“The fact of the matter is, as I read somewhere, this is the age of the perfection society, and the urban woman of New York, Paris, London, Tokyo, Chicago, Los Angeles, Hong Kong etc, is the standard bearer of the age,” Juliana said emphatically, and then speared the last bit of lobster on her plate.  “No other segment of this society is under more pressure: I bet you my next paycheck, Tom, that you won’t be able to disprove the urban woman is under more pressure than anyone else in modern society,” she continued in a challenging tone, just before popping the delicate morsel into her mouth.

“Men are under the same pressure to be perfect,” Tom batted back, wiped his mouth, and then set his fork down.  He leaned forward, as if preparing to line up his own arguments, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.  His friendly grin earlier was replaced by a firm line.

They stared at one another across the square, elegantly-set table like combatants in a ring.

“C’mon, Bette, quit being Switzerland for a minute, and back me up on this!” Juliana exploded after a moment, breaking away from the stare-down with Tom to glance over at the silent brunette, who’d been seemingly oblivious to the exchange.

“Didn’t we just go through the subject of Tina, her pregnancy, and your worries that her efforts to keep your home, your marriage, and her professional commitments together and on track were becoming too much for her?”

Bette pursed her lips and sat back, savoring the light yellow-gold Rhone white Ashley had generously instructed the sommelier of the resort’s main restaurant to send over to the cottage.  According to the sommelier, Ashley said she had authorized him to send the special bottle over because he had said it would go well with the dinner Juliana had prepared.   Excellent choice, Bette thought now as she inhaled the aroma of the wine in her glass again, shutting her eyes to enjoy the incredible bouquet that rose from the wine.  It perfectly complemented the full body, smooth taste, and fine finish of the incredible French white wine.

“Well, Bette?  What do you think?” Tom asked briskly.  “The men of New York and other cities are just as fucked as the women, right?”