Betty Draper: (in a slightly pissed off, but still quiet and reserved tone) Don, you had a phone call.
Don: What? (30 minutes of staring) Who called? (reaches into liquor cabinet and pulls out a fine bourbon)
Betty:(holding cigarette in left hand) It was Jack Swarbrick .
Don:(pulls out lighter) The Jack Swarbrick?
Betty: (lights cigarette) Yes Don. The Jack Swarbrick.
Don: Oh, ok... This account is huge. You better not have ruined it for me.
Betty: I didn't. (lip trembles)
Don: Let me see that phone number. (reaches for paper)
Betty: Your horrible DON! (throws paper at him, runs off to tuck in Sally)
Don: (shot of him looking confused for 90 seconds, then reaches for phone) Hello, Jack? This is Don Draper.
Jack: (on other end of land line) Helloooooo DONNY!
Don: Well, uh, hello.
Jack: Cheer up Donny, it's you lucky day. I'm hiring you.
Don: So you want to do this outside of the company?
Jack: Yes. I want you. Notre Dame NEEDS YOU. Here's our situation Don. We don't have a coach. We hear you do wonders in selling coaches.
Don: I see my reputation precedes me.
Jack: It does. Oh god it does. Look, I want to get down to business. Who is a good coach, and sell me him. And make sure he's not a darkie. We already tried that.
Don: Well, we know that the ratings increase with the hire of a negro, but you are the customer, and the customer get's what he wants. (Wants to say Turner Gill). Well, you have me off balance, but someone like Tommy Tuberville would be great.
Jack: Naaw. I don't like him. Too not good recently.
Don: Well, probably that guy from Connecticut. He has proven himself.
Jack: NO. Why haven't you said Brian Kelley?
Don: We've seen the spread suck when moving to established running offenses. Michigan for one.
Jack: Your wrong Don. I like Kelley. Thanks but no thanks.
Don: Why would you just string me along for this? You are making a horrible mistake.
Jack: Sorry, don't care Don. I do what I want. What are you thinking for salary? Like 20 million?
Don: Absolutely no-
Jack: ALRIGHT! 20 million it is! Thanks Don. Bye. (click)
Betty: (running downstairs) I'm leaving you!
Don: What?
Betty: You know what! (runs out front door)
Don: (stares sadly at wall. Finishes off drink)
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