Upstairs in Roger's office, things are swanky and gross some more. "Aren't you two a pair of bookends? What do you say, Draper, shall we cast them in bronze and mount them on the credenza?" One of them is like, "Oh my! Everything he says means something else too!" Yeah, honey. You know you have to actually earn respect? It's not his sexism that's making you stupid. One or the other of them notices that it's warm, and Roger explains that they turn the building's air off at five. Don asks Mirabelle what her special talent is, and true to her face, it's dressage. Roger starts creeping out wildly on Eleanor: "Your skin is translucent -- that's see-through -- can I touch it?" She offers her arm, so of course he strokes her thigh up to about her right earlobe, and she giggles. He calls her "soft as a lamb's ear." Don's smile is pasted on. Roger makes Mirabelle feel her sister's cheek, then suggests that they make out. The twins wonder why it is that men always ask them that. The answer is that men are gross, but Roger says that actually it's because "it's a beautiful thing." Done slurps the rest of his drink and tries to escape; Roger calls him "wonderboy" and wishes him a good night. Eleanor kinda wants to leave, kinda wants to stay, and finally she starts dancing around with Don in the middle of the room. "That's nice, dance for us," says Roger, and nuzzles Mirabelle.
Joan is getting made up at the apartment with Loser Carol, complaining that she's "stuck between Doris Day in Pillow Talk and Midnight Lace," when what she really needs is to be "Kim Novak in just about anything." Midnight Lace I get, because of the whole "we will never actually have a relationship" aspect of her relationship with Roger, and I guess I can see Pillow Talk vaguely, because she has no idea what a giant bitch she is and probably thinks of herself as a fairly harmless charmer, not a femme fatale...so it's funny that she's thinking about Kim Novak now. I mean specifically right this second: "What a rut! 1960, I am so over you!" Carol zips up her gown and smells her hair, and you go uh oh. "Shalimar?" Carol asks, and Joan wonders if it's too much. "You never say die, do you?" Carol says affectionately, and Joan minces for a second before remembering to care: "Carol, sweetie, it's not that bad. Tomorrow's another day!" Carol protests that she's actually doing okay, and Joan snaps her head, that way she does when a subject is closed: "Good. No waterworks. Mascara!" But the subject is not closed. "I'm just so happy right now!" Joan laughs and asks if she's taking pills already. Carol's like, "No, silly! SSRIs won't be invented for twenty-eight years! I'm talking about totally lezzing out on you!" Joan's like, "We do have fun, don't we."