by the knowledge that she was more sexually experienced than he had originally imagined. One night when she had taken control of their lovemaking, he had immediately lost interest in it. Their engagement was still on, but she wasn't totally sure she wanted it to be. Even tonight, with the world possibly ending, he hadn't called her and she wasn't inclined to call him. So here she sat, drink in hand, looking back at her life and forward to an uncertain future.
The sharp ring of the telephone startled Joan, almost causing her to jump out of her chair. She stared at the phone for two more rings, and then hesitantly picked it up.
"Hello?" she said, wondering if Greg had finally decided to call and check up on her.
"Joan?" a decidedly non-masculine voice asked.
"Yes," Joan replied, still a little hesitant.
"Joan, it's me, Carol," the caller identified herself.
"Carol, oh God," Joan said in surprise. "I didn't recognize your voice."
If Joan had to make a short list of the last people she expected to hear from on a night like this, Carol McCardy, who had both been her college roommate and had shared this apartment for a time, would've been near the very top of it. Their friendship had begun to fray, although neither realized it at the time, on the night Roger Sterling had his first heart attack.
Carol had been fired from her job that afternoon and Joan had suggested that the two of them go out and pick up a few guys to take her mind off her problems. Then, as Joan was making a final check of her appearance in the mirror, Carol confessed that she loved her. She went so far as to say that she had loved her for years, ever since college, and had even followed her to New York to be with her. That she had waited all these years in the hope that one day, Joan would look at her and think of her in the same way as she would a boy.
Joan had stared at her friend for a few seconds, then calmly suggested that she'd had a long, hard day and that they should just go out and forget about it. Taken aback for a moment that her secret love was acting as if she hadn't heard a single word of what she'd said, Carol nevertheless had followed Joan's lead, and turned back the clock a few minutes and agreed to go out. Later, they brought two men back to the apartment and she once more cloaked herself in respectable heterosexuality.
Even though both of them never spoke of the incident again, it seemed to always to be there after that, and eventually Carol moved out. The last Joan had heard, her former roommate was sharing an apartment in Greenwich Village with another woman. While she was never totally sure, Joan was fairly certain that the relationship between Carol and her new roommate involved more than simply sharing the rent and utilities.
"Carol, is something wrong?" Joan asked, thinking that might be the reason for the unexpected call.
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Carol said. "You know, with everything that is going on and all."
"That's very nice of you," Joan replied. "To care, I mean."
"Joan, you know I've always cared about you," Carol said, the intensity of her words carrying more weight than they might otherwise imply.
"I appreciate that," Joan answered. "And are you and your roommate, I'm afraid I forget her name, all right?"
"Sonya moved out about four months ago," Carol said. "Things really just didn't work out."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Joan replied, surprising herself that she actually was. Whatever else Carol was, she had been her friend longer than anyone else she knew.
"Thank you," Carol said. "I was just sitting here all alone and began to think of you. I didn't even think you would be home but I thought I'd try. I'm sure you have company, so I don't want to hold you. Like I said, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"It's just me here," Joan said, "unless you want to count Mr. Jack Daniels."
"Oh," Carol said, surprised; the Joan she remembered wasn't the type to sit at home and drink alone.
"Carol?" Joan said a few long moments later, during which the line seemed like it had gone dead.
"Yes, I'm still here," she said.
"Carol, would you like to come over," Joan said, "just so neither of us is sitting in the dark alone," she quickly added.
"Are you sure it would be okay?" Carol asked.
"Yes, I think it would be quite okay," Joan said, suddenly grateful for the opportunity for some company.
"Okay, let me just clean up a little and I'll be right over as soon as I can get a cab."
"Good, I'll see you then," Joan said before hanging up the phone.
-=-=-=-
Getting up from the chair, Joan put on a few lights, changing the atmosphere of the apartment. She also put away the scotch bottle, draining the last of her glass before she did. Even though she had mentioned to Carol that she'd been drinking, it wouldn't do for her to see the full extent of it.
