Chapter 16: The Trip to the SACZ of SoCal.

February 5, 2024, 5:00 PM, the Tourist District of Dreamside.
A long, open-sided electric sightseeing bus carries a group of Azerbaijani tourists through the visitor-friendly part of Dreamside. The guide, Zehra, an Azerbaijani woman in her forties wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt, sits in the front passenger seat beside the driver. She speaks into the microphone at a moderate volume, half-turned toward the group.
"So I'm glad so many of you made it to the evening tour and didn't get lost at the Getty Villa," she says cheerfully. Laughter ripples through the bus. "Tonight we'll drive through the tourist area of one of the closed communities around Los Angeles. This place is called Dreamside, and—"
A woman in her fifties in the front row interrupts. "Zehra, why is this area closed to tourists? It looks beautiful, and the villas here are much more modern than in LA."
Zehra smiles professionally and adjusts the microphone. "You've probably noticed already. Even on the outskirts, Dreamside feels more glamorous. It's known as a safe space for celebrities. The town was founded in September 1995 by artists, producers, and IT specialists who wanted privacy away from noisy 1990s LA."
She gestures out the window. "We can't enter the residential zones—fences, security, cameras. No turrets, though, probably." A few tourists laugh. "So we'll stick to the historic part of town. But trust me, there's plenty to see. Dreamside isn't only mansions and estates."
The middle-aged woman with dyed chestnut hair and large expressive eyes nods. "Zehra, what does Dreamside specialize in? Why is it so famous and expensive? Is it just celebrities?"
Zehra adjusts the microphone again. "Not only celebrities, though there are plenty here, especially in recent years." She points toward a small group outside a café, some in striking designer clothes. "The real strength is the mix of high-tech industries, art, and a very specific lifestyle culture."
"'Specific lifestyle culture'? Like people who indulge in every kind of vice?" asks a bald man in his sixties. His full-figured, gray-haired wife nudges him.
Zehra keeps her professional smile while the group chuckles. "Oh no, Mr. Aliyev. The lifestyle here is unique, but hardly illegal. I think you're thinking of somewhere else." The bus glides past boutique stores with avant-garde mannequins in the windows. "Dreamside is actually very safe. One of the founders, a tech billionaire, designed the entire security system. It's safer than many big cities."
The middle-aged woman leans forward. "But what exactly does that specific lifestyle mean?"
Zehra inhales softly. "Dreamside was created so creative people could explore new boundaries in art, technology, and personal relationships." She pauses, reading the group's faces. "The community values authenticity, experimentation, and self-expression. That sometimes includes relationships that don't follow traditional rules."
The elderly man scoffs. "So it's full of weirdos? People showing off their unnatural desires?" His wife shushes him, but her eyes stay locked on Zehra, hungry for more. "Tell us properly, girl."
"What an interesting building," says a young woman in a denim jacket from the middle rows. She points at the big pink structure shaped like a vagina. "What is it?"
Zehra tells the driver to slow down. "Ah, that's Swag&Pop. The most provocative art gallery in Dreamside, founded by Dara Liva—extravagant DJ, collector, patron of the arts, and well-known in the fashion world. Oh, and she's a former stripper and porn actress. No point hiding it."
The tourists gasp. The middle-aged Azerbaijani woman tightens her grip on her husband's arm. "A former porn actress owns that gallery? And it's legal here?"
Zehra nods, her expression growing more animated. "Absolutely legal. Dara Liva is a very influential figure in the art world now—her exhibitions regularly sell out, and she hosts some of the most exclusive parties in Dreamside. The building itself is a work of art, a kind of sculpture. She believes art should be bold, provocative, and push boundaries."
One of the young guys in the back rows laughs loudly and calls to Aliyev up front. "Ilgar! Pay attention, our champion of morality! The more you learn about Dara, the faster you'll find her on the porn sites you don't visit!"
The entire bus fills with laughter and whispered exchanges. Zehra watches Aliyev squirm in his seat. His wife grips his arm, torn between scandalized disapproval and suppressed curiosity.
The middle-aged woman asks, "Is this woman—Dara—still in the business of pornography? Or has she moved on?"
Zehra smiles knowingly. "Oh no, she's not active in porn anymore. But her past work is part of her story. She doesn't shy away from it."
As the bus glides past the gallery, several heads turn to admire the provocative architecture. "Dara believes everything in life—sex, art, business—is connected."
A young woman with long red hair in the back asks, "So we can't get into the other districts at all?"
The bus continues down the street, passing the imposing Swag&Pop Gallery. Its pink walls glow under the afternoon sun, every curve and angle designed to provoke and excite. Several tourists crane their necks for one last glimpse.
Zehra tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "No. Not without special permission. Mayor Navari keeps tight control over it. The districts are exclusive. They have their own rules, their own customs. People who live there choose a particular lifestyle and want to preserve it."
"And is this a common thing in the US?" asks one of the men in the middle seats, an Azerbaijani in his sixties. "Closed towns? Back in the USSR we had closed towns, but only military ones. Dreamside is like a special residential area of Los Angeles so the paparazzi don't bother people? Or what?"
The woman sighs. "Oh yes, I grew up in a place like that. All the workers and their families lived together in the town's dormitories. We had our own schools, shops, cultural centers. It was controlled." She gives a small shrug. "Of course, everything changed after the USSR collapsed. Now it's more like what you see here in Dreamside—a place where people choose to live under certain rules."
Zehra tilts her head. "Dreamside is similar in some ways. It's not government-controlled like the ones you knew, but it has its own rules and its own bubble."
The bus stops in the park across from the fountain with the hippie statue.
"So… same instructions: you've got a whole free hour! In one hour we meet right here by the fountain. If anyone gets lost, call me."
The tourists get off the bus. Zehra sighs.
The driver, an Azerbaijani man in his thirties, turns to her. "You ever get tired of explaining Dreamside to people who don't get it?" He lights a cigarette and blows smoke out the window.
Zehra smirks. "More than you know. But at least they ask questions. Better than the ones who just gawk at Swag&Pop like it's a zoo exhibit."
"Dreamside doesn't exactly fit with Azerbaijani traditions, does it?" she continues. "On the other hand, our compatriots choose these tours themselves. LA just isn't enough for them."
Zehra watches the tourists scatter like colorful birds around the fountain. The driver leans against the bus door, still smoking.
"Most of them just want something different. Something American. Dreamside is like the fantasy version of LA, yes?" He flicks ash onto the pavement. "But it's more than that. This place is about freedom to be whatever you want."
Zehra nods, her expression skeptical. "Freedom to be rich, mostly."
The driver laughs, a low rumble. "Money isn't everything here. Look at Dara Liva. Started as a stripper, now owns an art gallery." He takes a long drag, eyes following a group taking selfies with the hippie statue. "True. But she didn't just get rich—she made a whole philosophy out of it. 'No cowards in art.' Can you imagine saying that back home?"
Zehra snorts. "They'd call her a shameless whore and stone her in the town square." She pauses, watching an elderly Azerbaijani woman clutch her purse tighter as a nearly-nude performance artist walks by. "But here... it's different. They see it as strength."
"Strength or insanity?" the driver mutters, crushing his cigarette under his heel. "Sometimes I think these tours are just cheap voyeurism."
Zehra leans against the bus and folds her arms. "You're not wrong. But I think it's more than that. People come here for something they can't get in regular LA." She gestures at the surrounding neighborhood. "Look at this place—it's got a personality. People here actually live by their own rules. Back home, everyone plays the same game."
The driver hums in agreement. "Ah, you mean like marrying young, working at the same factory for thirty years, pretending to be happy?" He shakes his head. "But what is the alternative? Being homeless? Being a sex worker like Miss Liva? Being used by rich Americans?"
Zehra shrugs. "Dreamside isn't just about money or sex. It's about choice. About not having to hide who you are." She watches a pair of goth teens stroll past, hand in hand, both covered in piercings and tattoos. "Dara made that her whole thing. Before Swag&Pop, she was a porn star. Now she's an art star. People here respect that—she didn't stay where society put her."
The driver's expression shifts, growing more thoughtful. "You sound like you admire her."
Zehra doesn't answer right away. She lights her own cigarette. "I think she's... brave," she admits finally. "You know, over there in the closed part of town, in the other districts, they say it's calmer. There's not such an emphasis on sexual themes. There's a residential area with schools and kindergartens. I think the tourist district is designed like this on purpose—to filter out those who might want to settle here."
Zehra takes a drag. "I bet she—" She points to the nearly-nude performance artist, now posing for photos with a group of East Asian tourists. The woman is painted in wild colors in the style of some superheroine and draws attention wherever she goes. "—I bet she takes her kid to a kindergarten in the residential part of town. Or maybe she's studying in college."
Zehra squints. "Damn... I thought she was nearly nude. But it looks like all of her clothing is just body paint."
The driver chuckles. "Yeah. That's Dreamside for you—everything's an art project. Even the nudity." He gestures toward the artist as she strikes another exaggerated pose. "Probably makes more in tips in an hour than I make in a day."
Zehra exhales smoke thoughtfully, watching the artist work. "Maybe. Or maybe she's just happy. Back home, people would be shamed for this. But here..." She gestures broadly. "It's just another way to express yourself." She smiles slightly. "My husband would die if he saw this place."
The driver laughs outright. "He's not big on artistic expression, huh?"
"Not so much," Zehra says dryly. "Though I suspect he'd be more upset by the openness of it all. Not just the art. This place is... I don't know. More free than home."