The noise stirs the baby, not into a cry but a wet gurgle. “Oh my,” Maggie says, approaching the carrier, a long, acrylic nail pointed toward the baby’s face. “Who do we have here?”

The women have moved from robes to rompers and are now into teddies, have drained two glasses or three. The baby has interrupted them only once, and only because he’d spit out his pacifier, more surprised than upset, and Cecilia calmed him easily. But Cecilia and baby Pedro are not the night’s only unexpected guests: half an hour ago Liana arrived, with another ex, a tall blonde from the Angels organization. While Liana has kept a decidedly low profile since her divorce, word is that this other woman, Tonya, was a Cinderella at Disney and is already trying to reenter baseball’s koi pond–size dating pool, with eyes on Ray Putney. “Bitch better stay away from my guy,” Lisa now says under her breath, holding her wineglass so tight her knuckles go white. Across the room, Tonya chats politely with Hillary about the traffic in Santa Monica.

Liana’s arrival also puts the kibosh on the wives’ latest gossip about her ex. Cynthia said she’d heard from a friend of a friend who worked at the casino that Jason’d frittered away all his money playing poker. Gambling! The women don’t believe it, or its source, this woman with Tabasco-red hair. “My friend says he has a debt collector out after him.” Cynthia looks like she’s enjoying this, but the women are incredulous—what Cynthia is describing is lurid, tawdry, the stuff of crime procedurals. “What do you think he was doing up at Taliesin? Sightseeing?”

“Ladies, look at what we have here.” Chantelle waves an elaborate red corset through the air, flicking her wrists like a matador. “Wouldn’t this do wonders in the bedroom?” The baseball wives snap back to attention, ask about other colors. Melissa knew this Cynthia was not to be trusted.

“Or maybe this?” Chantelle reveals another one-piece, pewter this time, ass-less save for the string of a thong. The wives tingle at the thought of wearing that when their husbands return from a two-week road trip. “Great support, push-up bra built right in.” Chantelle cups her own small but perky breasts. “He won’t be able to resist.”

A throaty mewl startles the wives, the wet gurgle giving voice to how more than a few of them feel. “Oh!” Cecilia says and pops up from the couch. “Lo siento. I mean, sorry.” She hurries to retrieve the child.

Quieting the boy, Cecilia settles into an armchair in the room’s far corner. Chantelle continues with the corsets, demonstrating snaps and clips and reversible ribbons.