"On the pleasant shore of the French Riviera, about halfway between Marseilles and the Italian border, stands a proud, rose-colored hotel." Shimmering in the sunlight with promise and untold secrets: promise of romance and interesting diversions, secrets both kept and divulged, but always a frisson in the air as one crossed the thresh hold.
It was there that a sad-eyed youngish blond girl was ushered through the massive glass doors. She quickly walked to the registration desk and checked in, made her way to her assigned room accompanied by her Louis V. luggage and the bell cap. After tipping him generously, she indicated that she did not require anything more, and he left.
Her room overlooked a palm-laden courtyard and as she looked down at the sculptures, she noticed one: gleaming in the sunlight--Poseidon, his iron trident poised to be thrown; she began planning her revenge.