The next day, at SC, Smith and Paul are playing some makeshift golf in, I think, Paul's office, while Peggy rests her head on a desk like she can't believe who she's stuck with here. And while it's true it would be a better party with some gays, closeted or not, in fairness things are going to pick up pretty soon. (I'm assuming Sal and, hopefully, Kurt, aren't around because they're not at the artwork stage yet.) Smith asks what Paul's secret to doing so well in the game is, and Paul grandly announces, "I use Harry Crane's paddle. And I pretend that's his fat head." Heh. The three of them sip some Bacardi, for inspiration on more than one level, but the best they can come up with is "Bacardi-licious" and "Bacardi-lightful," and no offense, but I don't think their clients are paying for plays on words quite that lame. On the other hand, if I'm wrong, maybe I can explore a new career path. Paul wistfully speculates that the partygoers are drinking mint juleps, but Smith dismissively says booze just puts him to sleep, and he'll "take grass any hour of the day." That gives him an idea, and Paul is with him, pompously saying when he wrote his senior thesis at Princeton, "Mary Jane was [his] muse." Peggy interjects another gem: "Paul helps me sleep." Funny, but true, and I wish you hadn't reminded me, because now I need more coffee. Holding up some fruit, his face suddenly looking inspired, Paul asks Peggy to get a blender so they can turn their drinks into frappés. It's true he's got an angle here, as he's trying to get in the beach spirit of the campaign, but Peggy still doesn't want to be ordered around: "You get it." He replies that he's eating, though, and rather than argue further, she gives in and leaves the room. I'd be disappointed in her backing down, but she does get to leave his presence for a while, so there's that.