DO YOU ENJOY COMPETITION?
A woman who is convinced that she deserves to accept only the best challenges herself to give the best. Then she is living phenomenally.
Maya Angelou
“Do you enjoy competition?” asked Alexandra on the phone from her home in Nairobi.
She had an innovative and unusual way of beginning conversations out of the blue with no prior lead up, such as hello, how are you.
“If it’s not for your attentions, I just might,” laughed Shane who was in his office in the Mara.
“You would be competing with my horse for my consideration as long as I am riding the course.”
“It sounds mysterious, Alex, are you tantalizing me with a new idea?”
“I compete with my Arabian stallion in the steeplechase put on by the Nairobi Sporting Club each year. It’s a charity event and has international riders competing. I’m riding for Kenya. It could be construed as an obligation for you to attend, Mr. President.”
“Anytime I can see you would easily be construed as an obligatory function.”
“It is next weekend and you have a standing invitation to stay with me, of course. Do bring Maurice and his psychiatrist friend with you. There’s a perfectly marvelous brunch before the event and my house has a guest cottage on the grounds.”
“I will be be there, my darling. I will also tell Maurice you are inviting him with Lachlan.”
As Shane hung up, he realized that he had never called anyone ‘my darling’ except for Catherine. I was just entering his office and overheard. I had never heard such tenderness in Shane Simba’s voice before this moment.
Lachlan has set aside the weekend to accompany me to Alexandra’s invitation in Nairobi.
“I am quite curious,” he had said. “I have a feeling that this one may be different. If she is cut from the same cloth as Catherine, she may just do the trick for Shane.”
“I think Shane may be in love and for real,” said Betty to Jack Tarzan.
She, Solly and Joshua were at his Mombasa cottage over a weekend. They were fishing off his boat. Both of her sons were dozing to the rear of the boat. She and Jack were in the bow drinking iced beer. They had landed many fish for tonight’s dinner. Jack had anchored the boat so the boys could have their snooze. Lachlan and I were in Nairobi at Alexandra’s house party.
“Betty, if he is, so the hell what?” asked Jack, taking a swill from his beer.
“I still can’t get used to the fact that I’m divorced from him. It’s still a shocker to me,” she said, sadness all through her voice.
“Betty, you will have to live with this thing. You’ve told me just me just recently that you have become peaceful – something you never were with him. If that’s the case, just move on, Betty. He’s bound to find someone else ----in fact many others before he’s through. I’m no shrink but I see Shane as having very deep problems within himself and going through many females to lose himself in them for a while before moving on to greener pastures.”
“I hope you’re right, Jack.”
“Betty, don’t hope I’m right. Let the guy go, for Christ’s sake. Let him go to find some peace and you find yours. You two weren’t so hot for each other, as far as I can see from your tales about the marriage.”
“You are very good for me, Jack.”
He doubted it at that point but hoped he was. Betty was not only a sometimes sex partner, but a caring and deeply cared for friend.
Betty cries on Jack Tarzan's shoulder in Mombasa....
Rodney Jenkins-Smith, a descendant from a colonial English-Welsh family, was in Alexandra’s drawing room in Nairobi. He had come for tea and stayed for drinks. He was something of a lush and lived off his family’s vast plantations in Kenya. He had made passes at Alexandra in the past but having been rebuffed heartily had finally given up expecting anything of an erotic nature and had settled for strictly platonic pleasures. Today he was perturbed at the news that the lion president was to be his friend’s main focus for the steeplechase in a few days.
“Alexandra, you are the inheritor of great wealth and a fine name. Certainly you aren’t going to continue shagging a lion?” scoffed Rodney.
“What in the world is it to you, Rods?” asked Alexandra, lighting a cigarette before tweaking his red nose heartily.
“Ouch,” he complained. “Why don’t you go to England for a bit and visit your brother’s estate in Wiltshire - sort things out, Alexandra? Your friends are terribly concerned about this sudden onset of bestiality.”
“Don’t bloody say these things to me - there is a new Kenya today. Shane is the president and a marvel to boot,” she snapped, anger in her blue eyes. “It’s a new day and age, Rodney, and you should wake up your bloody prejudiced senses and partake of it.”
“He’s a bloody lion, for God’s sake, a carnivore…a major predator. He dresses, speaks and stands up right but he is a freaking animal, Alexandra.”
“Rodney, I have always considered you a friend, except for the times you were attempting to shag me. Do give me the courtesy of not bashing the one that I believe myself to be madly in love with.”
“Dear God, Alexandra, certainly you wouldn’t consider marrying this chap? That would be a bag of wank.”
“I don’t know, I just might. The only thing that stops me is fear.”
“I suppose it would, by God, he could take off your freaking neck with one bite – pierce those lovely carotids of yours.”
“I’m not afraid of him physically but he has the reputation of being a player. At any rate, let’s end this discussion and get on more pleasant topics before I have to boot you from my house.”
The night air was fragrant from flowering bushes that surrounded Alexandra Delamere’s veranda in Nairobi. Sitar music was piped to the porch in honor of Lachlan, a guest, who was devoted to Ravi Shankar and the soothing strains of the sitar in general. It was the Friday night before the spectacular steeplechase we were to attend the next day. Shane, Lachlan and I sat with our hostess enjoying her cognac after a delightful meal earlier. Lachlan was greatly taken by Alexandra finding her well versed on most topics. I was itching to hear his take on her after we retired to the guest house.
Finally, we went to our beds. The door had barely closed behind us before I was quizzing Lachlan.
“He will marry her, Maury, and she will probably make him happy. She has that quality of Jane Leoparde and Catherine. She doesn’t cling at all. Shane Simba loathes a clinger. Catherine, although she fought devastating mental illness, had that strength and non-clinging aspect. Do you agree?”
“Betty is a strong female, Lachlan, and what about Johanna who’s pregnant?” I argued gently.
“Betty is strong but she clung to him. She was unconfident of him. Betty is strong but terribly insecure. Johanna appears to be clinging and not terribly intellectual. This woman is strong, smart as whip, confidant, stunning and terribly thoughtful – she seems to have it all. He’ll marry her, mark my words. Now enough of this, let’s turn our minds to other pursuits,” he laughed.
“I have to go to Dubai next week for talks with Sheikh Mohammed Al Maktoum, the ruler. Kenya is in heavy trade agreements with the Emirates,” said Shane as they lay side by side in her bed.
“He has the most gorgeous Arabian horses in the entire world. I wish he would sell me one or two,” said Alexandra, lighting her cigarette with the end of his, which was a habit of hers.
“Have you asked him about that?”
“No, I can’t get to him. Not even through my brother who also raises horses.”
“Go with me, Alex, you can meet him and ask about the horses.”
She sat up in bed. “What a bloody smashing idea, Shane.”
“There’s a drawback to the trip,” he said with a slight chuckle. “You have to sleep with me the entire time.”
She rolled over on top of him and kissed him. “Since when is that a drawback, you marvelous chap?”
The steeplechase was in full force. The riders competing on a complicated course filled with jumps and hidden moats in front of them. Alexandra’s cleared a jump only to almost toss her in the moat which lay behind the hurdle. We had eaten a delightful brunch in the clubhouse before hand. Alexandra in riding gear had declined the champagne.
“I’ll set to the drink after the fact,” she had laughingly told us.
She didn’t beat out the riders from the other competing countries but she did come in third.
“That’s a good win for Kenya, Alex,” Shane had told her.
“Not a win at all,” she argued good naturedly.
Alexandra's horse almost dumps her over a hurdle....
We returned to her Nairobi digs for our final night. We would return to the Mara on Sunday evening with Shane in an official plane. There was a buffet supper at Alexandra’s for the competitors. Shane, Lachlan and I matriculated about the spacious home and well groomed lawn and gardens of her gracious home. This was a very pleasant group of people. Many had heard of Lachlan and his miraculous brand of psychiatry. They also knew me by way of my high profile jobs with Shane and Ralph Lyon. Many were enthralled with the lion president. It was a lovely evening blessed with a spectacular star studded sky.
Roy Lee Simba’s voice roared through the long distance lines from Italy. He was on location for his new epic film, Spartacus.
“Maurice, I hate to disturb you during your off time, but what the hell is that brother of mine up to now? I see he’s with another human. It’s in all the damn papers in Rome and the Pope is commenting freely on what he refers to as Shane’s erotic vagrancy.”
“He is divorced now, Roy Lee. I’m sure you were aware of that?” I stumbled; unnerved at this quiz by someone I didn’t really know all that well.
“Is he going to have two humans?”
“I really think not, Roy Lee. Alexandra is a lovely young woman,” I argued in a vacant and distracted way.
“Life is hell in Italy these days with Shane pissing off the pope.”
On that note, he rang off.
Shane, Alexandra and I headed for Dubai on Simba One, the elegant Boeing 747 that served as the main presidential plane. I was glad Lachlan had gone with me to Nairobi for the weekend of the steeplechase. I was gone so much of the time having become Shane’s Chief of Staff. I asked Lachlan once if he thought I should give up that post in lieu of one more minor.
“Heavens No, Maury, both you and I love our work and stay with it. This is what makes us tick so when we are together we are happy in every aspect. We are dedicated workaholics; the both of us …and we love our professions.”
I was booked in the Burj Al Arab, just next to the presidential suite occupied by Shane and Alexandra.
“You came for the horses,” teased Shane in the luxurious rooms next to mine.
Alexandra put a cool hand to his face and said, “But I’m staying for the lion so don’t be too cheeky.”
In their suite in the hotel in Dubai and below, the photo that caused the waves...
We extended our stay by two days, the Emir being as enchanted by Alexandra as Shane. He sold her two Arabian stallions of magnificent blood lines and had them sent to Nairobi in one of his special planes designed to transport horses. The prices he charged were minimal. He had offered them as a gift but Alexandra had, firmly but with grace, insisted on paying for them.
The day we arrived back in the Mara, the shit hit the fan. The paparazzi had been at work even in Dubai. Pictures had been taken that would cause a flurry of gigantic proportions. Alexandra and Shane had been photographed in the Emir’s pool. Her left ring finger held a wedding band. The headlines were filled with story’s indicating Shane and Alexandra had married secretly. Betty, reading this, had gone to pieces. Alexandra’s Nairobi home was filled with paparazzi and reporters just outside the gate. Shane called a press conference to deny it but seemed lukewarm on the subject. He seemed to wish it was so, instead of a vehement denial. I have no idea what Johanna's reaction was. She stayed, very wisely, in seclusion within the mansion.