Alienígena que muda de forma se apaixona pelo homem humano. Seu peito, em desespero, se transforma em apêndices para estender a mão e, quando jogado para fora de um conversível, "ela" se apega ao automóvel e usa o pára-choque para remontar o colar. Velho conto.
A noite em que ele chorou de Fritz Leiber.
Sua memória da história está um pouco desligada. O humano é um gangster chamado Slickie Millane e o alienígena é um enviado do Galaxy Center enviado para tentar reformá-lo.
A cena em que você está pensando com os acessórios do baú é no final da história, quando o alienígena bebe demais:
Then I realized that in my excitement, instead of using my upper dorsal tentacles, I’d used the upper ventral ones I kept transmuted into my beautiful milk glands. I do suppose they looked rather strange to Slickie as they came out of the bosom of my off-the-shoulders evening dress and drew him to me.
Frightening sounds came out of him. I let him go and tried to resume my gorgeous shape, but now I was really confused (that last half liter!) and lost control of my transmutations. When I found myself turning my topmost tentacle into a milk gland I gave up completely and—except for a lung and vocal cords—resumed my normal shape. It was quite a relief. After all, I had done what Galaxy Center had intended I should. From now on, the mere sight of a brassiere in a show window would be enough to give Slickie the shakes.
Still, I was bothered about the guy. As I say, he’d touched me.
I caressed him tenderly with my tentacles. Over and over again I explained that I was just a heptapus and that Galaxy Center had selected me for the job simply because my seven tentacles would transmute nicely into the seven extremities of the human female.
Over and over again I told him how I loved him.
It didn’t seem to help. Slickie Millane continued to weep hysterically.