Episode One: “Time Zones”
Peggy, supine in the city, aims a forceful plume at the sky
“On the next new episode…”
Joan, in an alarming red dress, pivots pointedly in the doorway
Pete in a padded leather office chair, flares everywhere, arm cocked, telephone elbow. “I appreciate you fighting for me.”
Don in a crowded lounge, two male hands grasp his shoulders, pulling his attention down and across his chest
Dawn, in the office kitchen, advises a colleague: “Keep pretending, that’s your job.”
Meanwhile, Jim Cutler grapples with his jaw, shaking his head, drilling his chin into his palm
Roger, comfortable with his angles, slouches into a business call: “It’s Roger.”
Pete, on a couch, wrangles with old ambitions: “Why don’t we just start our own agency?”
Don, darkly drawn, squeezes the phone like a violin and ignores a chandelier: “What did he say?”
Lou Avery convincingly pleads ignorance: “None of this has anything to do with me!”
Roger negotiates a step.
A deflated Peggy, Ginsberg and Stan, zipped into in ominous plaids and leathers, enter the elevator.
Ginsburg: “She’s gonna find out.”
Don, lingering in the hallway, shakes deceit from his limbs.