Once the door had hissed shut behind Cymon, Amisha cautiously approached the second room and peered in.
There were a couple of easy chairs - very modern, almost Italian in style - and what looked like a large screen set into the opposite wall, so seamlessly it seemed like part of the wall itself. She crossed the room to examine it more closely. As she did so, the screen came to life showing a whole range of movie titles. Every one was a favourite, including several Bollywood ones - a weakness never to be shared with anyone outside her family and certainly not with the Officers’ Mess.
She moved over to the closet, pulling out some of the clothes. There were dresses, jeans, shirts and tees, several pairs of shoes. She could tell without looking but checked the labels all the same: they were ones she often chose - and every colour and style were spot on.
I’ll say this she said to herself, for an Alien he certainly knows how to shop. No, scratch that: for a man he certainly knows how to shop.
She checked the shower for cameras but could see none. But they were hardly likely to be visible, she thought, so - what the hell. She gave a sigh of relief as she discarded her uniform, slipped out of her underwear and stepped in.
What do Aliens do for soap? was her next question then she spotted two dispensers in a recess. She took them out, immediately recognising the Molton Brown logo. He really has done his research, she thought.
After several minutes of bliss, she reluctantly turned off the shower, quickly realising there was no towel. But a moment later warm air jets from hundreds of tiny ducts in the shower walls began to dry her from head to toe. Nice, she thought, but I’d still have preferred a big fluffy towel. It was a little like a large scale hand drier - and she’d never liked those in the first place. She twisted and turned for a couple of minutes until she was completely dry.
‘What to wear on an Alien spaceship’ had not been covered in any of the women’s magazines she read, so she plumped for a pair of her favourite Guess Jeans matched with a blue striped shirt from Thomas Pink. But first, underwear? As she rummaged through a small drawer, she hoped that Alien men didn’t follow their Earth counterparts by choosing from the Pornstar catalogue. Again, she was pleasantly surprised to find some sensible knickers that were still the right side of pretty. Even Aliens know you can’t beat Marks & Sparks, she thought.
Shoes? She chose a pair of Dunlop trainers. She wanted her feet planted firmly on the ground.
Hairbrush? No hairbrush. So not quite the perfect shopper then. She ran her fingers through her short black bob and sat down in one of the chairs, realising that she really was quite hungry.
Just then she heard the door open in the outer room and Cymon re-appeared.
He looked her up and down.
“I think I prefer you out of uniform,” he said, but added hastily, “although you look pretty good in that, too.”
Despite the circumstances, she was pleased at the compliment.
“No hairbrush - ,” she replied, “ - you forgot the hairbrush.”
“Ah,” he said, “should have thought of that. Are you ready for the Grand Tour?” he asked.
She nodded.
© Adriana Nicolas 2014