It was on her Facebook and Instagram account that Mireille began to obsess over her sister Caia's perceived happiness, while she herself continued to languish in a depressed state. Her immense mountain top home with the impressive ocean view had not hosted any guests for going on three weeks. Only the gardeners, the housekeeper, Mireille's personal chef, and the market delivery staff brought any activity to the estate as a daily routine.

Lately, as she sat in her living room or lay on bed, she would hourly access her account online with a purpose. And that goal was to single-mindedly view and evaluate her sister Caia's numerous posts featuring her recent photos and activities. These would include her antics with young and boisterous friends on Santa Barbara's all-night State Street; a quick trip up to San Francisco shopping; selfies of her wearing the scores of outfits she bought; and numerous close-up photos of her pristine nails and jewelry laid out on silk articles of lingerie. Even platters of food in posh restaurants were recorded copiously in her posts. Mireille was particularly interested, however, in how her sister presently looked--as it was all about her devilish new plan.

Over the last few days Mireille focused on the number of postings showing Caia in the company of a relatively older male—appearing to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He was clearly ten years her senior, with an air of sophistication and confidence about him, which neither of the girls had yet experienced. He seemed vaguely familiar to her, yet she could not place where she had seen his handsome face before. There was no evidence in the pictures they were intimate or lovers. All the outings Caia posted of her with the man featured the two in formal evening wear at venues like the Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts in Los Angeles and at gala art gallery receptions in San Diego or San Francisco.

This immediately prompted the bed-ridden Mireille to call her and her sister's only other mutual friend, Courtney Wilson. For Courtney was yet another girl who had managed to stay close to the twins, despite the sisters' terrible rivalries and explosive antics which had remained constant and disturbing since childhood.

"Hello . . . Court?  . . . Yeah, it's me. . ."

"Mireille! What's up with you? People have been seriously asking me."

"Yeah, I know. I've just been laying low these days."

"Like really low, Hun. You never pick up your phone anymore! I just figured you needed some space . . . But OK, enough now. You coming back to Earth soon?"

"I'm good. . . just still kinda . . . under the weather. You know, it's a guy thing."

"Yeah Chrystal told me you were hit pretty hard. That jerk you were seeing. The TV guy, right? So he was engaged . . . married or something?"

"It's complicated . . . but I'm feeling better since I've planned something. Listen, Courtney . . . I need you to help me out with this . . . new project. It's important."

"Alright. Just tell me. Especially if it brings you back out of that castle on the hill. The mountaintop is not your tomb, you know. You've missed some outrageous parties, girl!"

"Well . . . if you were there, Court . . . I'm sure they were. So how's college?"

"Nada. I dropped out. Too much BS. You know . . . I never liked to study."

"Yeah, ditto for me. So what are you going to do . . . now that we're all nineteen and free?"

"Beats me, sweetheart. My dad's trying to get me into some kinda job. It's a drag."

"Yeah. Must be."

"Oh right. What do you mean, yeah? You and your sister will never work a day of your life. College? Responsibilities? Totally unnecessary after you guys got that crazy amount. So . . . come on, Miss Privileged. How can a poor girl like me really help our unhappy Mireille? And why so depressed, girlfriend? Just let that bastard go."

"I'm working on it."

"Well snap out of it, totally! We've got to get on the road soon! Take some trips together. Maybe Hawaii? I saw these outrageous pics of the islands. And the Maldives? Oh my God, girl! We've got to get there too. So get out of bed, tell me what you want me to do . . . and let's start planning something outrageous!"

"OK, Court. So . . . you gonna do what I ask?"

"Sure, babes . . . anything. What?"

It's about Caia . . ."

"Oh Jesus, Mireille, leave her alone . . . and just forget that sister shit!"

"No. Now listen. She's seeing this guy right now. . . He's . . ."

"Older. Yeah. Sophisticated. Yeah. Rich. . . and a doll. Everyone can see that on the Net. Now what can I say?"

"So . . . who the hell is he? I've seen him somewhere . . ."

"Don't you know? That's David Greshing! The young hunky doctor on KTLA? That health program?"

"Oh yeah! Jesus! That guy?"

"Yup. The guy who does Your Health Today every week. Sunday nights. He's a babe, right? Single . . . respected and adored all over the US."

"Come on, Courtney. Really him? So . . . what's he possibly see in Caia?"

"Well, my dear. The two of you are pretty damn hot. Wealthy? Unmarried? Shall i go on?  I guess he just started dating your sister. A little over a week or so now."

"Have you talked to her about him?"

"It's all she talks about. But she's taking it really slow with him. At least that's what she says. No sex yet. Playing hard to get. . . you know . . . trying to let it brew into something good. Guys are such fools for that treatment."

"Yeah, OK."

"And I guess he's really playing into it. Takes her all over the damn place. In his goddamned jet."

"Shit! So Courtney. You have to find out where Dr. Greshing stays. I mean to get his exact address or office, OK?"

"Come on. . . he's a celeb, girl. Super famous now. That's not possible, Mireille."

"No! You can do it. Find it out from Caia. Snoop around for it. Text me his address. Seriously now. I need to have this intel for my plan."

"Mireille? . . . What the hell are you up to?"

"Look. You love me, don't you?"

"Of course I do, silly."

"Then get me Dr. David Greshing's address . . . and one more thing . . . if you truly do love me . . ."

"What else, you psycho?"

"Find a way to borrow Caia's phone. Call one of your friends for a cover . . . then search her phone logs. Get me this guy's cell number."

"What? His cell, Mireille?"

"Of course."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah I am. It's for a practical joke, Courtney. Just some harmless thing. I promise."

"You sure about that?"

"Totally sure, Court. Do this . . . and we'll . . . go to Hawaii together. For sure! All expenses paid."

"Damn, girl. You are serious."

"Yup. Very. Now get me Dr. David Greshing's address and phone number no later than next week." OK?"

"Why then?"

"I've got this goal . . . With a buff trainer I've hired. I should be ready by next week"

"Mireille . . . I don't like the sound of this . . ."

"Hawaii, Court. The best hotel for a week?"

"Alright then. I'll see what I can do."

"And no word to Caia . . . or even Chrystal Sorenson. About any of this. Right?"

"Well I'm actually seeing Caia tonight. It's girl's night out."

"Perfect! Remember. You just forget your phone and need to borrow hers to make a quick call. Then get me the goods."

"God. This sounds like Mission Impossible."

"It's not impossible, Court. Just do it. Imagine. . . shopping together all day on the islands. The hot surfer dudes we'll meet."

"That's so cool. I'm on my way, girl!"

"Sweet. Talk to you soon."

When the girls hung up, Mireille felt a new wave of energy come over her whole body. The sensation was like a drug surging now through her veins—giving her the power and motivation she needed to prepare full-heartedly for a mission she had already visualized and planned. It would take some preparation with the trainer who would start with her that afternoon. It would be back to a sensible diet, some sunning and massages, a facial, the nail salon, some intimate body waxing, and a few well-chosen lines to be practiced—using her sisters' exact speech and annunciation. For there was no one on this planet better to be an avatar for Caia, in body and soul, than she herself. In this case an avatar from hell.

* * *