This is uncomfortable. To put it mildly, and just as a way of trying to define the situation. (It's difficult, of course, when the fact is that this situation simply shouldn't be occurring, when the pieces still don't seem entirely possible, but when has actuality ever made much sense? The truth of life is that it's pieces never fit the way they should. The truth of life is that everything is more absurd than could be imagined, and that the absurdity is ordinary.) If he can define the situation, Don thinks he can continue to manage it. So long as he continues to search for understandable terms and definitions, he can remain removed from the situation. And he needs to. This isn't anything he should fall into.
It's clear enough that Ginsberg has tumbled into something, though he seems to be attempting to pull himself back out. (Is that surprising? Is that almost... admirable, in a way? Don might not have thought that Ginsberg possessed the wherewithal to regain himself like this, if Don had thought on it at all.) His eyes are still unsettling, so close now that Don almost does pull away, tries to sunder this unstable connection before he has to really face it, before the sensing of it takes on the guise of responsibility. It's like looking into the eyes of a drowning man, or at least a man who thinks he's drowning. It's painfully familiar.
'I don't have anywhere else to go.' Of course he doesn't. Of course it isn't that easy, and Don suspects Ginsberg means more than that he lacks an actual home (though maybe he doesn't have anywhere to go, maybe he really doesn't). Because a part of Ginsberg is clearly still caught overseas. Because he apparently can't rid himself of what happened there ('because there's no help for it') and doesn't know what to do with it, maybe doesn't know what to make of himself in the wake of those events. Things happen. You change with whatever events you encounter... But if Ginsberg can't accept what happened, maybe he doesn't know what or where he is.
Such a fucking mess. And while Don would like to offer words, to present a solution that could wrap away the problem and shake Ginsberg out of this awkward despondency, he doesn't think this is a time to dwell on the matter. Every answer he's given thus far has only incited Ginsberg further. And what is there to say? Don doesn't have open-and-shut answers, and Don isn't convinced that Ginsberg is capable of accepting anything less than some clear-cut approach.
Maybe it’s better to stick with talk about work right now. Maybe he'll come back to the rest if the time feels right, or if he can't avoid it any longer (some issues press, demand expression like that).
All right, he can talk about work. They were doing well enough with that before, weren't they? So Don nods, elbows resting on his knees, and speaks in an almost casual tone. "Jeff Franklin. He keeps a stack of porno magazines on his desk."
Of course Ginsberg was right; Peggy would be fine. There was no question of that, though Ted had insisted on making absolutely certain that she knew what she was getting into, and that she knew she didn't have to go. Peggy hadn't so much as batted an eye. If anything, she'd become more firmly set on winning the account in spite of Franklin's shady reputation. "If Peggy can cut through the licentiousness, we might be running ads for double As in the near future."
"Double As and socks." The news about Hammett & Sons is a surprise, though he betrays the fact only through a moment of silent processing. Either nobody had mentioned the account to him, or he hadn't been listening. Maybe it had come up in a partners' meeting. Maybe it hadn't, and whoever was running the talks (did Peggy know? did Ted?) had simply decided that Don didn't need to know.
He isn't certain that it should matter. It probably should, and it raises worries, suggestions that he's entertained on and off for the past several months. There comes a time when usefulness wears itself out, after all. There comes a time when whatever talent, whatever pull you once had is no longer enough to hold you.
It stings for a moment, and then he pushes it away. Never mind. He can't know what happened (but, Christ, shouldn't this put more pressure on whatever he may or may not come up with for Sunkist? what follows after being removed from news of potential business?). He can't know what it means. There isn't any use in worrying.
"My wife used to swear by Hammett & Sons." He says it without thinking about the statement; it's only something to advance the dialogue. Betty had purchased Hammett & Sons socks often enough that to mark them in Don's mind, after all. "Something about longevity and colorfastness. They weren't uncomfortable, but they weren't exactly memorable, either." So far as Don had been concerned, they'd just been another brand of socks. He hasn't bought them since.
"I can't think of a more boring product to crowd the airwaves with."
no subject
It's clear enough that Ginsberg has tumbled into something, though he seems to be attempting to pull himself back out. (Is that surprising? Is that almost... admirable, in a way? Don might not have thought that Ginsberg possessed the wherewithal to regain himself like this, if Don had thought on it at all.) His eyes are still unsettling, so close now that Don almost does pull away, tries to sunder this unstable connection before he has to really face it, before the sensing of it takes on the guise of responsibility. It's like looking into the eyes of a drowning man, or at least a man who thinks he's drowning. It's painfully familiar.
'I don't have anywhere else to go.' Of course he doesn't. Of course it isn't that easy, and Don suspects Ginsberg means more than that he lacks an actual home (though maybe he doesn't have anywhere to go, maybe he really doesn't). Because a part of Ginsberg is clearly still caught overseas. Because he apparently can't rid himself of what happened there ('because there's no help for it') and doesn't know what to do with it, maybe doesn't know what to make of himself in the wake of those events. Things happen. You change with whatever events you encounter... But if Ginsberg can't accept what happened, maybe he doesn't know what or where he is.
Such a fucking mess. And while Don would like to offer words, to present a solution that could wrap away the problem and shake Ginsberg out of this awkward despondency, he doesn't think this is a time to dwell on the matter. Every answer he's given thus far has only incited Ginsberg further. And what is there to say? Don doesn't have open-and-shut answers, and Don isn't convinced that Ginsberg is capable of accepting anything less than some clear-cut approach.
Maybe it’s better to stick with talk about work right now. Maybe he'll come back to the rest if the time feels right, or if he can't avoid it any longer (some issues press, demand expression like that).
All right, he can talk about work. They were doing well enough with that before, weren't they? So Don nods, elbows resting on his knees, and speaks in an almost casual tone. "Jeff Franklin. He keeps a stack of porno magazines on his desk."
Of course Ginsberg was right; Peggy would be fine. There was no question of that, though Ted had insisted on making absolutely certain that she knew what she was getting into, and that she knew she didn't have to go. Peggy hadn't so much as batted an eye. If anything, she'd become more firmly set on winning the account in spite of Franklin's shady reputation. "If Peggy can cut through the licentiousness, we might be running ads for double As in the near future."
"Double As and socks." The news about Hammett & Sons is a surprise, though he betrays the fact only through a moment of silent processing. Either nobody had mentioned the account to him, or he hadn't been listening. Maybe it had come up in a partners' meeting. Maybe it hadn't, and whoever was running the talks (did Peggy know? did Ted?) had simply decided that Don didn't need to know.
He isn't certain that it should matter. It probably should, and it raises worries, suggestions that he's entertained on and off for the past several months. There comes a time when usefulness wears itself out, after all. There comes a time when whatever talent, whatever pull you once had is no longer enough to hold you.
It stings for a moment, and then he pushes it away. Never mind. He can't know what happened (but, Christ, shouldn't this put more pressure on whatever he may or may not come up with for Sunkist? what follows after being removed from news of potential business?). He can't know what it means. There isn't any use in worrying.
"My wife used to swear by Hammett & Sons." He says it without thinking about the statement; it's only something to advance the dialogue. Betty had purchased Hammett & Sons socks often enough that to mark them in Don's mind, after all. "Something about longevity and colorfastness. They weren't uncomfortable, but they weren't exactly memorable, either." So far as Don had been concerned, they'd just been another brand of socks. He hasn't bought them since.
"I can't think of a more boring product to crowd the airwaves with."