Bucke's Bay Resort

My name is Dikembe. I live on a small tropical island you've never heard of. I was born and raised here in a little slice of paradise called Slaver's Bay. I'm a descendant of the slaves brought to this place centuries ago to work the sugar plantations.

I went to school for a few years, I can read and speak English pretty well. But formal jobs have always been hard to come by. Our country's economy has always been small and very poor.

Until recently. Foreigners have come to our little corner of the world in search of the perfect holiday destination. The little fishing village I was raised in was bulldozed to make way for a luxurious resort for westerners. Me and most of the others did the work; destroying our own town and building a resort we'd never be able to afford to visit.

Now my community has been scattered. My father was the voodoo shaman for the area; he died and I took over the power of the spirits. They guide me.

The foreman of the construction team liked me. I was polite, hard-working and well spoken. He told me he would be able to get me a job at the resort.

Today the workers were putting the finishing touches on the new resort. It is called "Bucke's Bay" after the Australian millionaire who now owns our home. Apparently "Slaver's Bay" wouldn't be as comfortable for the westerners, or as congratulatory to the man who made it possible. So now they have taken our homes and our history.

I arrive and stand in awe of the opulence of the lobby area. There is a waterfall inside the building! I notice a young white woman emerge from behind the counter and talk to another employee. She has strawberry blonde hair tied into a loose ponytail, and is wearing a crisp beige blouse and skirt.

She comes over to me and overs a hand. "Hello, I'm Jennifer Bucke. I'm the executive director of Bucke's Bay Resort. Please, join me in my office." I follow her through a doorway. She indicates a chair for me, sits on top of her luxurious wooden desk and crosses her legs. I try not and look at her shapely legs.

"We don't usually hire locals," she begins. "Too much trouble. But I'm making an exception in your case. Our foreman said you were really something special. So I'm willing to give you a chance... what was your name?"

"Dikembe," I offer.

She forces a smile and rolls her eyes. "Figures. Dick? Alright." She puts her hands down on the table and looks me up and down. "You can call me Jenny. But don't spread that too wide. I'm having a hard enough time being taken seriously as the boss here."

I look above the desk at a framed copy of "Sydney Business Magazine" declaring "Jen Bucke Naked Ambition". The cover features Miss Bucke smiling broadly and wearing a low-cut top. "Because you are a woman?" I ask.

"Yeah, and specifically because my daddy owns the joint," she smirks. "Alright, Dick, you seem like a good guy, handsome, smart... so we have a few options for you: we need a concierge. We need a tour guide for VIP groups. And we need somebody to run the spa."

Then she hops off the desk and leads me toward the door. "Hope to see you soon, Dick," she purrs and smiles up and me. Then she opens the door and barks at another woman: "This is Dick, get him a name tag and give him a job."

Jenny slams the door behind me. The woman smiles at me. "Hi. What job did you have in mind?"