The club, which opened in 1997, was the brainchild of Ms. Blixseth’s former husband, Tim Blixseth. For years they ran it together, installing the caviar bar in the clubhouse, and giving the 75 ski runs names like “Learjet Glades” and “Ebitda.” Then in 2005, despite assurances to members that Yellowstone would never take on debt, the Blixseths obtained a $375 million bank loan from Credit Suisse by pledging the assets of the club as collateral.

That, Ms. Blixseth says, is when the trouble began.

“I didn’t recognize it as such, but that Credit Suisse loan was the beginning of Tim’s midlife crisis,” she allows, saying she signed off on the loan only after vehemently opposing her ex. “Before, we could contain him. After, it was ego gone wild.”

Mr. Blixseth declined repeated interview requests. But in documents filed in the Montana bankruptcy court last Thursday, he describes Ms. Blixseth as someone who “spent millions like money grew on trees” and accuses her of being involved in “a pattern of untruthfulness and dishonest tactics.”

Among examples of profligate spending Mr. Blixseth cites in the filing is a $90,000 party that Ms. Blixseth had at Porcupine Creek for more than 100 guests. Guests were invited to whack piñatas shaped like Mr. Blixseth and which contained chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil. Voodoo dolls resembling Mr. Blixseth — complete with stickpins — were also on display. (Ms. Blixseth acknowledges that the party did indeed occur.)

Since the Credit Suisse loan came through, there have been lawsuits and countersuits — more than half a dozen, at least — alleging bank fraud, conspiracy and breach of fiduciary duty, among other claims.

According to bankruptcy court documents, much of the Credit Suisse money went to create Yellowstone Club World, Mr. Blixseth’s failed effort to establish a chain of exotic resort locales. Among properties he bought for what he imagined as a sort of megaluxe timeshare were these: a $28 million, 14th-century chateau (complete with moat) outside Paris, a $40 million Mexican resort, a $28 million private island in the Caribbean, and a $40 million site in Scotland that was to house a golf retreat (down payment: $12 million). Court documents show that the Blixseths also pocketed $209 million in cash, as well, which they channeled into their family holding company.

When the Blixseths finalized their divorce last year, Mr. Blixseth, now 59, got what was left of that cash and the Mexican and Caribbean properties, among other things. Among Ms. Blixseth’s spoils were the French spread, known as Château de Farcheville; the land in St. Andrews, Scotland; the Yellowstone Club (and its debt); and Porcupine Creek, where her fund-raiser is about to begin.

As she prepares for her party, she seems more concerned with battered women than with her own sorry financial situation. If she feels any shame, it is hidden under what might be described as a cashmere throw rug of effusive denial.

“You here to arrest me?” she chirps gaily, greeting a large man who is the chief of police of Cathedral City, just a few miles away. She’s joking — he’s heading the security detail for her fund-raiser — but the joke is a shade too real. In February, a federal judge ordered her arrest after she missed a court appearance related to her nonpayment of a $13.3 million loan, a sum that looked like lunch money compared with the debt that Yellowstone had amassed: more than $360 million, excluding interest.

“Some people think they better come because it’ll be their last chance to see the house — because soon I won’t have it anymore,” she says, speculating on what has helped lure tonight’s guests to her home. “I say fine, let’s use the morbid stuff.”

Has she heard the rumor that she and Mr. Blixseth are reconciling? That their divorce was a ruse to throw off creditors? That as recently as a year ago they were considering adopting a baby from China? She laughs — she’s heard them all — and says she suspects that Mr. Blixseth (whom she has nicknamed “Toxic”) may be spreading the stories.

“I would rather feel the cold steel of a revolver in the roof of my mouth and pull the trigger than to ever think about living a day with that man again,” Ms. Blixseth says, warming to the idea of talking to a journalist. She has turned down 50 requests, she says; this is her first in-depth interview ever. “I’ve kept my mouth shut, and I’m not doing it anymore.”

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