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foyer, but didn’t really mesh with the exterior of the house. Clearly their decorating plan was simply “anything expensive and showy” rather than one particular style. The party was meant to impress us, but, even though I couldn’t put my finger on it, there just seemed something a little tacky about the whole thing. Did we really need to be taken on a tour of Ben’s luxury goods? And be forced to listen to the silly reasons for each purchase? I mean, he actually told us he bought a piece of art for three hundred thousand dollars just so he could out-bid George Soros at the Sotheby’s auction.
    Of course, just when I thought the party couldn’t get any more over the top, our attention was directed towards the foyer where a five-piece mariachi band descended down the grand staircase, singing and playing their large stringed instruments, making the whole setting unquestionably one of the most bizarre firm events I’d witnessed. A mariachi band. For a dinner party. As if a further element of absurdity needed to be added to the whole situation.
    The mariachi band continued to play throughout dinner as we feasted on lobster ceviche and braised short ribs. I sat two seats away from Katrina, who downed red sangria like it was water and regaled the table with stories of their extravagant vacations.
    “’Scuse me please, but it’s time to kick this up a notch,” she slurred to the table midway through dinner and stumbled towards the band. We all turned to see what would happen next as she grabbed a microphone and started to sing. And by sing, I mean rolling her tongue and shrieking, “Ya ka ka ka ka” while clapping to the rhythm and swinging her hips. The members of the band looked puzzled, but kept playing. She dropped the microphone and stumbled back and forth attempting to dance with one of the band members. Finally, the train wreck ended and she returned to the table and fell into her chair.
    “Ben just hates it when I sing,” she announced to no one in particular. “But Ben hates just about everything I do, don’t you, Benny?” She patted his face a little too hard. Ben just sat there stiffly, clenching his teeth together like his jaw was wired shut. “Awww … now I’m being ignored.” Her lower lip dropped into a pout.
    “Nothing a little Xanax can’t fix though, right, sweetie?” She laughed and swilled back more of her drink.
    I can personally attest to the fact that nothing kills a dinner party faster than the hostess talking about her happy pills. We were ushered to our coats just as she was breaking out in song again. After that night I couldn’t look at Ben without thinking of his medicated wife and his pajama outfit. Now here I was, in Hugh Hefner’s office.
    “Okay,” Ben started, looking down at his clasped hands. “I just got off the phone with a new client and we’ve been given the go ahead to start work on their latest acquisition. And it’s a big one. Big.” He looked around the room significantly. “We’ve been retained by Pegasus Partners, the private equity firm that made headlines last year for their unfortunate foray into the arms manufacturing business. The bad publicity cost them two major investors.”
    I looked up from my notepad as though this wasn’t news to me.
    “Pegasus has decided to target Highlander Hotels and Resorts, hoping that a move into the more PR friendly hotel industry will scrub their image,” Ben went on. “They reached a handshake deal last night. We’re looking at a purchase price well north of seven billion.” He raised his eyebrows. “Now we’ve got to do the diligence and paper the deal. They want a fully signed purchase agreement by the end of February and the deal closed by the end of May.”
    I felt a bubble of dismay growing inside. Taking a multibillion dollar acquisition from a handshake to a fully signed purchase agreement typically took over six months. We had four. Couldn’t I just give him my thoughts on Jamba Juice Fridays