Maurice & Friends

If Kenya had ever had a problem with its new young president and his raunchy spread in an even nastier rag magazine, it was all forgiven now. The citizens wanted to see for themselves that Shane Simba was recovering from his near fatal bout with bleeding ulcers. They gathered in droves, packing the surrounding hotels such as the Mara Simba Lodge, Leaparde-Lyon Safari Club and Lewis Lyon’s recently constructed Four Seasons Hotel. The occasion was a festival that his beloved Masai tribe were staging to welcome him back to life. He had bonded with them during the rocky days and nights of his recuperation. Nelson Mandela was to be present, staying at the home of his dear friends, Ralph and Mildred Lyon. The entire Mara had pitched in to make sure that this was a splendid and unforgettable occasion, helping the Masai people in any way they could. The young lion leader, decidedly thinner, had new fire in his eyes. The floor in the presidential couple’s bedroom was stacked with books on Colonial and tribal histories relating to Kenya. Many an evening, Betty, Staci and Sean had sat with him, going through the many layered history of our country. The more than forty tribes in Kenya are to be represented at the tamasha (the Swahili word for festival). The Kikuyu, Meru, Kalenjin, Luyha, Luo, Kisii, Kamba, Swahili, and Turkana were to join the Masai in honoring the president with their songs and dances. Excitement ran high in our community.

Dina Myers begged the mercy of Sloane Simba and was granted absolution since she was such an asset and a brilliant lawyer. Simba Brothers went back to its customary highly successful grind. Dina adopted a manner of dress and attitude that closely resembled sack cloth and ashes. She abstained from makeup, wore black and worked her ass off day and night. She never saw Shane Simba anymore and mourned this loss. It is said by those (some in the know and some less so) that a female never forgets the male who stripped her of her virginal properties. This certainly seemed true in the actions of the lawyer from South Africa who came to Kenya and fell in love with the fatally attractive, all powerful Shane Simba. She turned toward her career, virtually becoming a recluse except for the fact that she sought counsel with a strange choice – the most reverend Saul Serval, head pastor of the First Church of the Ascending Predator.

I lunched with Bertram Baboon and Lachlan at OKAPI’S. It was rare for Lachlan to have a free lunch hour. He was still seeking a new psychiatrist to replace Dr. Cary Caracal and relieve him of some of his outrageous workload.

“How is our president?” asked Bertram, crunching loudly on a radish.

“Thin, still tiring easily but going about the business of state,” I answered.

“This chap, Shane, is like a cat with nine lives, he has survived so much,” observed Bertram.

“He is a cat,” reminded Lachlan.

“Oh right, Lachlan, I quite forgot.”

Award winning film director, Bertram Baboon, my dear friend and former lover......

Chloe Cougar, coming from a whopping theatrical success was seeking further venues for her very real talent. She decided, for some reason, known only to God and herself, to try a singing career. She sought her ex-husband, Roy Lee’s help in this effort. Baboon-Simba Studios possess some of the best sound staging and equipment around. Chloe hired a band and worked over several numbers with them. She was to attempt rap and a bastardized form of rock for her first venture. Bertram and Roy Lee were a sitting audience in the balcony when Chloe hit her first note.

“Shit,” exclaimed Roy Lee. “She sounds like glass breaking.”

“Actually,” said Bertram, lighting his pipe “It has a very rank quality that one could relate to sexiness if one was so inclined.”

“Really?” asked a surprised Roy Lee, who has never quite gotten a real bead on his long time partner’s thought processes.

“Quite. Let’s assist her in cutting a CD. I believe she has possibilities.”

Caitlin Cougar’s second exhibit at the arts center, opened on a Thursday evening with the prerequisite champagne party. By Friday, she had sold out. Those flooding into the Mara for the president’s tamashi, attended and bought sculptures like there was no tomorrow in sight. It was a happy Caitlin that celebrated with Steven Simba that night. Sloane Simba had attended and bought two of his ex-wife’s sculptures for Simba Brothers’ offices.

Sarah Lee Simba once more lorded it over her sister, Leander. With Shane, almost dying and the hero of the day, she felt back on top as the pride matriarch. She planned an extra large brunch on Sunday, ordering Leander around with various kitchen duties which she detested. As far as Leander Simba was concerned, the kitchen was for unimaginative females like her sister, Sarah Lee. The pride all arrived, for the most part. The one missing was the key figure, her presidential son, Shane. No matter how Betty had begged, he refused to go to his mother’s. Betty had not been privy to the phoned in ass flaming the lioness had given her son over the Enquirer photos. Although shaken and grateful for life, Shane Simba still held a great deal of resentment toward the mother he felt had favored his litter mate, to Shane’s detriment. . So once again, Sarah Lee set her leonine features into what she considered a proper pout.

One can not say that Shane Simba turned entirely to religion for this is not his nature of animal, but he became a very regular attendant of Sunday services at the First Church of the Ascending Predator. He probably realized that the fates had intervened multiple times in saving him from almost certain death. He would sit with Betty and his children in the pew reserved for the president. As is often the way when a high public official frequents an organization, it goes about the business of enhancement. This happened in the case of the church. The choir, already upgraded, became outstanding in their selection of stirring English hymns. The Reverend Serval’s sermons were improved and most ornate. He went on forever in wordy fashion, casting discreet glances at Shane and the effects it was having on him. Little did he know that the handsome young lion was using this hour to formulate further plans for Kenya. The matrons of the church made sure the flowers on Sunday were only the best and most fragrant. The church, which had been originally founded by the big cat predators (thus the name), began to increase its membership when word got out that the president and his family, were regular attendants. Other species joined, hoping to rub shoulders with the Simbas. On a particular Sunday, Charlotte Elephanti and her hubby, Cappie Cape Buffalo lumbered up the aisle to receive baptismal in the name of the Ascending Predator, whose heavenly reign had caused them, as herbivores, such grief in the past. There is no end to the irony that invades Kenya, in these years of our profound change.

I suppose in my position as his press secretary, I naturally had a fix on the changes in Shane. His dedication to the country and all of its aspects was astounding. Shane is blessed with a brilliant mind with the supplementary steel trap qualities. These assets include a photographic memory. Utilizing these aspects, of his persona, he began to create programs that resonated in sheer genius. He set aside funds to enhance the school systems of the various tribes throughout Kenya, making sure there was a cultural center in the vicinity to retain their tribal lore and history. Shane Simba became a cultural groupie for our country. He set up an endowment to build a museum of post Colonial History in Nairobi. He and Vice President Daniel Lyon (who was mightily relieved not to have the presidency of Kenya foisted on him due to Shane’s demise) worked to remove antiquated laws from the system.

“Shane, darling, you must come home now. You have worked fourteen hours today and you’re still just beginning to get your strength back,” said Betty, who had found him still in his office after the State House was closed for business.

He was sitting at his computer, going through some nettlesome laws. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He took it and put it to his lips.

“Okay, Fifi. Sorry, I’m just trying to do some homework before tomorrow’s work day.”

“Frank Tigeres said that you can have a light Scotch this evening. How about having it with me?”

He got up and turned the lights off in the office. They went arm in arm to their home.

The tigress towered over Sloane Simba who was not accustomed to those that did that – especially not of the female persusuaion. She was the daughter of Frank and Melba Tigeres and just arrived from law school in England. She was gorgeous and totally self assured. She held a cigarette for Sloane to light.

“My name is Tawny Tigeres and I’m very interested in the attorney position open at Simba Brothers.”

“Did you say your name is Tawny?” he asked, not hearing due to the noise in the pub where they had met for the interview.

“That’s right,” she laughed, her green eyes filled with merry amusement.

“Well, you’re tawny all right,” he laughed.

This elicited a deep throaty chortle from the tigress. “No, sweetie, you’re tawny – I’m in blazing technicolor.”

She followed him to a booth on quieter ground where he could quiz her. She had already sent a resume to the firm. Sloane liked to conduct actual interviews in a more relaxed atmosphere than his office. As they talked, Sloane found Tawny to be very brilliant with shrewd and discerning thought processes. He was impressed, telling her to come to work the following Monday.

“What does one do for entertainment around here? I’ve been gone since high school,” she giggled.

“Depends on what type you fancy. Entertainment has many facets and forms,” said Sloane, lighting his cigarette and hers.

“You got a girlfriend?” she asked, throwing him off guard.

“Actually, I have several, why?”

“Too bad, thought we might get together tonight.”

“I feel a little bit diffident about mixing sex and office personnel.”

“Sex?” she smiled.

“Let’s go to my place and find something fun to do,” he offered, helping her from her chair.

When they turned on the lights to his lavish living room, Tawny sighed.

“This is very deluxe, I must say. What’s in your liquor cabinet, Sloane?”

“What’s your preference, Tawny?” he asked, placing a nip in the fur of her neck.

“Like to bite, do you?” she said, nipping him harder. “I drink straight vodka shots.”

“Jeez,” said, Sloane, taking a bottle of Absolut from the cabinet and pouring a crystal shot glass full.

When Tawny made herself more comfortable by removing her jacket, her jersey top revealed a set of boobs that Sloane could only describe as splendid. Tawny Tigeres with her Amazonian height, magnificent body, bright green eyes and sparkling personality was some one Sloane wanted to know better. They danced, laughed and got along tremendously well which naturally culminated in the bedroom. Once they arrived at that point, Tawny became the aggressor, removing Sloane’s clothes and tossing him like some weightless object on his bed.

He undressed her with gusto, commenting, “We have some serious stripes going on here.”

It was rough and tumble, with great romps and leaps across the bed. Sex with the tigress was the most extraordinary thing that Sloane Simba had ever engaged in short of a ride on a major roller coaster in Europe that almost caused cardiac arrest. When she finally drove off at three a.m., Sloane felt the need to check for sprains and broken bones. He examined himself in the mirror of his bathroom. There he noticed some scratches. He felt some pain in one shoulder. He smiled and remembered. It had been rough, sensual, hinky and totally delicious. I want more of that, he thought as he turned off the bathroom light and went to bed.

Tawny Tigeres, lawyer daughter of Dr. Frank and Melba Tigeres.

President Shane Simba with his much loved Masai at the festival.....

Shane Simba waked early the morning of the festival. Coffee was brought to the bedroom. He had a very weak brew due to his diet. The Masai, having waked at first light, were harmonizing in their far reaching and beautiful voices. Betty joined him on the chaise lounge that sat at the picture window in their bedroom. Shane loved to watch the early morning scenes that were such a part of Kenya and the ambience he loved. Then he dressed slowly. This was his day and he wished to savor every moment. The Masai from the village began to arrive, mingling with those on his staff. Then came the other tribes who began to set up on the grounds of the State House.

As the crowds gathered, the Masai were the first to dance their ritual performances of victory, life and the hunt. The tribal music of East Africa is laden with drums, wind instruments and powerful voices. It is very rousing fare. Shane, Betty, Daniel, Stella, Ralph, Mildred and Nelson Mandela sat in chairs in the front of temporary bleachers set up for viewers. I sat with Lachlan, Bertram, Roy Lee and Janice in a special set of chairs set aside for VIPs. The dancing and songs of the various tribes went on all day, with a lunch break of marvelous foods put out on long tables. As the sun began its descent in the reddened late afternoon skies of the Mara, the Masai warriors came to the forefront and announced their ritual initiation dance of the lions. They asked for their president, vice president and beloved past president to come forward. The Masai began their tall leaps in an age old dance that signaled the hunt for a lion to initiate the young men into manhood. In these days of the intense affection and solidarity between lions and the Masai it took on new meaning. Ralph, Shane and Daniel went forth to be a part of the ritual. The lead warrior then asked for all male lions to come forward. Roy Lee joined them, as did Ashley Lyon, Junior and male members of the Simba pride. It was a moving and magnificent spectacle and continued until the last bit of sun disappeared behind the acacias in the bush. When dark descended, the fires were lit on the grounds and the tribes continued their gnoma (Swahili for dance) into the night. It had been a sentimental and emotional day, with the tribes singing a song of life to their recovering president. Betty finally made Shane go to bed. I saw them, arms linked, heads close together, walk to the mansion.

Betty covered her husband with a down quilt then sat on the edge of their bed.

“It was magnificent, Shane. Such a tribute to you,” she said, leaning over to give him a kiss.

“It was truly that, Fifi. I am so grateful for my country, its animals, people, my kids and most of all – you.”

“I think we are all going to be just fine, my love. We made it to port in the midst of a terrible storm.”

“Fifi, your next literary attempt should be poetry,” he teased, turning off the light and pulling her in bed beside him.