Maurice & Friends

I knew I would hear from Maude Hyena over the incident in Shane’s office. I go back a long way with Maude and Harold from the days they lived rather wretchedly in the bush competing for food. I got to know them when Bertram Baboon and I were together and partners in a catering business. They asked us to manage a pack picnic supper. However, I digress as I am prone to do. Maude called me and asked me to dinner. Lachlan was to work late that night so I accepted. Like all lions, despite his vocation, he harbors ill memories of hyena behavior and doesn’t particular like to be in their company unless forced.

Their very ostentatious and rather tasteless home was lit to the gills with lanterns on the walkway and bright chandeliers in the house. I brought a bottle of wine and a small flower arrangement with me. I had gotten several lovely blossoms from my rose garden and placed them in a vase, causing Lachlan to comment: "Casting pearls before swine, are you?". A butler, who happened to be liveried, opened the door. He was a baboon and looked very uncomfortable in his ensemble. He led me to the den where Maude and Harold sat with one of their gay daughters. They greeted me warmly and had my favorite Scotch ready. Their daughter, Harriet, is one of those lesbians that want to place that fact directly in your face. She wore overalls with a gay pride motif emblazoned on the front and back. The conversation was bent in the direction she chose until Maude, with an uplifted paw, cut the recitation dead in its tracks.

“I did not appreciate Shane Simba’s behavior in his office the other day, Maurice. I think he owes me an apology,” said Maude.

“Maude, he runs Kenya not the Mara directly. He truly has nothing to do with the zoning on this street,” I told her, hoping that would clear that topic for the evening.

I was dead wrong. Harold sat in his reclining lounge chair and attempted a low profile.

“He just doesn’t like me and it shows. I don’t know what his problem is but he is a rude bastard. I am so sorry Ralph Lyon is not still our president. He was workable although I simply detest having lions run the country.”

“Shane had a terrible experience as a cub. His litter mate was killed by hyenas in front of him, Maude.”

“I never heard of that incident, did you, Harold? I never heard of any of those rubbishy Simbas being done in by hyenas,” she insisted in a shrill manner. “I just remember them stealing all our kills, especially that drunk old male of that pride - the one that spawned that uppity president of ours. Trash - all those Simbas - just pure garbage.”

“We didn’t exactly keep up with all the hyena activity back then, Maude. Maybe it happened,” muttered Harold, who probably didn’t want to traffic with and anger the lion president as his wife did.

“I think that is a fabricated tale, Maurice. Shane Simba didn’t lose a litter mate or a grandmother to hyenas,” she huffed.

I didn’t want to divulge the matter of Lachlan dragging the information from Shane under hypnosis.

“I believe he said it was a great grandmother,” I corrected. “I believe his grandparents were killed by humans.”

I should have twisted and tied my tongue to the roof of my mouth before I made this statement.

“Now, there you are, Maurice. He doesn’t feel hatred toward humans. He has had any number of high profile affairs with that species. Those poor wives of his – such a pity.”

Harriet was bored with the conversation not lingering on her sexual preferences. She had had enough of this discussion of Shane Simba who interested her not at all. She took the stage and began to discuss her latest girlfriend who happened to be an African wild dog who had a litter of pups from a heterosexual liaison. I began to ask interested questions of Harriet. She responded with alacrity. I could sense Harold was also grateful to end the subject of Shane as well. Harold just wanted to oversee his lucrative McDonalds’ empire and not aggravate Shane Simba who was already known for his tough stance. We went to the dinner table where a strange stew was served. I almost broke a tooth on a particularly coarse biscuit. The conversation continued to dwell on Harriet’s interests with my encouragement.

Another rather uncomfortable incident happened the following week. Staci Simba accompanied her dear childhood friend Delilah Dik Dik to her aunt, Dodi Dik Dik Lyon’s safari tent. Dodi and her companion, Kerri Klipspringer, brought out the bong and filled it with very strong hashish. All things being as they were, Staci smoked some – enough to render her quite stoned. When she arrived back at the entrance to the State House, she almost ran her new BMW convertible into the gates before they were opened. She giggled helplessly as the guards inquired if she was okay. One drove her to the mansion while the other called ahead to tell of her eccentric behavior.

Shane Simba met his daughter at the elevator that ascended to the living quarters of the president’s family.

“You almost banged your new car on the gates, Staci. What’s wrong with you?” asked Shane, noticing that his daughter’s eyes were just shy of focusing. “Where have you been?”

“I was with Delilah at her aunt’s tent in the Lyon compound, Daddy. That’s all, I’m okay.”

“No, you don’t seem to be. Did you drink there?”

Shane’s face was stern and his daughter began to cry in her helplessly stoned condition.

“No, Daddy, we just smoked some hash – just a little. Dodi and Kerri let us have some of theirs,” wept Staci.

“Go to bed, Staci and you’re not to go to that tent ever again, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she sobbed, falling as she tried to make it to her room.

Shane helped her up and got her to her room and bed.

The next morning I was puttering in my office when Shane came through to his.

“Maurice, do me a favor please and call that goddamn Dodi Dik Dik Lyon and have her come to my office, pronto,” he roared.

I sensed his anger and didn’t want to trifle with the cause. I got the silvery bell like voice of Dodi on the phone. She was apparently still sleeping off the night’s fog. Dodi was lucky enough to have the evening news anchor slot for WMM-TV and arrived at work later in the day.

“Oh, hello, Maury, it is so nice to hear you. You don’t get by to see me anymore.”

“Dodi, President Simba wants to see you in his office as soon as possible this morning,” I told her.

“Ooooh, really, Maurice, he is such a hunk,” she chortled. “What do you think he wants with me? Is he tired of Betty already?”

“I really don’t know, Dodi, but he didn’t seem to be in a romantic mood.”

An hour and a half later I heard the dainty hooves of Dodi clipping along the marble floors of the State House hall. She wore one of her signature Audrey Hepburn hats and smelled to high heaven of expensive French perfume. She apparently expected to land big game in the form of our president. Dodi has always commenced in great confusion as to which is prey and predator. In addition, of course, she has had major successes in that arena.

“Are my false eyelashes on straight, Maury? I want to look just right when I see him,” she giggled.

“Dodi,” I was about to protest when Shane’s voice cut through us.

He was standing in the door to my office which joined his.

“Mrs. Lyon please come in and you too, Maurice. I want you to hear what I am going to say to her,” he said, his eyes colder than a well digger’s work place.

When Shane Simba has a case of the cold eyes, I would advise everyone to leave Dodge City in a might hurry. I was quite fidgety as I took my seat next to Dodi in front of his desk. I noticed Dodi furiously batting her thick lashes in his direction. She was accustomed to wowing male lions. I was afraid she was in for a major disappointment this day. I was right.

“Mrs. Lyon, does your husband know that you furnish drugs to underage youngsters in your tent within his pride compound?”

I heard a sharp intake of breath from Dodi but she never missed a beat.

“Roy Lee visits me all the time,” she giggled.

“I’m not concerned with Roy Lee, Mrs. Lyon; he is old enough to take care of himself. What I am concerned with is you giving hashish to my underage daughter, Staci Simba, in your tent and allowing her to drive home stoned.”

“I guess I should have driven her myself. I can be so forgetful,” laughed Dodi as if they were discussing a school play or garden party.

“What you should have done is not give her drugs, Mrs. Lyon, and then her driving wouldn’t have been in question. I have told my daughter to never frequent your tent again. If she doesn’t obey me and I find that you give her any illegal substances, I will have you arrested and tell your husband of the matter. I am sure he knows nothing of this business.”

“Why President Simba, I never figured you to be such a hard nosed character….I mean with your reputation and all, well you know…I just can’t imagine your being disapproving of things."

Shane stood up and with his full height towered over the tiny gazelle. It was a stance designed to intimidate. Dodi, it appears, knows when she has failed to make a conquest. She gave me a sweet look and daintily kissed my cheek before making her exit.

“That is one nervy little bitch,” said Shane as she cleared the door.

He obviously wasn’t going to join the company of Ralph, Ashley and his brother, Roy Lee, who had fallen under the spell of the dainty gazelle. Of course, Shane Simba has never had any inclination to pursue hoof stock romantically. For him, they are delicious barbecued, sautéed, encased in fine pastry or broiled and of course, in these enlightened days, packaged in a supermarket. It was all a matter of tastes in this time of heady social change. However, as Ralph Lyon has always declared, “We can’t all be vegetarians.”

Dodi Dik Dik Lyon is summoned to Shane's office....

Bertram Baboon and I had a luncheon date and were joined by Gloria Chimpo. The locale was OKAPI’S muted and elegant restaurant. Bertram and Gloria were seated when I arrived. Bertram was noshing on a Jerusalem artichoke from his customary tray of crudités. A martini sat at my place, pre-ordered by my considerate friends. Gloria lit a cigarette and turned to me.

“Maury, I am having a shower for Betty on Thursday night and I want you to come – Lachlan too if he cares to join us. I know that baby showers usually fall in the category of female doings but I can’t bear a passel of nothing but my own gender.”

“How lovely of you to have one, Glo,” I said, almost polishing off my needed martini.

“Well I donated the uterus so I might as well acquire some things for the one who occupies it,” she laughed.

“Betty tells me that she can keep the uterus and have more of Shane’s cubs,” I allowed.

“Good God!” interjected Bertram.

“Yes, I believe my sister to be the only chimpanzee in the history of the world to head her own lion pride.”

“Is Betts planning to stay barefoot and pregnant at the feet of Shane Simba from now on?” asked, Bertram, beckoning for another round of drinks.

“I would not be at all surprised,” answered her sister.

The night of the shower for Betty, I came home as early as possible. Lachlan was there but had to return to a session with Cary Caracal and two other patients. He is so overworked. I walked next door to Bertram’s to gather him. We made our way to Gloria’s house which is on our same street. The official Rolls Royce was already pulled in the drive signaling the honoree’s presence. We made our way into Gloria’s main parlor and were greeted by Wilda Wildebeest, Christine Cheetah Mbube and of course Betty. Later others arrived complete with elaborate gifts. The evening was fun with Betty looking radiant as she has since becoming pregnant.

“I hear you intend to have more children, Betts,” commented Bertram.

“Yes, Shane says we can have as many as I want and remain healthy for,” she giggled.

Bertram looked my way and raised his brow in that way of his, indicating stupefaction.

In Gloria's living room, I stand with Gloria and her sister, Betty during the baby shower.....

Bertram and Roy Lee Simba are rehearsing full time these days at the arts center. Bertram is directing his long time partner in a play of his own creation dubbed Superstar. Sales have been very high possibly indicating an extra long run. Roy Lee, with his usual generosity of spirit has given his ex-spouse, Chloe Cougar, a role as his mistress.

Dr. Frank Tigeres was breakfasting in his home. The table was in a window that had a view of his daughter, Tawny’s bungalow. It was around four in the morning when the tiger doctor usually arises for his day of work at the Exotic Animal Clinic.

“Melba, do you realize that Sam Simba’s car has been at Tawny’s house every morning this week?” asked Frank, pouring more black coffee.

“Yes, dear, I do know. Should we say something to her?” asked Melba, his wife.

Frank sighed and thought a few minutes. “No, she’s an adult and we need to be supportive of her even if she is in love with a married male.”

“I have to agree, Frank but I do know that Tawny wants a husband and children some day and I don’t think Sam Simba is right for her.”

“I suppose we’ll have to let her be the judge of that, Mel.”

Dodi Dik Dik Lyon may not have charmed Shane Simba but two nights after she was called on the carpet by the president, she met his half-brother, Sloane Simba, in her restaurant, Klip ‘n Dodi’s. Sloane was as drunk as a road lizard and crashing into tables. She went to him and asked if she could drive him to her place to sober up. He consented. Kerri wasn’t there so she brought out the hashish bong for a toke or two. Sloane already trashed, he smoked with her and enjoyed some of her prime Scotch. He ended up passing out and spending the night. When Kerri arrived later, she saw the handsome lion stretched naked on Dodi’s bed.

“Who is that?” inquired Kerri. “He looks absolutely hunky.”

“That’s Shane Simba’s brother and minister of justice,” giggled Dodi. “And he screws like a house afire.”

Sloane passed out in Dodi's bed......