What would secret agent Elena do? Well, obviously she would go all in.
The brunette remained in place and waited for what felt like a long while. Time was slowing down the more she pondered about her ordeal, specially the fact that more people saw her naked in the last hour than in her whole life before that. Good thing it was going to be over soon, she hoped. With her newfound impatience, her hiding spot became a lot less comfortable. The cold emanating from the cooler became just plain chilly and Elena was now yearning to be able to stretch her legs.
Abruptly, the vehicle moved a couple of meters and stopped to pick up passengers. One by one, the passengers climbed on in a semi-orderly manner. “Sir, that bag is too big to carry on your seat. Here, let me store it.” Uh, oh.
The trunk was opened from the outside. A tour guide and half a dozen tourists looked down at Elena, who returned them an uncomfortable smile and quickly moved the towel from her head to put it over her body.
“John, you better get here. I found your streaker,” radioed the tour guide.
“Wait! There is no need to call security, alright? I’m leaving.” Elena hurried out of the vehicle and stepped outside. She was surrounded on all sides by tourists from all over the world, most of which were annoyingly holding big and expensive cameras. She gulped and nervously adjusted her towel as the bystanders started taking pictures. She felt a familiar burn surface on her cheeks.
Now what? She couldn’t just walk halfway across the city in just a towel. Sure, it beat being naked, but not by much. Nonetheless, it’s not like she had money to take the bus or her cellphone to call for help. Ugh, just walking outside the tourist district with all those photo-happy sightseers was going to be completely humiliating. No, she shouldn’t look at the glass half-empty. She was no longer indecent. She had her towel, everything was going to be fine. Now, however, was time to retreat from the studio before more guards showed up. Elena started to back away, but felt a very odd draft as she did so.
A barrage of cameras flashes suddenly illuminated every inch of the brunette’s body. In the span of a few seconds, she learned how to say: “Look, a naked woman!” in at least five different languages. More than before, the curious bystanders encircled her. The mortified Elena stared at her bare body in disbelief, and then at the towel, which was now in the hands of the tour guide.
“Sorry but I can’t let you keep the towel, it’s studio property,” he said as he hopped onto the minibus and began his tour, latching the gates shut as he crossed them.
Surrounded on all sides by chuckling spectators while being locked out of her clothes, Elena thought that maybe going unnoticed wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
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