As Promised... "Mad Men" fic
Aug. 27th, 2009 03:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cmk418Just a light hint of things to come, folks.
Spoilers for 2.07 "The Gold Violin" and 3.01 "Out of Town". Angst and unrequited feelings abound.
DROWNING IN A SEA OF BLUE AND GRAY
“I have something for you,” Ken said.
Oh, sweet Jesus, thought Sal, freezing in his tracks. This was the beginning of one of his favorite fantasies. The moment at the hotel eclipsed it, of course, but sometimes it was nice revisiting the classics.
“I wrote it.” Ken was still talking, stepping back now to smile at Sal and judge his reaction.
“Wrote what?”
“About the night we visited the painting. Do you mind taking a look at it?”
I’ll look at… Oh right, the story. “Mind? Of course not. I enjoy getting a preview of the literary work of the illustrious Kenneth Cosgrove.”
“Oh, and Sal, I really don’t want the other guys to know about it. Campbell… Campbell might use it against me.”
“Don’t worry about Campbell. He’s never been part of our little adventure,” Sal gave Ken a pat on the shoulder.
A look of discomfort fleetingly crossed Ken’s face. Sal worried for a moment that he may have gone too far.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he assured Ken.
“Thanks,” Ken said, smiling brightly.
Sal didn’t know if his imagination was playing tricks on him or not, but it seemed as if Ken was more reluctant to part with this story than he was “The Gold Violin”.
It seemed to take forever for Kitty to go to sleep. Sal eased off the covers and tiptoed into the living room. He slowly slid the story from his portfolio, careful not to make a sound. He settled into a chair and began to read. It was, as Ken said, about a man sneaking in to view the painting (which, for some reason, was blue instead of red) and the impact that it had on that man’s life and point of view. It was about having a secret that you weren’t able to share with anyone else.
Oh my God.
Sal set the story down and paced the length of the room.
I didn’t read what I just read, did I? I mean, I couldn’t. I mean, he couldn’t. Could he?
Sal picked up the story again and read as he paced.
Holy Mary, Mother of God. I knew I had picked something up the last time. Even with all that flirting with all those women, all that denial, that comment in the breakroom about Kurt… he’s…
Does he know about me? Is that why he gave me this to read? Oh God, what am I going to do?
He remembered Don’s advice – Limit your exposure – and the next afternoon, he told Ken simply, “I liked your story. I don’t think I’ve ever identified so much with a protagonist.”
He watched Ken’s eyes crinkle at the edges. “Really?”
Sal put a hand on Ken’s arm. “Yes, really.”
“That’s great,” said Ken. “I wanted to make the character something of an everyman.”
“Well, he’s definitely every man in this room.” Sal looked up at Ken, hoping that he’d get the hint.
Ken shuffled nervously. “I’m not sure I want to publish it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too personal, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah.” Maybe Ken did realize how obvious it was. “Just changing the colors of the painting doesn’t change the situation. It’s still you, it’s still us.”
Ken nodded, straightening up some of the paperwork on his desk. “You coming out?”
Sal’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”
“Tonight. There’s a group of us…”
“Right. Sure. Since you asked.”
“Great. It’ll be the usual gang. And Olson’s going to see if Campbell will come down from the mountain to join us.”
The smile had fallen from Ken’s face and Sal hated to see it happen. Things had changed in the office since both Ken and Campbell had taken over Accounts. There wasn’t the camaraderie between them that there used to be.
“Aren’t you on the same mountain?” Sal asked with a smile.
“I-“ Ken’s voice faltered and he looked away.
Sal remembered a line in the story which was something Ken had said when they had looked at the Rothko. “It’s like looking into something very deep. You could fall in.” His heart sunk as he realized that the blue-gray of the painting wasn’t just a creative choice.
It was the color of Campbell’s eyes.
Spoilers for 2.07 "The Gold Violin" and 3.01 "Out of Town". Angst and unrequited feelings abound.
DROWNING IN A SEA OF BLUE AND GRAY
“I have something for you,” Ken said.
Oh, sweet Jesus, thought Sal, freezing in his tracks. This was the beginning of one of his favorite fantasies. The moment at the hotel eclipsed it, of course, but sometimes it was nice revisiting the classics.
“I wrote it.” Ken was still talking, stepping back now to smile at Sal and judge his reaction.
“Wrote what?”
“About the night we visited the painting. Do you mind taking a look at it?”
I’ll look at… Oh right, the story. “Mind? Of course not. I enjoy getting a preview of the literary work of the illustrious Kenneth Cosgrove.”
“Oh, and Sal, I really don’t want the other guys to know about it. Campbell… Campbell might use it against me.”
“Don’t worry about Campbell. He’s never been part of our little adventure,” Sal gave Ken a pat on the shoulder.
A look of discomfort fleetingly crossed Ken’s face. Sal worried for a moment that he may have gone too far.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he assured Ken.
“Thanks,” Ken said, smiling brightly.
Sal didn’t know if his imagination was playing tricks on him or not, but it seemed as if Ken was more reluctant to part with this story than he was “The Gold Violin”.
It seemed to take forever for Kitty to go to sleep. Sal eased off the covers and tiptoed into the living room. He slowly slid the story from his portfolio, careful not to make a sound. He settled into a chair and began to read. It was, as Ken said, about a man sneaking in to view the painting (which, for some reason, was blue instead of red) and the impact that it had on that man’s life and point of view. It was about having a secret that you weren’t able to share with anyone else.
Oh my God.
Sal set the story down and paced the length of the room.
I didn’t read what I just read, did I? I mean, I couldn’t. I mean, he couldn’t. Could he?
Sal picked up the story again and read as he paced.
Holy Mary, Mother of God. I knew I had picked something up the last time. Even with all that flirting with all those women, all that denial, that comment in the breakroom about Kurt… he’s…
Does he know about me? Is that why he gave me this to read? Oh God, what am I going to do?
He remembered Don’s advice – Limit your exposure – and the next afternoon, he told Ken simply, “I liked your story. I don’t think I’ve ever identified so much with a protagonist.”
He watched Ken’s eyes crinkle at the edges. “Really?”
Sal put a hand on Ken’s arm. “Yes, really.”
“That’s great,” said Ken. “I wanted to make the character something of an everyman.”
“Well, he’s definitely every man in this room.” Sal looked up at Ken, hoping that he’d get the hint.
Ken shuffled nervously. “I’m not sure I want to publish it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too personal, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah.” Maybe Ken did realize how obvious it was. “Just changing the colors of the painting doesn’t change the situation. It’s still you, it’s still us.”
Ken nodded, straightening up some of the paperwork on his desk. “You coming out?”
Sal’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”
“Tonight. There’s a group of us…”
“Right. Sure. Since you asked.”
“Great. It’ll be the usual gang. And Olson’s going to see if Campbell will come down from the mountain to join us.”
The smile had fallen from Ken’s face and Sal hated to see it happen. Things had changed in the office since both Ken and Campbell had taken over Accounts. There wasn’t the camaraderie between them that there used to be.
“Aren’t you on the same mountain?” Sal asked with a smile.
“I-“ Ken’s voice faltered and he looked away.
Sal remembered a line in the story which was something Ken had said when they had looked at the Rothko. “It’s like looking into something very deep. You could fall in.” His heart sunk as he realized that the blue-gray of the painting wasn’t just a creative choice.
It was the color of Campbell’s eyes.
