The Great Trampera

There was no turning back for Jonathan Steele. He leapt over the edge of the cliff and plunged into the abyss.

Dead silence in the theater. I reached into my bucket of popcorn, only to find the bottom. How could my buddy have persuaded me to join him for this boring movie?

On the screen, Steele’s parachute opened. Accompanied by epic orchestral music, he glided elegantly into the valley, while on the mountain, the radar station of the villain Albertus Frost exploded in a gigantic fireball.

I yawned and closed my eyes for a moment. I used to love spy movies. But that was before I had chased a jewel thief on the Orient Express and visited a real count in his vampire castle. And before I had a real dream woman as a sidekick – just like Steele had his Steele-Girl.

Next to me, I heard loud snoring. Someone else must be bored, I thought, and opened my eyes.

The glaring sunlight blinded me until I got used to the brightness. I was no longer sitting in the hard movie seat but was stretched out on a comfortable sun lounger. Clad only in red swim trunks, I looked through sunglasses at a perfectly blue sky.

I sat up and looked around. My lounger was at the edge of a large swimming pool. It was modern and unadorned, a rectangular basin set into a large, concrete-tiled terrace. The azure water sparkled in the sun and invited a refreshing dip in the perceived 95-degree heat.

A large garden bordered the terrace, with trees, shrubs and palms, lovingly and lavishly tended. At the end of the garden was an unadorned but luxurious cube-shaped house. It had two floors and a whitewashed façade with large window panes.

On the opposite side, the property ended at a balustrade made of armored glass panels. Beyond lay nothing but a fantastic panoramic view into the distance over endless and barren hilly landscapes. On the horizon, several skyscrapers rose into the sky like stalagmites. I recognized the skyline immediately. It belonged to Los Angeles.

Again, I heard the snoring. It came from the sun lounger next to me. There, Miray was asleep in a light blue bikini and with large silver sunglasses reflecting the sky. Her reddened skin revealed she’d been roasting in the sun a bit too long, and her hungover face suggested her last night must have been quite short.

Between our loungers stood a small table, with two drink glasses on a silver tray, filled with an orange liquid. I picked up my glass and took a sip. It was ice-cold, freshly squeezed orange juice. Delicious!

The strong voice of a woman sounded from the house. “Dian!”, she called. “Dian, where are you?”

The woman appeared on the terrace. She had gentle wrinkles on her face, which she cleverly attempted to soften with makeup. Her elegant, light outfit showed her sense of tasteful fashion. When she noticed me, she waved me over. “Dian! Wake your good-for-nothing sister and come inside! Your mother needs help.”

With those words, she turned and walked resolutely back into the house.

“Who is that woman?” Miray grumbled sleepily. “And why is she shouting like that?”

She sat up and looked around. Then she spotted her glass, sniffed at it cautiously, grinned painfully, and drank it greedily in large gulps.

“What’s up with you?” I asked gently.

“I have a terrible headache,” she croaked with a hoarse voice. “I must have partied hard last night. And I don’t usually drink. Where are we?”

“In Los Angeles, at our mom’s place. She wants to see us.”

Miray pushed her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and squinted at me with narrowed eyes. “Our mom?”

“Yes, our mom, sweet sister.”

With an annoyed snort, she put her glasses back on. “Don’t ever call me that again!”

I helped Miray off the lounger and led her through a wide veranda door into the house.

We entered a large, open kitchen with white lacquered cabinets. A bright red espresso machine stood out on a light marble counter. A long breakfast bar separated the kitchen area from the living room, where a soft carpet and a comfortable leather sofa provided a touch of coziness.

Our mother was rummaging in the fridge and finally pulled out a carton of milk. When she turned around, she spotted us.

“There you are at last!” she said with a hurt tone. She poured a splash of milk into a large cup of coffee. Then she tossed in two sugar cubes.

“What an affront! What an insult!” she complained.

A third sugar cube followed.

I couldn’t help but grin. This mother reminded me a little of my own. “What has gotten you so upset?” I asked.

She slammed her fist on the counter. “You think you know a colleague, are good friends with him – and then this! Simply unbelievable!”

Two more cubes fell into the drink before she stirred it with a loud clatter.

“Which colleague, Mom?”

“Johnny Trampera!” she exclaimed, as if I should have known who she was talking about. “The Johnny who starred alongside me in ‘A Kiss After Midnight.’ The Johnny who gave an impromptu speech for me when I won the golden Cinélique. The Johnny who was always so charming, a perfect gentleman!” She threw her hands in the air. “And now this!”

“And now… what?”

“Johnny has a new luxury villa in Malibu. A massive mansion on Pacific Crest Drive, with all the bells and whistles. It’s unmissable, as ostentatious as it looks. Celeste just told me. He’s throwing a huge housewarming party on Sunday. Of course, she’s invited, along with many other friends.”

“And he forgot you?”

She nodded excitedly. “Forgot! Me! Can you imagine that? All of Hollywood will be there. But apparently I’m not important enough for him! Celeste didn’t hold back with her mocking, the stupid cow.”

She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced in disgust. Another sugar cube followed, sharing the fate of its predecessors.

Miray leaned against the counter, rubbing her temples. The dramatic display of this woman seemed to do nothing to ease her hangover. “Can’t you just ask him to invite you?” she grumbled. “Surely it was just an honest mistake.”

Our mother let out a sharp cry of indignation. “I would never beg for an invitation, as sure as my name is Amanda Brown!”

She looked at us expectantly, waiting for a reaction.

“And what are we supposed to do now?” I asked cautiously.

“I don’t care!” thundered Amanda. “What do I feed you spoiled brats for? Come up with something and help your mother!”

Frustrated, she poured the coffee down the sink, left the kitchen, and marched up the stairs. Once upstairs, she disappeared into a room and slammed the door behind her.

“Finally, some peace,” groaned Miray.

I looked at her sympathetically. “At least this time it’s pretty clear what our task is.”

“You think so? Look at this!”

She held up her wrist and showed me her tattoo. Startled, I looked at my own, but it looked the same.

“Three lines?”

Miray nodded. “There’s a third person! We’ll have to find them, or we won’t be able to leave.”

I looked upstairs. “Maybe mom?”

“Did you get the impression that Amanda doesn’t belong in this world?” She sighed. “And please stop calling her ‘mom’! It’s driving me crazy.”

She was right, of course. Entering a new dream always required a bit of time to get oriented and adjust to one’s role. However, Amanda seemed anything but uncertain. It was obvious that this was her world.

We entered the living room. The fireplace on the wall immediately caught our attention. In keeping with the rest of the house, it was a wide, geometric, unadorned white box.

Its mantel held a small golden statue, a graceful, feminine figure that seemed almost to dance. It was probably the Cinélique film award Amanda had won. It was positioned so skillfully that it drew attention without seeming to.

I picked it up from the mantel and looked at the plaque mounted on a polished marble base. “Scarlet Summers, 1989,” I read aloud. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Miray shook her head. “Sounds like the title of a terribly romantic love story! Not really my thing.”

I carefully placed the statue back and nodded. “Yeah, not my thing either. I’m more into action movies.”

To the left of the fireplace, pictures hung on the wall. Curiously, we glanced at them. They were photos of Amanda, some in color, some in black and white, framed in black wooden frames with white mats. Most were taken on film sets. She must have had a long and exciting career as an actress.

“Wow!” Miray suddenly exclaimed, taking a picture off the wall. “You have to see this!”

It was a photo of Amanda in her younger years. She stood on a playground, holding two children by their hands, a boy on her left and a girl on her right. When I saw the boy, I was shocked.

“That’s me!” I exclaimed in surprise. “That’s a childhood photo of me!”

I looked at the girl. Her long, light blonde hair was tied into braids. She was grinning. A grin I would recognize among thousands.

Miray nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“How could this photo have been taken?” I asked, puzzled. “I would remember if we knew each other as kids. And the moment it was taken.”

“I have no idea,” Miray replied. “I’ve never really thought about it either. I assumed we just appear and disappear in these dreams. But apparently, our alter egos have their own pasts, and we borrow their bodies for a while.”

She hung the picture back in its place. Then she closed her eyes and tapped her nose thoughtfully several times.

“I don’t think we’re getting anywhere here,” she finally said. “Let’s go see this Trampera. If we tell him what’s going on, he’ll definitely put Amanda on the guest list.”

I tugged at the waistband of my swim trunks. “In this outfit, he won’t take us very seriously.”

Miray agreed. “Our rooms must be somewhere in the house. We’ll surely find something to wear there.”

Indeed, we found our rooms on the upper floor. They were large, with panoramic windows overlooking the pool, and even had their own bathrooms.

The first room was obviously Miray’s. It was impeccably tidy, typical of her. The screaming pink wallpaper framed a fully equipped vanity and a wardrobe that deserved its own house number.

I left her there and found my room right next door.

It looked like chaos had found a safe haven there. Colorful posters of movie and pop stars hung on the walls, some pierced by darts. The floor was covered with clothes, open magazines, and CDs that had lost their cases. In the corner, a laptop leaned slightly open and carelessly placed. An empty pizza box had just missed its target, an overflowing trash can. The mess unpleasantly reminded me of my own teenage room.

The wardrobe was empty, except for a fine Sunday suit in a plastic bag, probably picked out by Mom. So I had no choice but to rummage through the pile of laundry next to my unmade bed. Finally, I dug out a pair of worn jeans, a spotless shirt and reasonably clean underwear. “You really should clean up here and do your laundry,” I quietly scolded my alter ego as I got dressed.

On the desk, next to overturned soda cans, was a set of keys with a door key and a car key attached. I pocketed it. A car would definitely come in handy to get to Trampera’s villa.

Miray knocked on my door, and I invited her in. She had put on short blue jeans and a cropped white blouse. On her feet, she wore black flip-flops that highlighted her light blue painted toenails. She had skillfully covered her hungover face with makeup and had tidied her tousled pixie cut with light blue streaks a bit.

With a raised eyebrow, she looked around. “How on earth… Dian! I only left you for five minutes!”

I looked at Miray, embarrassed. “It was like that! I swear!”

“Is this an experiment to see if the room will eventually come to life and clean itself?”

She picked up a pink plush unicorn, shook some confetti out of its fur, and lovingly draped it on the peak of the laundry mountain.

“There, unicorn with a view! I’d say it’s the Mont Blanc, but it’s certainly not snow-white.”

I wanted to retort something, something cool, witty. Instead, I just stared at her until she stopped grinning and looked at me questioningly.

“Imagine if we really grew up together,” I heard myself say. “Like brother and sister.”

For a moment, she looked through me into the void. Then she grinned again. “I probably would have beaten you up. Every day. Just on principle.”

I laughed out loud. “And I would have still shared my chocolate with you.”

She took the unicorn off the laundry pile and quietly scratched its neck.

“Do you have any siblings?” she suddenly asked.

“Me? No, I’m an only child.” I shrugged. “It’s not so bad, I had my parents all to myself. And you?”

“Two brothers,” she said briefly. “I grew up in a different family. Supposed to be the daughter they couldn’t have themselves, but somehow I never was.”

Then she lost herself in thought. An uncomfortable silence set in until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I patted her shoulder. “You know what? In this adventure, we are temporary siblings!”

She nodded. “Whatever you say. Come on, let’s get out of here! Our task won’t complete itself.”

In front of the house, a large front yard stretched out. Tall trees and dense hedges shielded the property from the street, providing a sense of privacy. At one corner of the building was a carport, under which two cars were parked.

There was no mistaking which beauty the key in my pocket would fit. In front of me gleamed a bright red 1989 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am Convertible. The top was down, revealing an interior of white leather. Whoever my alter ego was in this dream world, he was sloppy, but had an excellent taste in cars.

I held the key up to Miray’s nose. “Wanna drive?”

“Not if you want to make it there alive,” she growled. “Judging by this hangover, I’m basically still booze.”

“Alright then!” I said, shrugging as I swung into the driver’s seat. I had hoped she would decline the offer.

A GPS system hung from the windshield on a suction cup. I entered Pacific Crest Drive as the destination. The calculated travel time: just over an hour. With the sunny weather and the top down, I wouldn’t mind if the drive took longer. Much longer.

I inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The starter wheezed before the engine roared to life, purring like a tiger before the hunt. I carefully pressed the throttle a few times and enjoyed the howling of the machine before I put it in gear. Slowly, we left the property and turned onto the street.

The GPS guided us downhill through endless avenues lined with dense trees and tall palms. The wide road was flanked by well-kept sidewalks. Behind them, houses lined up like pearls on a string, some open and inviting, others hidden behind tall hedges or massive gates.

Eventually we reached the ocean and turned onto the Pacific Coast Highway. From now on we would cruise along the coast until we reached Trampera’s luxury mansion in Malibu.

I let the car glide, steering it comfortably with one hand on the wheel. The wind blew the fresh, salty sea air into my face. The car radio played the driving pop beats of the 1980s. It was the perfect moment to say nothing and just enjoy the ride.

But something had been nagging at me since I woke up by the pool and saw Miray lying next to me.

Nervously, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, casting a quick glance at her. She had pushed her sunglasses deep into her face and leaned back in her seat. Her arm rested casually on the passenger door. Nothing seemed to bother her.

I turned the radio down.

“Tell me, why didn’t you call? You promised you would!”

She sighed softly, as if she had been expecting the question. Then she repeated the phone number she had memorized. It was mine.

“A woman answered,” she recounted. “I asked for you. She immediately blew up, cursed me out and told me never to call her husband again. Then she hung up. Anything I should’ve known about?”

“I’m single, Miray. No idea who you called!”

“Well,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “Looks like you’re just a figment of my imagination.”

“Or you of mine,” I protested.

She just nodded and turned the radio back up.

We reached Malibu and turned onto Pacific Crest Drive. The area looked like a villa settlement for the super-rich, and I wondered how we were supposed to find Trampera’s new residence among all these luxury buildings.

Shortly before the end of the street, I slammed on the brakes. My mind refused to believe what my eyes were seeing.

“Wow,” Miray exclaimed in amazement. “Amanda wasn’t exaggerating! The house is really unmistakable.”

The villa standing before us was an architecturally perfectly styled building of bare concrete, curved lines, and lots of glass. It looked like a UFO stranded in the middle of a palm garden. In the shadow of this palace, even the neighboring luxury villas faded into shabby beach huts.

“Well then, let’s pay Mr. Trampera a visit,” I said, getting out.

“You handle that,” Miray grumbled. “I’ll take a nap in the sun; maybe I’ll feel better afterward.”

I gently tousled her hair. “Do that! I’ll be back in two minutes, that’s all it’ll take.”

The only access from the street was a locked driveway gate made of wrought iron bars. I stepped closer and peeked inside. The garden beyond was so immaculate it seemed every blade of grass had been trimmed with nail scissors and every bit of leaf picked up with tweezers. The palms stood at perfect intervals and appeared to be exactly the same height.

“A truly magnificent sight, wouldn’t you agree?” a voice beside me chimed in, “The very embodiment of order and elegance, if I may say so.”

Unnoticed, a man had approached and stood next to me on the other side of the gate. He looked to be around 50 years old. Over his bright white shirt, he wore a charcoal vest, along with trousers whose crease was as if drawn with a ruler. On his head, he wore a brown flat cap.

I nodded. “Are you Johnny Trampera?”

He smiled, flattered, then shook his head. “I am afraid I must disappoint you, sir. No, I am Hopkins, the majordomo of this estate, most certainly not its owner. Mr. Trampera is currently not in residence. May I inquire as to the nature of your business with him?”

I cleared my throat, embarrassed. “My mother, Amanda Brown, is a colleague and good friend of Mr. Trampera. Now he’s soon celebrating this grand opening party. And it seems he forgot to invite Amanda.”

“Ah, fellow actors, how delightful! But ‘forgot,’ you say?”

A short sound escaped him, half astonishment, half mockery.

“Mr. Trampera is exceedingly meticulous when it comes to social matters. Such an oversight would seem most unlikely to me.”

“You’re right! And precisely because of that, my mother should be on the guest list, shouldn’t she?”

The man excused himself, went into a guardhouse next to the entrance, and returned a short moment later with a clipboard in his hand.

“Amanda Brown, you say?”

His finger traced down a printout. He flipped to a second page, then a third. Finally, he shook his head slightly.

“No, she does not, in fact, appear on the guest list. It would seem that Mr. Trampera did not intend for her to be invited.”

I fidgeted on my feet. “Mr. Trampera will surely be terribly embarrassed later to have forgotten her. You could save him from this faux pas and simply add my mother to the list.”

His previously slightly arrogant smile gave way to a serious expression. “Mr. Trampera personally composed the guest list. It is my duty to enforce it, not to curate it. I must most emphatically decline your impertinent request!”

This man was made of granite. He forced me to play my last card. “So, if it’s a question of money…”

He crossed his arms and looked at me sternly. “I am afraid you have quite misjudged the situation, sir. I enjoy – and may I say, deservedly so – the full confidence of Mr. Trampera. No financial inducement will tempt me to undermine it.”

He pointed down the road. “Now kindly remove yourself before I find myself obliged to have you removed by other means.”

My heart raced with excitement. For a moment, I stared at Hopkins, hoping for a saving idea. But I had to admit that this path was a dead end. We would have to find another solution. Wordlessly, I nodded farewell, turned around, and returned to the car.

“And?” Miray asked as I got in.

Frustrated, I slapped my hands on the steering wheel. “There was just a caretaker named Hopkins, and he’s tough as nails. We’re more likely to convince Amanda to forget the party and watch a game show on TV that night.”

Miray tapped her nose tip thoughtfully. “We’re just not getting anywhere,” she sighed. “Damn, this bloody hangover! If only I could think straight! I desperately need a coffee.”

She called out to a passerby who was just walking past our car. The woman was maybe a little younger than us. Black curls fell into her face, and the brown skin under the trendy nerd glasses shimmered in the sunlight. She wore a T-shirt featuring a paperclip with two eyes and the caption “Need Help?”. A black sling bag hung casually over her shoulder.

She stopped and looked at us as if she wasn’t sure if she was the one being addressed. Then she came to Miray at the door.

“Can I help?” she asked politely.

Miray nodded. “Do you know a café around here?”

She thought for a moment. “There’s probably one at Zuma Beach. I’m on my way to the beach anyway. Can you give me a ride?”

I nodded. “Sure, hop in!”

She took a seat in the back, while I searched for the route to the beach on the GPS. Then we drove off.

“My name’s Felisha!” She leaned forward and rested her arms on the backs of our seats. “But my friends call me Lish.”

“I’m Dian,” I introduced myself. “And this is my sister Miray.”

“Hmm…” Lish murmured softly. “You don’t really look like siblings.”

Miray pointed at Lish’s wrist. “That’s an interesting tattoo you have there. Three lines. Does it mean something?”

A shiver ran down my spine. Three lines! Was it just a coincidence, or was she indeed the third dream traveler?

Lish extended her arm further and turned it back and forth. “Oh, that? It’s just a symbol from a club. Nothing special.”

“A club, you say?” Miray crossed her arms.

Her voice was now cooler, more probing. Then she raised her left hand and showed her tattoo.

“Could it be that we just happen to be in the same club? A club of daydreamers?”

Lish sat motionless. For a moment, she said nothing.

Then her gaze shifted to me. “And you?”

I held out my left hand to her. “Is this enough as a club membership card?”

Lish nodded and settled back into her seat with a sigh.

“What luck!” she exclaimed, and her relief was palpable. “I had a hunch I wasn’t alone this time when I saw the three lines. I just had no idea how I’d find you in this huge city.”

“Well,” said Miray, adjusting her sunglasses, “at least that problem’s solved. Welcome to the team, Lish!”

We reached the long stretch of Zuma Beach and parked in front of a small café with an ocean view. The sun and salty sea air had taken their toll on the red façade, leaving it weathered and faded.

Inside, the café had also seen better days. A few worn tables and benches sat by the smudged windows, opposite a long counter. Behind it stood an older man wearing an apron, washing glasses. The room smelled of old linoleum and rancid coffee. A radio played soft country music in duet with a slot machine that hummed an electronic melody.

“Does anyone have money?” Miray whispered quietly. “I certainly don’t.”

I shook my head. “I only found the keys. Mom’s keeping us on a tight budget, I guess.”

“No problem,” Lish beamed, “I’ll treat you!”

We sat at a table further back, with me next to Miray and Lish across from us. In front of us lay a menu, already creased and greasy to the touch.

After a few minutes, the café owner shuffled over to take our order. His grumpy look and the way he pulled the pen from behind his ear left no doubt he’d rather be anywhere else. His name tag read “Alfred.”

“A large cup of coffee,” Miray ordered, “black, no sugar, and as strong as possible, please.”

Alfred grumbled, “Looking at you, I should probably bring you a whole bucket!”

Then it was my turn.

“An iced tea, please, I’m really thirsty. And some bagels.”

“Bagels, of course,” he muttered, casting a disgruntled glance at an empty display case by the counter. “I have nothing else to do, after all.”

He looked at Lish. “And for the lady?”

“A dragon fruit and macadamia smoothie for me,” she said.

Alfred snorted derisively. “Sorry, I usually have that, but today of all days, I’m out of dragon fruit. How about an iced coffee?”

Lish nodded as if she expected that answer. “Then an iced coffee. With oat milk and a dash of pandan syrup.”

“We’ve only got coffee. With ice. And cow’s milk. But maybe I can find a golden spoon for stirring.”

Lish stared at him in disbelief. “Fine,” she said, annoyed, “but at least with fresh ice cubes!”

Alfred sighed and retreated behind his counter.

“Thanks for the treat, Lish,” Miray said. “Good thing you have some money.”

Lish reached into her bag and placed four quarters on the table. “That should be enough, I think.”

Miray looked at her completely bewildered, as if waiting for a punchline that never came. “This isn’t the 1930s, Lish,” she finally said. “For one buck, he won’t even serve us chamomile tea.”

“I know! That’s why I’m going to multiply the money.”

Lish mischievously pointed to the slot machine on the wall. The machine blinked and flashed like a carnival ride, with the word Jackpot emblazoned in huge, red letters. “For decorative purposes only,” a shamefaced sign next to it read.

Her eyes sparkled with confidence. “A very functional decoration, don’t you think?”

“Leave it,” Miray warned. “That thing has only one purpose: to empty your wallet.”

Lish burst out laughing. “A Spin Empire WinMaster 5000? It’s practically an ATM!”

She let the coins jingle loudly in her hand. Then she called over to the counter: “Alfred, mind if I take a closer look at your decoration?”

Alfred shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “It’s a free country,” he replied, trying to hide a mischievous grin. “But there’s no money back!”

Lish winked at us, stood up and went to the machine.

“She’s already getting on my nerves,” Miray muttered quietly.

“Well, I think she’s nice,” I replied.

Miray snorted briefly. “You’d better think about how we’re going to get out of here without paying!”

Alfred came and placed the drinks in front of us. “Tell your friend I flew the ice in from Antarctica just for her. I’ll go make the bagels now.”

As soon as he was back behind the counter, a melody sounded from the slot machine. The Jackpot text blinked frantically. Shortly after, coins poured out, which Lish quickly stuffed into her pockets.

“Well, who would’ve thought?” I remarked with a broad grin. “She totally cleaned up. That should easily cover our coffee break!”

Miray nodded, took a deep sip from her cup, and immediately grimaced in disgust. She stared into the brown brew as if she had just glimpsed into the depths of bad coffee flavor. With a sigh, she set the cup back on the table and gazed thoughtfully out the window.

“How on earth are we going to get Amanda on the guest list?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “This adventure is crazy. When we left Amanda, I thought the hardest part would be finding the third person. But she found us. Instead, we’re stuck on the part of the task I thought would only require a short conversation.”

The shrill melody sounded again, and another cascade of coins poured out of the slot machine. Alfred’s face turned red with anger. He threw his kitchen knife onto the counter and stormed towards Lish, roughly grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the machine.

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “Two jackpots in a row? Who are you, Lady Luck on a road trip?”

Lish screamed in pain and tried to break free from his grip.

Miray reacted instantly. “Hey!” she shouted, standing up and storming towards him. “You have exactly three seconds to let her go. Trust me, you don’t want to find out what happens after that.”

He looked at Miray in surprise, sizing her up from head to toe. She didn’t seem like much of a threat, yet she stood resolutely before him, unmoving.

Finally, he decided not to risk it. He let go of Lish. She backed away, rubbing the sore spot.

“Something’s fishy here!” he complained loudly. “The machine was running just fine until your friend sat down, and now it’s spewing coins like a fountain!”

“Oh, so operating a slot machine without a license is fine, but as soon as someone wins, something is wrong?” Miray countered. “Could it be that you’re just a sore loser?”

He gasped for air, flustered. “Me, a sore loser? That thing’s throwing out money faster than my wife on Black Friday. How am I supposed to just stand by and watch?”

He looked at Miray nervously before he sighed and dropped his shoulders. “Fine, we’ll leave it at that. But you have to promise me that she won’t touch anything else here! Next thing you know, she’ll be pulling gold bars out of the soda machine.”

“Agreed!” Miray said.

Silently, they returned to the table.

“Thanks,” Lish whispered, embarrassed. “I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

Miray waved it off. “I didn’t do it for you,” she grumbled. “Don’t forget, we can’t wake up without you.”

Lish sipped her iced coffee, then looked at us. “Speaking of which, what’s our mission anyway? I woke up on a bench in Malibu with a backpack full of swimwear. I figured I was supposed to head to the beach. But what now?”

Her gaze darted between Miray and me.

“We live with our mom in Beverly Hills,” I began. “Her name is Amanda Brown, and she’s friends with the actor Johnny Trampera. He’s the owner of that luxury villa where we met you. There’s a huge housewarming party there on Sunday.”

“Everyone who’s anyone is invited,” Miray continued. “Except Amanda! She’s fuming.”

“I see,” Lish muttered thoughtfully, her face suddenly serious and attentive. “So we need to make sure she gets on the guest list. Have you asked Trampera?”

I nodded slowly. “We tried. But Trampera’s not around, and his majordomo Hopkins is more loyal than the Swiss Guard. He’s guarding the printout of his list like it’s a holy scripture.”

Alfred came to our table and served us a plate of hastily prepared bagels. “Sorry, the Beluga caviar’s all out,” he grumbled, glaring at Lish, then retreated back behind his counter, where he continued wiping glasses with a greasy rag.

Hungry, I bit into a bagel with egg and tomatoes. It tasted better than it looked.

Lish helped herself as well. “Actually…” she mumbled with her mouth full. She swallowed the bite and started over. “Actually, it’s quite simple. I just need access to Trampera’s PC. Then I can put Amanda on the list.”

Miray looked at her in disbelief. “And how? We just stroll into his villa, turn on the computer, and change the file?”

“Yes, that’s pretty much what I had in mind.”

“What a ridiculous idea!”

“Do you have a better one?”

I watched the two women eagerly. Miray took a deep breath, opened her mouth, but said nothing. A moment later, she nodded in frustration. “I’m afraid we really don’t have any other choice!”

Lish clenched her fists, visibly savoring her triumph.

“Alright,” Miray said, “let’s get it over with.”

I waved Alfred over to our table while Lish pulled a handful of quarters from her jacket pocket and began counting them leisurely.

Finally, she pushed a stack towards him, grinning cheekily, and said, “The tip’s in the slot machine, sorry. I wasn’t allowed to play anymore.”

With a disgruntled look, he pocketed the money, muttered a few unintelligible words, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Miray watched him go. “I suppose we won’t be welcome here anymore,” she said, swirling her cup. “But another brew of shoe leather and bitterness would’ve killed my stomach for sure.”

We left the café and set out to put our plan into action. As I steered the Firebird through the streets, my thoughts circled around what lay ahead. I had never broken into anywhere before, much less a luxury villa. Surely, there would be reinforced doors. Or a terribly vicious Doberman.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a quick look at Lish. Would she really be able to get in there? After all, she hadn’t overpromised at the café when she treated us to coffee and bagels with just one dollar in her pocket.

Or had she just been lucky?

I grew curious.

“Hey, Lish, about the slot machine… I’m sure you gave it a little push, but how did you do it?”

Lish nodded casually. “The WinMaster 5000 has a legendary design flaw. A small magnet in hand, held at the right time in the right place, and it becomes generous. That thing’s an invitation for any hacker! Hard to believe the owner hasn’t tossed it on the junkyard yet.”

“Maybe he got it cheap from there.” I had to chuckle. The shady café owner had messed with the wrong girl.

When we reached the villa and stopped at a respectful distance, the afternoon sun was already casting it in a golden light. The opulent building hadn’t lost any of its grandeur even at a second glance.

“One of us needs to distract Hopkins,” I suggested. “But if I show up there again, he’ll probably get physical.”

Lish shrugged. “I need to pick the lock and change the list.”

Miray rolled her eyes. “Great! Fine, I’ll distract the guard dog. But hurry up, I don’t know how long I can keep it up!”

We got out. While Miray slowly strolled towards the gate, Lish and I started looking for a side entrance.

“How are you going to open the door?” I asked.

“I always carry my special equipment in my dreams,” she replied, holding up a bunch of small metal picks. “In the right hands, it’s as good as a real key.”

I looked at her in surprise. “You carry lock-picking tools? Somehow I find that both fascinating and unsettling.”

At the end of the property wall, a small side street intersected the path. We followed it and found an inconspicuous side door to the villa. It held a surprise for us. One that made me give up hope.

“You can put your tools away, Lish. This door has no lock.”

Indeed, it only had a simple doorknob. Next to it, a small box with ten buttons gleamed in the sunlight.

“A keypad lock,” Lish noted, squealing softly. “Perfect! This makes it even easier.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant that sarcastically or if she was just crazy. She tapped the box. The dull sound immediately told me it was made of steel. Then she leaned closer and inspected the apparatus.

“Two, three, six, seven, eight…” she murmured, “that gives us the digits.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, astonished.

“Look! The thing is brand new, but the buttons that are pressed constantly are slightly smudged.”

She was right. The device gleamed as if it had just come out of the packaging yesterday. But five buttons showed fine signs of wear. Exactly the ones Lish had just mentioned.

I nodded. “But how does that help us? There are still thousands of possible combinations.”

“120,” Lish corrected me. “Assuming no digit is repeated, but I doubt it.”

“Fine, only 120 then. But in what order?”

Lish’s grin grew wider.

“Usually, the answer is close because no one wants to remember complicated numbers. Birthdays, anniversaries, phone numbers… stuff like that.”

She let her gaze wander. Suddenly, her eyes fixed on something.

“Oh no! That would be insultingly easy!”

She pointed to the house number. It was 32768.

Hurriedly, she entered the code. The device hummed softly, then a red light came on.

“So it’s not that simple after all,” she murmured.

Nervously, I looked around. We were running out of time.

“We can’t stand here trying forever! Maybe we’re doing it backwards.”

Lish’s eyes widened. “Backwards! That might…”

She typed once more. A green light came on, and the lock clicked satisfyingly. The door was open.

A proud grin flashed across her face. “The house number backwards! Well, at least they put in a tiny bit of effort.”

We went inside and entered a kitchen as large as my entire living room. A massive counter stood in the middle, with a range hood hanging from the ceiling above it. Along the walls were more tables, cabinets, and a large Italian slicer.

My heart pounded with excitement, and I had a metallic taste in my mouth. Am I really breaking into a luxury villa?

Lish didn’t linger. She hurried to the opposite door, and I followed her.

We reached a living room. With its high, vaulted ceiling, it felt more like a cathedral. A huge panoramic window let warm sunlight pour in wide beams onto a polished marble floor. The center of the room was dominated by a massive couch arrangement of bright white leather, arranged around a glass table that seemed to float on delicate glass legs.

Right next to the kitchen door, a staircase led to the upper floor. Concrete steps jutted out from the wall, as if they had organically grown from it. A handrail of deep black ebony rested on panes of safety glass.

“There’s nothing here but wasted space,” Lish whispered, completely unimpressed. “The study is surely upstairs.”

We sneaked up the stairs and entered a corridor. The walls were bare concrete, illuminated by spotlights like in an art gallery. They formed a strange contrast to the parquet, which was made of the same ebony as the handrail, and a brightly colored Persian runner that lay surreally over it. In the middle of the room stood a life-sized marble statue, probably Trampera himself.

The first door on the left was open, behind it, we saw a desk with a monitor.

“Bingo,” Lish cheered. Moments later, she was already at the computer, cracking her fingers briefly.

I positioned myself at a window from which I had a good view of the large garden and the driveway. The gate was open. Miray stood there, holding a huge map in her hands and speaking animatedly with Hopkins. She gestured energetically in one direction. He stood ramrod straight next to her, visibly trying to maintain his stoic posture. But his hand kept twitching toward the map, betraying that something was driving him crazy.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He took the map from Miray, turned it around, handed it back, and pointed silently in a completely different direction. Miray wagged her finger. Hopkins threw his head back and buried his fists in his hair.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

Lish slapped her flat hand on the desk.

“What is it?” I asked excitedly. “Can’t you get into the system?”

She groaned. “On the contrary, the screen wasn’t locked! I don’t even need my hacking tools.”

Without haste, she took the mouse and clicked through the menus. A spreadsheet appeared on the screen.

“What’s your mother’s name?”

“Amanda Brown. And she’s not really our mother.”

“I figured as much!” She pulled the keyboard towards her and began to type. “Are you two together?”

“It’s complicated,” I sighed quietly and turned back to the window. The gate was now closed. Miray stood behind it, alone, casting nervous glances at the house. Hopkins, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

My stomach tightened. “Hopkins is coming! Come on, Lish, we have to get out of here!”

“One more moment!” she said tensely. Then the printer sprang to life and spat out a few pages of paper.

“Lish!” I shouted. My pulse was racing.

She grabbed the stack that lay in the printer. “Okay, let’s go!”

We ran down the stairs and dashed into the kitchen. Through the window, I saw Hopkins; he was almost at the house. I yanked the door to freedom open when Lish abruptly stopped and tugged at my arm.

I flinched. “What?”

“We can’t leave yet!” she shouted. “We have one more thing to do!”

I stared at her. My mouth dropped open, but no words came out. Instead, my hands flailed wildly in the air.

“Are you kidding me, Lish? Hopkins is about to hit the kitchen! We have to move!”

She held up the printout. “But the list…”

I threw my hands over my head. Then I grabbed her arm, yanked her through the door, and shoved her ahead of me.

Outside, Miray was already in the car, waiting with the engine running for us. As soon as we were in, she floored it, and we sped off with screeching tires.

“That was close!” Miray exclaimed excitedly. “I couldn’t hold him off any longer. He seemed to suspect something was wrong. Were you at least successful?”

Lish nodded and held the printout like a trophy. “Amanda is now on the list.”

“Perfect!” Miray cheered. “Great work!”

“You’re celebrating too soon,” growled Lish. “There’s still a problem. Miray, pull over, and I’ll explain it to you.”

Miray pulled into a small parking lot and turned off the engine. We then turned to Lish.

She sighed. “Hopkins doesn’t know about the new list, so he’ll continue using his old printout, which doesn’t include Amanda. We need to go back and swap the lists!”

“You’re right,” grumbled Miray, twisting her mouth. “But how do we do that? I can’t distract Hopkins again. He knows me now.”

“But you can call Hopkins. While he’s on the phone with you, Dian and I will sneak in and make the switch.”

Miray nodded dismissively. “Sure! And where do we get his phone number from?”

Lish grinned broadly.

“You have it, don’t you?” I marveled.

“It was on the phone next to the computer. Numbers stick in my head like flies on flypaper.”

“Alright, back to the villa!” I sighed in frustration. “At least we know the door code now.”

“Not so fast!” interrupted Miray.

She tapped her nose before starting to grin. First a little, then wider and wider. She had an idea!

“Hopkins refuses to add someone to the list. But removing someone, he’d surely do that, wouldn’t he? And I already know who!”

She took the printout, looked through it, and found what she was looking for on the first page. She handed the sheet to Lish and tapped on a name.

“Amanda’s friend Celeste really rubbed it in her face that she wasn’t invited. Time to pay her back.”

“Oooh…” Lish cheered and clapped her hands, “let me do it, please!”

She pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and we heard the ringing tone.

“Residence of Johnny Trampera, Hopkins speaking,” the majordomo announced.

“Hopkins, darling?” Lish replied in an exaggerated high-society voice. “This is Celeste Ashmore. I’m ever so sorry, but I fear I won’t be able to attend the housewarming party. Yesterday, during my aura balancing session in my Himalayan salt grotto, I terribly strained my chi!”

“How dreadful, Mrs. Ashmore!” replied Hopkins dryly.

“Oh, isn’t it? My Reiki therapist says it will take months to heal.”

Lish winked at us while we waited for Hopkins’s response.

“Most unfortunate! Thank you for letting me know. I shall make the necessary adjustments to the guest list.”

“Thank you, Hopkins! Perhaps Johnny will have time for a little… ahem… private party with me later on.”

Hopkins’s voice remained unmoved. “I shall relay your message to Mr. Trampera. Wishing you a swift recovery, Mrs. Ashmore.”

Then he hung up.

Lish looked at us contentedly. “That was clever, Miray! Hopkins will now print a new list himself, without Celeste Ashmore…”

“…but with Amanda Brown!” Miray finished the sentence.

Then she looked at me. “Do you want to drive your baby home, Dian? This beast’s got way too much horsepower for me.”

She didn’t have to ask me twice. We swapped seats. I lovingly stroked the steering wheel before starting the engine and bringing the Firebird back onto the road.

We left the Pacific Coast Highway and headed towards Beverly Hills. Lish had put on sunglasses and enjoyed the fresh wind on her face, while Miray flipped through the guest list, looking bored.

Suddenly, she stopped.

“Oh!” she said — and then burst out laughing as if she had just heard the funniest thing ever.

“What is it?” I asked, casting a worried glance at her. She snorted, tried to speak, but a new fit of laughter broke her words. Tears ran down her face.

Eventually, she gasped, took a deep breath, and found her voice again. “I have a surprise for Amanda. But I won’t say more.”

We reached Amanda’s villa and parked the Firebird in the carport. As soon as we opened the front door, the lady of the house came running toward us. She cast a quick glance at Lish.

“I hope you didn’t just bring a new friend, but also good news!” she growled.

I nodded proudly. “We did it, Mom! You’re now officially on Trampera’s guest list.”

“Really?” She began to beam as if Trampera had personally rolled out the red carpet for her. “That’s fantastic!”

Miray cleared her throat. “We can even do magic! Check your mail from the last few days. If the invitation isn’t there, I’ll clean up Dian’s room. In a maid costume and with tied hands.”

Amanda sighed theatrically. “You’d better get that costume ready, my picklet. I’ve checked a hundred times.”

She gave us an exaggeratedly pained look and swept up the stairs.

“Picklet?” I repeated quietly, grinning cautiously. “How do you think this nickname came about?”

Miray shrugged her shoulders. “No idea. But call me that just once, Dian, and I’ll end your family planning.”

I decided not to find out if she was joking.

A sharp scream echoed through the house. A scream somewhere between triumph and incredulous amazement. Then Amanda returned to us with hurried steps. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she clutched an envelope tightly in her hand.

“I don’t know how you did it,” she stammered, “but this is actually the invitation!”

Amanda took a step toward the kitchen, stopped abruptly, looked into the living room, then suddenly rushed to the coat rack and grabbed her handbag.

“I have to go! I need a new cocktail dress! And shoes! And a matching clutch!”

She swept out the front door without a word of farewell, slamming it behind her, leaving us bewildered.

“How on earth did you magically put the invitation in her room, Miray?” I asked.

“Oh, it was quite simple!” she replied with a grin, pointing to the fireplace. “Remember the film award?”

I looked at the golden figure on the mantelpiece. “You mean the one Amanda won for ‘Scarlet Summers’?”

“Exactly. However, ‘Scarlet Summers’ isn’t the name of the movie.”

She took the guest list and pointed to an entry on the third page.

“That’s Amanda’s stage name! She was already on the list, so she must have received an invitation. She probably just overlooked the letter among her fan mail.”

I stared at the printout, reading what shouldn’t have been there.

“So our whole mission was…”

Lish burst out laughing. “…as pointless as trying to remember the last ten digits of Pi. You’ve got it, Dian! Do you always have such funny dreams?”

Miray raised her wrist. “At least we completed the task,” she said proudly, pointing to the green circle surrounding the three lines of her tattoo. “Let’s get out of here before mom comes back and gives us more nonsense to do.”

Lish shook her head. “I want to jump into that awesome pool out there first.”

She opened her sling bag and pulled out a white bikini. The top was adorned with the directional pad and action buttons of a game controller.

“It would be a shame to leave this beautiful piece dry.”

Miray looked at me, annoyed, and I myself was uncomfortable at the thought of simply continuing the dream. On the other hand, I wanted to reward myself for the completed adventure and enjoy the luxury by the pool with Miray and Lish for a while longer.

“I’m with Lish on this,” I admitted. “Back home, all that’s waiting for me is a boring movie and a walk home in the rain.”

She sighed. “I just hope the green ring doesn’t disappear if we overstay.”

“No, that won’t happen. I’ve tried it before,” Lish explained. “Once the task is completed, you just wake up back home if you fall asleep in the dream world.”

Even if it was perhaps reckless, I trusted Lish. So we went to the rooms to change.

When I returned to the pool, Lish was already splashing in the water, trying to climb onto a flamingo-shaped air mattress. Miray had made herself comfortable on her sun lounger, watching the scene.

“Are you coming into the water?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “I would rather jump out of an airplane than get into water deeper than my ankles.”

I looked at her in surprise. “But don’t you have a fear of heights?”

She snapped her fingers. “Exactly, brother dear! And yet there’s still room for a second phobia.”

I gestured to the pool. “Do you mind if I jump in?”

“Why would I?” She made an inviting gesture. “But if you drown, Lish will have to rescue you.”

I dove headfirst into the pool and swam a few meters. The water was pleasantly cool, providing the refreshment I had been longing for all day. Afterward, I splashed around with Lish and the inflatable flamingo until Miray came out of the house with three bright green smoothies and waved us over.

As dusk fell, I retreated to my lounger. I thought about the adventure we had just completed. About my temporary sister. About our new mutual friend. Then I closed my eyes for a moment. Just briefly.

“Dian,” spoke a man’s voice. “Dian, the movie’s over! Wake up!”

I was back in the cinema. The theater lights were on, and the credits were rolling on the screen. My buddy stood in front of me, looking concerned.

“I thought you loved spy movies, Dian! Looks like this one didn’t sweep you off your feet.”

“Oh, I was in my own movie!” I said dreamily, stretching my arms and reaching up. “Come on, let’s grab a kebab. It’s my treat! But hey, doesn’t the kebab shop have a slot machine?”