* 𝚗 𝚘 𝚜 𝚝 𝚊 𝚕 𝚐 𝚒 𝚊 .

cecil’s cabaret—- a unique atmosphere, the perfect place for him to soak his brain for the night, immerse himself into something larger than himself, spiral into the brassy delight of detroit nightlife … an opportunity that arises once every blue business trip. do not be fooled … don draper is not here for the temptation of exposed skin, nor for the prospect of a cheap laugh. research, he calls it, fingering the cultural pulse—- always watching life from within his glass box like the little wooden boy he is … he’s not watching the performance. he’s watching the people, their reactions. and he has plenty of opportunity; the place is packed … not a seat in the house left on a thursday night, which is interesting … because this strip of detroit was filled with every variation imaginable of this same idea in different sizes, colors, themes, etc. and they’re all half as full … which begs the question, why this particular cabaret? was it for the entertainment? the grandiose feel, the excitement, the thrill of bright lights? the feeling that arises before one is compelled to applaud? or could it be the antiquated feel … the feeling you get like you’ve been there before, like you’ll be there again just to savor the feeling? ‘TRADITION.’ he jots the word down on a napkin, carefully dissecting his own handwriting with his eyes … it’s an idea, but it’s not the right idea.

he hardly notices the blonde at his shoulder ordering a drink. he’s seen @badbird​ before, this he knows, but where … ?   ❛ you’re the cabaret girl. ❜   he recalls loud enough for her to hear, stamping out his cigarette into his ashtray and discarding the butt among the others. smoke curls from his nose in ribbons, temporarily obscuring his face from view. and when it reappears, he is still just as expressionless as when he hadn’t recognized her at all. then, matter of factly, with a furrowed brow, he concludes,   ❛ —- you were good. ❜   

this  night  was  vexing.   round  tables  sat  full  of  boisterous  out  of  towners  ,  greedy  men  who  pawed  at  the  girls  in  their  sequined  costumes  whenever  they  ventured  too  near.  regulars  knew  how  to  conduct  themselves ;  something  people  who’d  never  stepped  foot  into  cecil’s  or  any  place  like  it  did not. birdie  wasn’t  having  any  of  it.  she’d  warned  the  girls  one  at  a  time  before  sending  them  into  the  lions  den  ,  knowing  more  than  one  would  end  up  with  hurt  feelings  &  runny  mascara.  grabbing  a  flute  of  champagne  from  a  waiters  tray  she  downed  it  without  a  second  thought  as  she  stamped  towards  the  packed  bar ,  knowing  that  something  with  more  kick  might  be  the  very  trick  to  get  through  this  obnoxiously  packed  thursday  night.