If she was fanciful, if she was one of those fiction writers who can invent whole worlds out of a single meaningful social taboo, she might have the imagination to believe in a god. Any god. But she doesn't, so she can't. All the same, the serving woman is a bit of a goddess. That's the only way Abby can describe her. Out of everyone and everything in this overly-clean and pre-packaged little hell-hole, only this woman has caught Abby's eye. She's not sure why. Abby doesn't sleep with women, although she can admire a nice pair of breasts, attractive features, beautiful hair. It doesn't have to mean she wants have sex with the rest of the collection, though. Maybe because there's something oddly authentic about this woman. But there shouldn't be, and that's what is making her stand out. She's a resort worker, they're all the same, really. They're meant to be visually interchangeable to the tourists, all dressed in the same brown tailored shirts and cream shorts, all the women with their hair back in buns, all the men clean shaven.
