I have another exhibit....
Sex between a man and a woman can be absolutely wonderful - provided
you get between the right man and the right woman.
Woody Allen
Catherine Cheetah Simba hovered over Shane, lightly brushing his chest with her face. Suddenly she snarled.
“You are the most terrible husband. You make my life wretched,” she growled and then abruptly began to purr. Suddenly her face turned into Betty’s with pain etched on every feature. “Oh my God, you’re hurting me, Shane. Please don’t do this,” she cried.
Shane rose from sleep with a roar, swinging his legs to the floor. Betty woke with alarm at his cries. Shane got out of bed and went to his closet. He took a robe and putting it on, walked downstairs. Betty did the same and followed. She found him in the library making a drink. She came over and put her arms around his waist.
“You must have had a dreadful nightmare, darling.”
“I did,” he said, handing her a glass of Scotch.
She joined him on the sofa. The beginning rays of daybreak were sneaking over the row of trees bordering the wall. He lit a cigarette and handed it to her…then lit another. They sat smoking in silence.
“Had you rather be alone? I don’t mind if you do... I’ll understand, Shane.”
He put a paw on her bare leg and stroked it.
“No, I’m glad you’re here. I had a horrific dream. Cathy was blaming me for the misery I had caused her and then she morphed into you. I was obviously roughing you up like I did when you ended up in the clinic.”
“Shane, I wish you’d finally realize that you are not as bad as you think you are. Catherine and I weren’t completely innocent. We played our own roles in your behavior. I’m not relieving you of all censure but you were dealing with two very difficult and headstrong females. You gave Catherine a home and children. You took a chance on her although she had many emotional problems. And as for me, my love, I am the happiest female on earth because of you.”
“You are a wonderful thing, Fifi and I love you. Also I have been fondling your leg and you can see what’s happening to me. Shall we go back to bed?”
“That’s great idea,” she answered, nuzzling his neck.
Leah and Ashley Lyon were driving along. Their newly purchased van was on the highway to Mombasa. Their cubs were playing noisily in the back.
“I just want to tell you how much I love you and how proud I am that you testified for Betty in that custody hearing, Ash. You are such a great guy.”
Ashley leaned over and gave his wife a kiss on the lips.
“I think Betty is a great mom. I don’t like the fact that Sam is using his bitterness about her fixation with Shane to strike her down about her kids. Those are two things of a different kind. Don’t you think, Leely?”
“Yes, I do, Ash. Motherhood and sex are like apples and oranges.”
“Actually,” laughed Ashley, “They are rather interwoven if you think about it. No sex, no motherhood and vice versa.”
They both laughed loudly causing their children to join in the conversation. Of course it quickly turned away from that topic.
Arlon Lyon burst in the house one afternoon. Betty was home by then. He was followed by Staci and Sean.
“Mom, my sociology class is studying Jane Goodall and the chimps in Gombe. Aren’t they relatives to you?”
“Yes, they are, Arlon. My great, great grandmother was Fifi and one of my grandfather’s was Frodo.”
“Wow, that’s so neat, Mom. Jane Goodall is coming to our school to talk. Want to go see her?” asked Arlon.
“I think I would love that. I’ll make sure your grandfather knows she’s coming. He’ll want to welcome her officially. She’s a great lady.”
“So, I’m kin to Frodo?”
“Well, you’re my son and you’re kin to them, Arlon, but you’re not genetically connected to them because you are a full lion.”
“You don’t have chimp DNA,” added the whiz kid, Staci.
“Aw, shit, that’s no fun,” he growled.
“But, Son, you are getting your mane. It’s great to be a lion,” alleged his mother.
“That’s right, Arlon,” agreed Staci. “Lions are cool.”
The three cubs ran for the breakfast room when Miss B announced that their McDonalds bags were on the table.
Chris Simba was not terribly fond of having his super sexy half-brother living in the same building. He and Sloane were not close at all. They would speak in passing, Chris staring after the arrogant Sloane and wishing he had half his impudence. He would have also killed for the thick dark mane. His was thick and blonde. Chris was seeing something of Simone Serval but had become extremely attracted to his ex-wife, Christine. He would see her when he picked up his cubs for their weekends with him. With her job as executive director of the arts center, she had gained self-assurance and looked like a million bucks. She was not the same timid, almost mousy female he had married. He had dropped rather broad hints about perhaps dating again but had been graciously put down. He had seen her at several high profile gatherings with the lion actor that had starred with Roy Lee in films and stage.
Chris decided to do something to upgrade his sex appeal by making an appointment at Beau Visage with the owner Paulette Poodle. She put him in the chair in her booth and turned it toward the mirror. She fluffed Chris’ mane out and took stock.
“Do you want it trimmed?” she asked.
“No, Paulette, I want it dyed black.”
“I’m not really comfortable pissing around with male lion’s manes, Chris. I trim them and do extensions. That looks fine but when you do other things to them, they look like shit…like that crazy dancer who has his permed,” argued Paulette, whose beauty emporium had a reputation to uphold.
“I want mine dyed black and that’s that.”
“It’s your funeral, Chris.”
Bertram Baboon and I were doing our usual lunch cluster in OKAPI’S. Bertram was munching frantically on buttered radishes. He was in one of his frustrated moods. We were waiting for Gloria Chimpo and Betty Simba to join us.
“I have to do a serious film again. I have been playing for my last few movies. I want to win a third Palm d’Or in Cannes. Roy Lee is getting accolades for being on the stage. I need acclaim, Maurice.”
“I would suppose that is the way of you show business figures, to need approbation,” I told him as I summoned the waiter for another round of martinis.
“Well, I suppose you government officials don’t in any way need admiration, is that what we’re alluding to, Maurice?”
Luckily, Betty and Gloria arrived just as Bertram was making plans to be fractious. They sat down gaily. I knew the blissful expression on Betty’s happily married face was not going to sit well with Bertram in his present mood. I was correct.
“Betty, are you going to regale us again with the sublime being of your oversexed husband and his maneuverings?”
“What the fuck is this about, Bert?” asked Gloria, lighting a cigarette. “You seem to be uptight about something. God help us if we don’t get to the bottom of it.”
“I am in extremis career wise, Glo.”
“You have more damn awards than anyone in films, Bertram. What else do you want?” asked Gloria, who happened to be Bertram’s mainstay at the studio.
“I need a serious film.”
“You’re right. You’ve been directing Chloe in a lot of fluff. We’ll go over the materials tomorrow and see what we can arrange for your next Palm d’Or. “
That soothed Bertram in to a more civil temperament. The remainder of the lunch went wonderfully. Thank God for Gloria. She is the only one that can refer to Bertram as ‘Bert’ and live to tell about it.
An exhibit of some of my sculptures and paintings opened in the third gallery at the arts center. Christine Cheetah had insisted on me showing some of my work. The opening night included a modest cocktail party in the banquet room. I sold my entire displayed collection for a very nice price. A surprise buyer was Sloane Simba who bought two sculptures and a painting. The Simba Corporation purchased three pieces for their hotels. Ashley Lyon and Luke Leoparde purchased four for their safari clubs. There was a large turn out at the exhibit and the cocktail party. I was heart warmed and pleased. Ralph and Mildred bought a huge canvas of the savannah for their new Mombasa home. Shane and Betty bought a lion sculpture for their library.
A finely shod foot was put on the rail beneath the bar at the Watering Hole Pub. It was placed next to the high heeled sandal of Linda Cougar and it belonged to Sloane Simba. He held his gold lighter to the end of the cigarette she had just placed in her mouth. A quick flick did the job. He put it back in his pocket.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Well enough and I probably know exactly how you have fared,” she said, with a brush of her pink tongue across her lips.
“Please enlighten me. It will probably be a great deal more fascinating than the reality.”
“I am sure you have been in every female’s bed in the Masai Mara.”
“Damn, you certainly give me credit for a great deal of virility. I unquestionably take pleasure in my diversion but it does have its margins of pursuit.”
“I think you can screw all day and night without a break.”
“I don’t intend to die young. How many beds have you warmed since we last met?”
“None thank you,” she hissed.
This tête-à-tête was interrupted by Caroline Cheetah approaching the two and patting Sloane on the rump. She leaned in close, causing Linda to bristle. The adversarial nature of the two females was so pronounced that Sloane thought he needed to step in and alleviate the situation. He made a suggestion.
“Why don’t you both come to my place? We’ll work on the resolution there,” he suggested.
Caroline and Linda agreed. Once in Sloane’s flat in Lyon Towers, more drinks were made and those present proceeded to get quite smashed. Sloane rose from the couch where he had been caressing both females. He removed his clothes revealing a very hefty erection.
“Why don’t you ladies follow me to my bedroom.” he invited.
They did, dropping their clothing as they progressed.
The next morning, on another floor of the same building, Chris Simba was frantically phoning his secretary at the Nathan Leoparde Memorial Foundation where he was director.
“I won’t be in today, Donna. I’m feeling rather punk. Just forward any important calls here if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Simba. I’ll take care of things. I hope you feel better.”
Chris put down the phone and ran back to the bathroom where he viewed his blue black mane. He had an appointment with Paulette to strip the dye she had put in. They had both been horrified at the results. Paulette had counseled Chris to wait at least a day before stripping to undermine the damage to what had once been a good-looking mane.
Sloane had been too drunk and weary to take his two sex partners home so they had remained in his bed, causing him to have an appalling night’s sleep. He woke up with fur on his tongue and a severe throbbing in his head. He staggered to the kitchen to make coffee hoping that the two wouldn’t wake up in cheery and amorous moods. He had underestimated the impact on two females from first-rate families who had gotten smashed and engaged in a three way. He heard snarls coming from his bedroom. There were thumps and then slammed doors. After that silence pervaded the apartment. He went to his room, coffee cup in paw. There was no one there. The rumpled sheets were the only testament to last night’s orgy. He sighed contentedly and made preparations to take his shower. Before entering the steamy water he popped two pain pills.