Uber in the Rain

[embedyt]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LaBa2Wj3gHk[/embedyt]Marquel, TPVs NYTimes Personal Secrets Revealed Section correspondent, was updating his passwords, when he read Emil Michael of Uber Proposes Digging Into Journalists’ Private Lives.  The comments, reported by BuzzFeed, came from Uber’s senior vice president for business during a private dinner in New York last week, as a way the company might combat what it saw as antagonistic media coverage. Marquel had been silent about Uber. Secretly he hated it. But he had never voiced his own opinion. Now Uber‘s digging in had revealed Marquel’s most secret feelings, along with his preference for peeling oranges during sex. Damn that Emil!

Marquel wasn’t going to take this lying down but Emil had also discovered that, when lying down, Marquel preferred to cluck like a chicken, and speak the Langue d’uc, the ancient French language from the South. When standing up, Emil had somehow discovered, apparently by his renowned digging, that Marquel preferred to wave his arms like Chubby Checker, and speak Napoletana, which even Neapolitans can’t understand unless eating pizza. That’s with males. When Marquel stands with females, he tends to hum like a guinea pig and do the mashed potato. Now Emil knew all.

Marquel would have his revenge. Marquel put all his cross dressing outfits on, one over the other, and went over to the Waldorf in his highest heels. Ducking his head at the entrance, he went to the front desk and sought out Emil. Emil came downstairs and with one look, gestured to Marquel to join him in the elevator.

“How much?” Asked Emil.

“Depends what you want,” I answered. “I can give you an estimate.”

“Estimate? What kind of business are you running?” He asked.

“It’s all according to demand. When I saw you at the elevator it was $75 but right now it’s approaching$100.”

“75 or 100 is fine. Take off your dress.”

I did. Now I was wearing my pink jumper and a grey felt vest. “Any extras?” I asked.

“You got animals?” He asked.

“Big or small? A horse or a chipmunk?” I asked

“Something small.” He said.

“Guinea pig?” I asked.

“Perfect,” he said. “What’s with the extra dress?”

“Thought you might like it.” I said. “You want more, it costs more. Unless you don’t look.”

 “Well, let’s see. I like to look. Take it off.”

I was now down to my chemise. “That’s another fifty,” I said. “You wanna see more?” I asked.

 “You bet,” he said, starting to groan. He was really into watching undressing.

“Here goes, ” I said, removing my chemise and revealing my favorite spaghetti strapped evening dress. “That’s fifty more,” I said.

“Where’s the guinea pig?” He asked.

I got it out of my bag and gave it to him. “That’s fifty more” I said. He already had it under the covers and was doing something I couldn’t guess with it.

“I need lubricant with this animal,” he said.

“You need it?” I asked, “think of the animal.”

“Now,” he said, “let’s call pizzerias and ask them how the anchovies smell. “

We called fifteen shops before he turned his attention back to me.

“Take that snazzy dress off,” he said, his face glowing, but breathing heavily.

“That’ll take me down to basic black. Black is more expensive. You want to see, it’s a thousand” I said.

“Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes,” he said.

So I took it off. I only had one more layer, an extremely tight bicycle suit. I thought it might suit him. I asked.

“Oh yes,” he said. “But keep the heels in.” I did as he said.

He turned on his back and started wheeling his legs. “You, too, like you’re riding a bicycle.” I did that too. I heard a rattling at the window. It was raining.

I stood up. He was too engaged to do anything except what his libido dictated. “It’s raining. Triple rates.”

“What?” He mumbled, dazzled by my clothing levels, destroyed by the pizzeria anchovy descriptions, and exhausted by the pedaling. The guinea pig seemed to have satisfied him all by itself. “Triple time?” He asked. “What does that make it?”

“My calculations come to thirty seven hundred fifty dollars,” I said.

“That’s highway robbery,” he said. “Triple time in the rain?” He bellowed.

“It seemed a good idea. Uber does it. If it rains, triple the fare.  Same goes for black. Cars.” I said.

“What does Uber have to do with this?” He asked.

“Emil I know who you are. You dug up dirt on me and my fellow journalists now I have dirt on you. Any investigations and I tell what you did with that guinea pig.” I threatened.

“You can’t prove it.” He said.

“I think I can. That guinea pig has the most amazing memory. Put him into bed with you again with witnesses and see what he does.”

“This is scandalous. You tricked me.”

“I hope so. That was my goal. Now you better make a public statement withdrawing your threat or I’ll be having a press conference of my own.”

We both got dressed and I started to leave. I realized he hadn’t returned the guinea pig. “The animal, Emil.”

He reached inside his pants and pulled out the reluctant animal. Emil said, “he wasn’t very good. I’ve had better.” He pointed at the animal as he returned it. “Old. Fat.”

“Expensive,” I said. “Especially in the rain.”

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