It opens on an extravagant central living room, overlooking a glittering swath of Limatra. We must be on a hill, I realize, disoriented. Teddy waves a hand at three random men in all black milling about the door—assistants? Guards? And then we’re off—he takes us down the hallway to our left, and we pop our heads into, no joke, at least twenty rooms, all with different themes. There’s the famed aquarium room now with clownfish—its second iteration—which has a recirculating waterfall; the grass room, now with putting green, and a VR golf class from Tiger himself; the red room, which I used to be scared of—but is really just a velvety boudoir kind of thing, with Tarantino movie posters on the walls; the jazz room; the Christmas bedroom; the Jell-O sitting room; the reading room; the Downtown Abbey sitting room … While Noni’s playing out some Baz Luhrmann Romeo + Juliet fantasy in the second aquarium bedroom, Teddy shows me the oversize closet, where I glimpse the Jigglypuff costume, already hung up. He tosses me a blue Clouded Cage hoodie before pulling one on, too.

“So what’s on the other floors? Your Birkin collection?” I joke, tugging on the comfy fleece.

“Oh, you know, rooms for my lady friends,” he says with a wink.

And when I burst out into laughter and sarcastically scream, “Yuck,” he adds, “Just kidding, Tai Tai.”

“Do you get tired of them?” Nons asks as she returns. “Of all of these … themes?”

“Of course I do.” Teddy smiles, tucking his hands into his hoodie pocket. “But then I just change the theme.”

Which is one solution. As we pass more rooms, they all start to blur together—reality starts to become confused. “Teddy! Where’s my room?”

“Your room?”

“The princess room!”

“Oh, of course, your room.” His mouth twitches back into its resting grin. “It’s all the way at the end of the hall.” He points in the direction we just came, like a football-field length down. “Want to check it out?”

Nons and I widen our eyes at each other in the universally polite and secret expression signifying HELP NO STOP. We want the truth, not another trip into the fun house maze. Screw the princess room, no matter the delights it holds.

“Girls? Do you—”

“Let’s just go back to the main living room!” I say, the chipper Pocket Girlfriend of the century, eager to please even at the expense of my dignity. “And maybe we can chat over that copy of White Fox and some noncoconut beverages?”

Back in the living room, a whisper-quiet man dressed in black steps out of nowhere and offers us herbal tea, water, or—in his words—something stronger. I’m about to order a drink when Nons speaks up.

“Some relaxing herbal tea would be great for both of us.”