“Yeah, yeah, tell it to Gloria Steinem and get lost.”

“I have no desire to stay and listen to a bunch of fools belch, snort, and tell lies about the women they’ve had.” Chin lifted, she snatched her purse from a chair.

“And I was going to tell Byron all about that night I picked you up on Fisherman’s Wharf and we—”

“Shut up, Mick.” Her brows drew together, her color rose. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait a minute.” Her husband made a grab, missed. “What night?”

“It was nothing.” She seared Michael with a look. “It was nothing.”

“Aw, sugar,” Michael murmured. “Now you’ve hurt my feelings.”

“Men are pigs,” she tossed back as she slammed the door behind her.

“Well, that got rid of her,” Michael decided. “Where are the cards?”

“Margo and Kate?” Josh eyed him narrowly.

“Can’t fault my taste, can you?” Michael tucked his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, where are the cards?”

“Men deserve their little rituals.” Susan stretched out on the long arm of the conversation pit in the family room. “Just as we deserve ours.”

“I don’t mind.” Snuggled back against a mountain of pillows, Margo nibbled from a bowl of popcorn. “Kate gets huffy.”

“Where is Kate?” Wandering to the window, Laura looked out. “She should be here by now.”

“Oh, she’d have waited to yank their chains before she left.” Margo shrugged and reached for the champagne. “She’ll be along. God knows this is better than poker and beer and a bunch of cigar smoke, but she’s got to make her point. Ready for a glass, Mum?”

Ann paused in her perusal of the videotapes chosen for the marathon viewing. “Well . . . maybe just a little one.”

They had champagne, popcorn, a platter of crudités, fresh fruit, three choices of dip, including white chocolate, and a stack of movies. The baby was sleeping in the nursery and her favorite women were here. Margo judged it the perfect girls’ night out.

“I’m going to do your nails.”

“I don’t want the fussing.”

Margo smiled at her mother. “It’s fun, Mum. I’ve got the perfect shade for you. Red Hot Lover.”

Ann snorted into her wine. “I won’t wear any such thing. As if I’d be painting my fingernails anyway.”

“Men go for it.” To tease, Margo leaned closer. “And Bob the butcher’s had his eye on you for years.”

“He certainly has not.” Her face flaming, Ann fumbled with the stack of tapes. “That’s nonsense. We have a good customer relationship. Nothing more.”

“He saves the leanest cuts for Miss Annie.” Margo fluttered her lashes, then laughed. “You should give him a break one of these days. Oh, Laura, stop worrying about Kate. She’ll be here.”