What seemed like only a few minutes later, Bella Lisa was awoken by a light persistent tapping on the bedroom door. A small, smiling, middle-aged Hispanic woman in a starched white maid’s uniform peeked through the crack in the door and turned on the light switch, stabbing her eyes with brightness. Half asleep and now cranky, she asked herself why every other room in this place was as dark as a dungeon but her bedroom had to be lit up like the stage of a Broadway theater.
“Excuse me, Ms. Mauricio? It’s you helper, Maria Potcia. Are you awake?”
Bella Lisa threw the sheets over her head and crawled under them further.
“No, I’m not awake. Please go away.”
“I so sorry for to wake you, madam. I try call you on intercom, but you no hear. Mr. Williamson, he prepare a very fine dinner and we m
