Betty, not having had a relationship with a male recently, other than the strictly platonic one with Tarzan, was feeling - shall we say, for want of a more delicate term - restive.  As luck would have it, Shane Simba had been cleared medically and was heading her way.   He was dropped off at her doorstep on a stormy day when the beach was lined with idle fishing boats.  He stood in her house, his magnificent body clad impeccably in the best clothes available, his neatly trimmed mane scented with his favored cologne.  He was a feast for her lovelorn eyes.  He was minus their son, Solly or their twins. 

“Where’s Solly?” asked Betty.

“He started the new school term.  Can you believe he is in the first grade this year?”

“No, it seems like just yesterday that he was born.  What are you doing here, is my next question?”

“I wanted to see you, Betty.  Is that still permissible?”

“You’ll have to sleep upstairs,” she instructed, lighting a cigarette with nervous hands. 

“That’s okay.  It’s your company I crave….that voracious mind of yours,” he countered, leaning over to open a box that his driver had brought inside and placed on the floor.

 It contained four bottles of choice Scotch and other treats.  Shane extracted an expensively wrapped box from Margaux’s Fine Meats and Spirits. 

“Thick steaks, Fifi- we’ll dine like kings tonight.”

            However, after a scrumptious meal accompanied by the best  wines that he had also brought, her brilliant mind was not all that was on his.  The rain poured down, a genuine gully washer, rendering the cozy interior of her living area even more so.  He stood and pulled her from the chair.  He started caressing her hair, removing the clip and letting its full weight fall down her back - then her breasts, unbuttoning her blouse and slipping it from her shoulders.  She was caught up in the moment and her still intense love for him.  Her nimble fingers caressed his mane.  She opened his shirt front and then his fly, putting her hand inside.  He gave a great moan and picked her off her feet, carrying her to her bed.  They made love almost as if it was the first time and they had just discovered each other.  “I love you, Betty,” he kept whispering in the darkness of her room that would brighten with flashes of jagged lightening.  “I adore you, Shane,” she moaned.  They slept, what was left of the night, in each other’s arms. 

Shane and Betty in her bedroom in Tanzania....

            The storms continued, unabated for the two days and nights he was there. They continued to enjoy an intense and strange interlude– a bizarre renewal.   She knew of his situation with Johanna and deplored it, yet, couldn’t resist the sweetness and passion that once more became a component of the Shane Simba/Betty Chimpo road show.  They both realized that they were ‘joined at the hip’ in the most serious rendering of that oft tossed out phrase.  On their last day together, Shane gave her the information he had come to pass on. 

“Betty, I almost hate to tell you about this, but I’m worried about you,” he said,  lighting a cigarette before he ventured further. 

“What is it, darling?  Something about the children?” she asked, swift hand to breast in sudden alarm. 

“No, it’s about your fish vendor, Tarzan alias Jack.  I saw his police files.  He tore up an elderly lion, that’s why Ralph expelled him from Kenya.”

“He told me about that, Shane.  Not to worry, he is a friend only.”

“That’s not the end of it, Betty.....Bubba tells me he is a suspected man-eater in some unsolved human killings near Samburu.  I want you to be very careful, Fifi.  Whether you buy the fact or not, I do love you very much.”

She felt a flare of defensive anger on behalf of the male lion that had offered her friendship with no strings attached but decided to remain cool. 

“Shane, thank you for caring but I doubt this is true.  He seems rugged but certainly no man-eater.  At any rate I’m not human,” she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere a tad. 

“You look it though, Betty.  Just please be careful,” he said, hugging her to him. "....You would be easy prey to take down."

"You should know, Shane," she murmured into his shirt front. "You've already accomplished that." 

            His official car came for him a little before noon.  The rains had stopped, leaving azure, very clear skies.  He held her a long time before going down the steps to the SUV that was ocuppied by a driver and two of his Masai guards.  She stood, watching the Land Rover head up the hilly dune before entering the road and disappearing around a mountain pass.

             Lachlan, perhaps due to my close working relationship with Shane, caved in and went to the State House for a counseling session.  My highly thought of lion psychiatrist sat in a chair in Shane’s inner office, one leg crossed over the other, clip board in his lap, pencil tapping rhythmically on his knee.  Shane was going on about his current miseries with Johanna and Betty having flown the coop.  He bemoaned the fact that Jane had also deserted the ranks.  When he ended his tale of woe, Lachlan looked up from his papers.

“Shane, I have counseled you on and off since before your marriage to Catherine Cheetah.  What I have discerned is that your emotional life runs in a continuous circle, only the cast of characters changes from time to time.  Have you ever felt the inclination to grow out, up and over yourself?”

The room rang with silence.  A room can actually do that under certain circumstances.  The lion president’s eyes narrowed and grew more intense.  This situation lasted for what seemed like eons but was actually only a matter of minutes before Shane spoke. 

“I have always known that you disliked me, Lachlan.”

“That's a moot point.  I get paid well for counseling you, Shane.  It’s my vocation…for me you're a client, not one of life’s little pleasures.”

No one could ever say that Lachlan was not a true lion of his home turf, Tsavo – fearless, outspoken and in no way a wimp. 

             Sunday dawned clear and sunny.  The beach was deserted; fishing boats were pulled ashore for the traditional day off.  Betty was reading when she heard footsteps outside.  She left her bed to see who was there.  Tarzan was standing just inside with a huge paper wrapped bulk.  He went to her sink and dumped a humungous slab of something. 

“A crocodile jumped me last night on the beach.  He thought he’d be a smart ass but I out smart assed him.  I left some for you.  You’ll probably want to cook yours.  I hear it’s great grilled.  Got to run now, I’m working on my jeep.  Ciao.”

He was out the door in a flash.  Betty approached the sink and looked in.  There was a ghastly, bloody mass she assumed to be crocodile meat.  She put her hands to her mouth and stifled a gag, quickly tossing newspaper to cover the repulsive glob.  She remembered Shane’s warning. 

             Leah accepted an invitation from Ashley (who had kept their Mombasa home and given her the one on Leoparde Drive).   He had invited her with their children for a weekend in Mombasa.  Remembering the great time they had enjoyed when they happened on each other, she gladly accepted.  It would help relieve her anguish over Trevor Tau.  As she pulled into the drive of the stately beach house, the children piled out and Ashley came to greet all.  He gave Leah a hug and kiss, offering the same to the kids and rigid Imani, who was miffed at his defection to Simone's penthouse.  They all went to the house, where Ashley poured soft drinks for the cubs, opening beers for them.  They were about to go to the veranda when Simone Serval came slinking down the stairs in her most revealing string bikini, buttocks in full view.  Ashley gave her a hug, patting her bare fanny.

“Sims, our guests have arrived,” he advised her bending down to place a lingering kiss on the dainty actress' lips.

Simone gave, what Leah swore, was a sly smile.  It was obvious that Simone and Ashley were the relevant couple of the weekend.  When Ashley had the houseboy place Leah’s bags in the guest room, she knew for certain that she was not to be the flavor of the day at this particular gathering.  Throughout the weekend, despite Ashley and Leah with their offspring, engaging in the water sports they loved, Ashley treated Simone as if she was his hostess and Leah, a genuinely cared for but strictly platonic guest. 

Simone Serval, the former and current squeeze of Ashley Lyon.....

            The following Monday morning, Maude Hyena entered Leah's mayoral office with a press release for her to check out.  It was Trevor Tau’s biography.  He was to be honored along with several others for his outstanding work in his field. 

“I just need for you to look this over, dear, before I take it to his office for his approval,” said Maude. 

Leah grabbed the moment.  “Maude, honey, I’ll run this out to the river for you.”

“Are you sure, dear?”

“Of course, but you’re a sweetheart for offering.”

            Leah found the lion doctor in his office.  He wore surgical scrubs with blood staining the front of his coat and one leg of the pants.  He was alone. 

“Trevor.”

He looked up suddenly at the sound of her voice, his face tortured. 

“I lost a patient just now….I had to do a cut down on an artery but it didn’t work.  I lost her anyway.  She was a poor villager and the mother of four children,” he said, his voice flat, without nuance.

“Oh, Trevor, I am so sorry,” she said, stepping timidly toward him. 

“What did you want, Leah?”

She had almost forgotten the press release.

“I brought a press biography for you to approve,” she said, taking it from her briefcase and presenting it to him. 

As he was about to take it  when she jerked it back. 

“I used this as an excuse to see you, Trevor. What I really want to say is that I love you so much. I don’t give a shit if you hate water, don’t ski, boat or whatever the fuck.  I’m miserable without you.”

He held out his arm and drew her to him.

“I have been in a terrible state without you.  I love you too, Leah.  I haven’t thought of anything except my patients and my constant dreams of you.  I don’t want to live without you again.”

“Can we start over?” she asked, her tears soaking his scrub coat, adding to the already present blood. 

“Yes, Leah, we can,” he murmured into the fragrance of her soft hair.  “By the way, I can sit on a front porch over looking the ocean while you exercise your apparent need to become shark bait.”

             The lights dimmed in the civic center auditorium.  Shane Simba and Johanna occupied the presidential box.  Shane was bored but determined to make it through this concert for Johanna’s sake.  Loud music with a contagious and steady drum rhythm signaled the beginning of the concert.  Running forward from the rear of the stage area came six gorgeous, scantily dressed girls that only could only be described in today’s vernacular as real babes.  Shane leaned forward in his seat.  The concert was a full two hours of bumps, grinds, well formed thighs in full display with gorgeous boobs bathed in sweat.  Long hair, brunette, red and blond, whipped about five eye-catching faces as they gyrated to the beat.  The hip hop lyrics were as suggestive as the girls' movements.  Before the first fifteen minutes had passed, all performers’ eyes were glued on Shane and vice-versa.  They seemed to perform for his Shane only.  The Pussycat Dolls ended their appearance with an extra sexy number, casting glances in the lion president’s direction.  Shane had five Masai guards with him.  He jumped up and beckoned to one of them, instructing him to take Johanna back to the mansion. 

“You look tired, Jo, you need to rest.  I’ll be home later,” he told her, heading for the dressing room.  Two Masai followed him. 

            As Johanna was driven home, weeping softly, knowing that she had a tiger, pardon me, lion by the tail and couldn’t let go, Shane was in the Pussycats’ dressing room avid to fulfill his growing fondness for sexy female human flesh.  Two of the Masai guards crossed their spears and guarded the door.  He banged all six of the Dolls  amidst squeals of girlish orgasmic delight and groans of lion ardor.  Shane Simba, this particular night - in a thought that would have horrified him had he heard it expressed - took the term man-eating lion to a whole new level. 

                    the Pussycats...