The mischievous and legendary yellow rubber ducky - How to switch to stardom on YouTube, by surprise

    I met Juliette, a French girl, in a summer course three years ago in the United States, at UC Berkeley to be more precise.
    Her mother spent a few days with her at the student dorm and I had the opportunity to meet her. She was a beautiful woman. Well, rather she must have been a beautiful woman because numerous premature wrinkling already prevented to appreciate her beauty. You could say that she was a sophisticated woman though. Or rather a sophisticated dry-fig-woman.
    I had a meeting with Juliette on Saturday at six o’clock in the afternoon for a walk in the Marais district, in Paris.
    —Let’s go to BHV to see if we meet some girls —suggested Il Professore when we met that Saturday after lunch.
    BHV is a store in the heart of Paris, near the Marais district, which suited me very well to meet Juliette later on. Il Professore knew well that the BHV was the perfect place for our plans. He made most of his conquests in the BHV or in Galeries Lafayette.
    We went straight to the point, the rayon lingerie. There we stumbled by surprise with Juliette and her mother.
    —Daniel! —Juliette said saluting me with panties in her hand and looking puzzled the white lace bra that I was holding with both hands.
    —Juliette! —I said —,what are you doing here?
    —Nothing, shopping with my mother —said pointing panties in hand to a lady's back a few meters away —,do you remember her?
    —Mum! —shouted Juliette.
    Juliette's mother turned around. Shock. She had done I don’t know what and suddenly wrinkles had disappeared and her expression was that of someone moving at extreme speed, and yet she was there still.
    —Oh, Daniel! —said Juliette's mother though her mouth barely moved.
    —Hey —I said to the ventriloquist without remembering her name and trying to hide my surprise of the change of look, —you look young.
    My lie sounded like a lie.
    —Thanks Daniel, as friendly as always —said her face close to mine, and kissed me on the cheek.
    I kissed her gently just in case something mysterious happened.
    Then I kissed Juliette, who was beautiful as always.
    —I heared about your horseback riding accident, poor! —Juliette sighed.
    —Well, I'm much better, I spent two weeks in bed and in June I started rehabilitation. Now I'm fine. I go to the pool often to regain shoulder movement ... —I said moving my arm nimbly to confirm what was said.
    Il Professore approached with his air of Giacomo Casanova and presented himself in the usual way, bowing and kissing hands gently. Half of the job was done.
    As usual, Il Professore used one of his most studied techniques: Ask for advice about ladies underwear.
    —I'm looking for a unique gift for someone very special —he said revealing part but not all and thus automatically awaking women's curiosity.
    I listened absorbed the lesson of seduction, still holding the white lace bra.
    After making the necessary purchases at the lingerie rayon the four of us went for a walk in Le Marais, and entered a small gallery of modern art paintings exhibiting a more than suspicious pseudo-artist.
    —In this painting of a dark and abyssal depth the artist probably wanted to reflect his utter sadness, his great inner battle between intellect and emotions, a universal and intrinsic conflict going beyond all logic. Observe the paint strokes, Euclidean geometry in its pure state. The inconceivable anguish, in a word —Juliette's mother said, deep and thoughtful, watching a white canvas with a black dot in the middle and titled "Untitled sixteen" and costing two hundred and fifty thousand euros.
    Paris is like this.
    We agreed to go to the pool the next day. What a pleasure it would be to see Juliette in bikini (I still remember the one she had in Berkeley, this kind of things are not forgotten).
    I would have sworn that the appointment was agreed with Juliette (for me, I thought), a friend of hers (for Il Professore, I pictured), Il Professore and me.
    What was my surprise to see appear the next day Juliette with her mother.
    —What does that mean? —I asked upon arrival at the sport club pointing out a huge poster of a bermuda shorts crossed out with a red cross.
    —It means that bermuda shorts are not allowed here —rushed Juliette before her pedantic mother exposed us her theory.
    —So ... —I said —, how can I swim?
    —You didn’t bring a swimsuit?
    —Yeah, bermuda shorts.
    —Oh, I forgot to tell you. Here in Paris everyone bathes with slip type swimsuits. Bermuda shorts are forbidden because people do sport with them, sweats and then gets into the pool without taking a shower first which is not hygienic.
    —Professore, have you brought a bathing suit slip type? —I asked.
    —Yes, I have.
    —And you do not have a spare one?
    —No, sorry.
    —Then what can I do? —I asked.
    —I don't know, we can try to get one in the wardrobe...
    —Well... Let’s see if we are lucky.
    We entered the sports hall and asked the young man in the wardrobe if I could borrow a bathing suit. He replied that he had one left over that had just used.
     —Do you want it? —he asked.
    It was wet.
    I said yes, that I had forgotten mine.
    Il Professore and I went to the men's locker room and Juliette and her mother to the women’s.
    After a while I found myself trying on, not without some disgust, an icy garment.
    The swimsuit was old and without shape. I left the wardrobe carrying the photo camera.
    How could I seduce Juliette like this?
    Juliette was wearing a blue ultra-mini-Brasileiro-bikini that fit her perfectly and did not cover almost anything.
    —Let's go to the water! —Il Professore shouted to Juliette starting to run.
    Juliette reacted fast, followed him rapidly and both plunged in unison in the pool. They began to play.
    Juliette's mother looked at me and less wildly than the couple Juliette / Il Professore we got into the pool.
    Juliette was playing with Il Professore, her bikini seemed disintegrated or at least not seen anymore, and what was worse, they could not stop laughing.
    I watched the scene and pulled boring photos. Meanwhile, Juliette's mother talked to me about much less fun issues than the game between Juliette and Il Professore.
    I looked around.
    Near us a group of colorful children was playing football, ranting.
    As there were not many people around it did not take me much time to recognize Claude Sobranet, the account director of McKein Paris, nearby. Extremely small white suit slip type highlighting his flab, sickly chicken legs with sharp kneecaps, slicked hair. He was walking along the edge of the pool, staring straight ahead and exaggeratedly upright as if an invisible force was pulling the swimsuit forward. Something caught my attention: Claude Sobranet's package was irrationally disproportionate to the rest of the body.
    The look of Juliette’s mother ostensibly settled in his swimsuit.
    Claude Sobranet stopped short, opened his arms in cross, athlete of the seventies type, jumped while pronouncing hop and dived, ending up landing on his belly.
    I took several photos of the moment. I watched him swim. He swam well but the style of the last meters was not as accurate as the first ones. More photos. He had not seen me. He took a deep breath, asphyxiated like a trout shortness of breath.
    He leaned against the ladder to get off the pool. When he started moving up I noticed the hum of a ball, near the speed of sound, slicing through the air and heading straight towards him. The ball crashed loudly against the front of his swimsuit and all men who witnessed the scene got our hands in our swimsuit in unconcious solidarity with him. At the time of the fatal impact a mystery quack sound from the swimsuit caught our attention. Claude Sobranet fell back into the water next to us. I protected the camera with my hands to prevent it from getting wet. More photos.
     It took less than five seconds to the lifeguard, who witnessed what happened, to get him out of the pool in his arms. When he put him on the ground a yellow rubber ducky slid out from the swimsuit of Claude Sobranet. More photos.
    Claude Sobranet sat, panting, reprising his breath and surrounded by curious people. More photos.
    Juliette's mother approached him, they looked at each other. The meeting of two lost souls united by the charm of a duckling.
    Photos and more photos.
    I left the pool, leaving Juliette's mother in the company of Claude Sobranet and Juliette and Il Professore playing in the water. I returned the swimsuit to the wardrobe boy and went home.
    Without thinking twice, and recalling the welcome that Claude Sobranet had booked the first day of my internship, I made a video with much of the photos of the pool and uploaded anonymously to YouTube.
    Video title “Claude Sobranet’s yellow ducky”. He had unprecedented success among the staff of McKein Paris.

Pages 25-30 of my book “Feeling like a grape in Paris”
Xavier Gonzalez del Valle
President
AQUARIUS ABROAD