Driving behind Mireille's sleek white car was a challenge for Steve as she headed up into the steep hills above Santa Barbara. On the road the light was scarce and the shadows of the mountains played upon the terrain. He wondered what the road would be like upon returning in total darkness. Taking one sharp turn at breathtaking speed where both of the high-performance cars came dangerously close to the cliff edge, Steve began to wonder if he would even live long enough to make a return trip down to sea level.

After swerving onto an unmarked side road which turned out to be Mireille's long driveway, the two vehicles passed up the steep incline. It was flanked by low wattage path lights to a level clearing where the narrow asphalt passageway morphed into a tiled drive. There was an impressive view from there of the a red glow beyond the horizon and the city lights of Santa Barbara edging out the coastline. Further up ahead there appeared a sweeping, ranch-style home surrounded by trees and more lamps illuminating the walls of the estate. 

As her car approached the closed garage with a low rumble, the large door began to open vertically. She and Steve drove their vehicles side by side into two of the four empty car ports. As the door behind them closed, the interior of the garage became illuminated while a second set of double doors leading into the house opened . Standing to greet them there, was an attractive, middle-aged woman with Near Eastern looks and wearing a colorful pantsuit.

Getting out of their cars, Steve and Mireille approached the woman at the door.

"Good evening," she said, smiling.

"Hala, this is Steve."

"Hello Sir. Mireille has told me of you. You're an actor?"

"Well, yes," he said awkwardly. "That is, I try to be . . . when the parts come by."

"Don't be modest, Steve . . . Hala here is my chef. And a good friend. She'll be serving us tonight. One of her specialties."

"Wonderful," he said, smiling back to her.

As he entered the all-white interior, the entire wall beyond was glass, presenting the last glow of the day beyond. The warm glow reflected off a long pool and what appeared to be an unlit tennis court beyond it.

"Hala, we'll both be taking showers before drinks. Steve can either wear the clothes he brought with him from the gym . . . or the things I bought for him yesterday. Please show him to the guest room."

"Clothes you bought for me?" he asked, surprised.

"Nothing special. I was just out doing one of my favorite bad habits . . . and picked up some things you might want to wear. Just something clean after that vigorous workout we're both so fond of. Surely, like me, you'll want to get out of those gym clothes.

"Yeah, but I brought my . . ."

"Suit yourself. The new things are in the closet if you wish."

With that, Mireille left him with Hala to lead the way.

"Come, Steve," Hala offered.

He followed her to another wing of the large house where there was a complete guest area. It seemed the size of his opulent hotel room back on the coast.

"You'll find everything you need here," Hala said, smiling her warm smile. "The room is usually used by Mireille's girlfriends, so if you need anything special, just let me know."

"No. I'm sure it'll be fine, Hala. Thanks."

As the woman left, Steve perused the room and bath. He was particularly interested in what she could have bought for him. In the closet hanging neatly, was a light blue cotton shirt, already pressed, and a pair of black jeans. Both of the items were labeled from a Ralph Lauren collection. Hanging next to them was a sand-colored windbreaker from DOLCE & GABBANA. There was also a bag on the floor with a pair of new white boxers and socks, again from a Polo Ralph Lauren shop.

Steve looked at the small travel bag he carried with him from the gym and the wrinkled pedestrian clothes he had worn to the gym. But why had she done this?

Finishing his shower and coming out to the bedroom dress, he considered the new clothing but could not get himself to accept the gifts. What was it with these two sisters, he wondered? And where could they possibly have gotten so much money at their young age? How could they be so foolish to have spent so much time, money and energy just to out-do each other? He also thought seriously about what Caia had told him earlier. About their sickness and how it would one day destroy them.

Drying off and putting on his own cologne, he just ignored the small bottle provided for him on the sink. Putting on his clothing, he began to accept a change of heart being brought on by the guilt he was now feeling. Could he really go on preparing to be so deceptive to Mireille that night? Did she in any way deserve the trickery which was intended for her? He thought again about what could have possibly fomented that kind of cruelty in Caia to plan it all so heartlessly. All with the goal to want to hurt her so emotionally.

Emerging from the guest room, Steve found his way to the living area where Hala was putting out chilled white wine for the two of them. When Mireille came into the room, she wore a simple, cream-colored silk jumpsuit accented with turquoise jewelry. She picked up the two glasses and sat sat next to him on the large divan. As he approached she handed him one of the wineglasses and took the other herself. She held it up as a sign a toast was in order.

"Here's to a beautiful evening," she said, smiling and sipping the wine.

"Your house is really amazing, Mireille," he said. "And you. You could not look lovelier."

"You're so sweet to say that, Steve. But you didn't like the clothes I picked out for you?"

"They were quite special. But why did you do that? I really can't accept those gifts."

"Oh come on. They were not that . . ."

"Expensive? Yes, they were."

"Steve, it was nothing. I just wanted you to feel . . . I mean in case you needed . . ."

"Well I'm touched. Really, Mireille. That you would do something like that."

"I guess I just wanted you to know how . . . I feel about our meetings, and well . . . how you've made me feel these days. It's been so long that I even felt as happy being with anyone."

Steve was speechless. He knew this was the perfect time to play with her emotions, but at that sensitive moment he could not bring himself to do so. To lure her where he was supposed to. She was just too vulnerable to set the trap he had intended to set. He had known since arriving it would only take the beautiful evening for the plan to work—leaving her wanting him even more to be a part of her present life.

Before he could say anything, Hala appeared with a tray.

"Dinner is served, you two. Shall I take your drinks to the table?"

"Oh great," Mirielle said. "Yes. Steve . . . I hope you're hungry. This lovely woman can win over the gods with her cooking."

"I can't wait," he said, just thankful for the momentary diversion.

"So, what's on the menu for us this evening, Hala," Mireille asked, feigning she didn't already know and leading Steve toward the dining room.

"It's sort of a Mediterranean combination, really," she said modestly. "A few Greek dishes. And some Lebanese surprises taught to me by my grandmother."

"Excellent." Steve said. "I actually am pretty hungry. Especially after hearing that teaser."

The two women laughed.

They were both seated by Hala at a table in view of a large fireplace that softly roiled  and crackled in the dim room with orange flames.

* * *

Two hours later, Hala's three-course meal had not disappointed. Over an aperitif and extended discussion about Mireille's family as early California vintners and the wild adventures of her Russian great grandfather, Mireille suggested she and Steve retire into her outdoor Jacuzzi.

"That's a great idea," Steve said. "I don't suppose you also bought me a bathing suit?"

"Of course not, silly," she said smiling. "It's dark enough out there . . . if we don't turn on the pool lights . . . to go without."

Steve smiled back slowly. He was reeling a bit from the effects of the two bottles of wine during dinner. "Well, I was kind of hoping we would . . . go without . . .and have the pool lights on."

He laughed, and so did Mireille.

"Is that because of the wine, Steve . . . or do you just want to see my new tan lines?"

"Definitely both," he said, getting up from the table. This signaled his resolve to proceed to the hot water.

Mireille called out to Hala, "Could you bring . . ."

"The towels are already out there, Mireille."

"Oh, wonderful, sweetie. You're off for the night now . . . Sleep well."

"Not as well as you two will tonight," the wise woman said under her breath in jest.

Both Steve and Mireille, hearing the comment, laughed.

Once Hala had exited the room to another wing of the enormous house, Mireille stood up and kissed Steve softly on the lips.

"We really can leave the pool lights on, if you like," she said seductively.

He nodded and reached for the table to drink what was left of his limoncello.

"Lead the way," he said. There was a conflicting and yet instinctive eagerness in his voice.

* * *