With heavy rains hammering the Kenyan coast, President Shane Simba had to rush to the dangerously flooded Lamu Island and Malindi areas.  This time Jane Leoparde accompanied him, covering this major disaster for the Masai Mara Daily.  There, people and animals were being evacuated by trucks (where possible) and boat loads.  The heavy weekend rains that caused the floods, left hundreds of residents homeless after their houses were submerged.  Jane and I stood side by side with our president in the water ravaged streets of Lamu and Malindi and assisted him in comforting and offering assurances to the victims whose homes and dwelling places had been inundated with filthy river and ocean water.  I, in my galoshes, made a valiant effort to remain standing in the whirling muck.  As Lachlan has often pointed out to me, Shane did me few favors when he elevated my position from press secretary to chief of staff.  Now I am obliged to accompany him on many of the more disagreeable junkets.  The rain began to beat down again. 

            At the end of this most unpleasant day, we were airlifted to deluxe digs in the Mombasa Simba Resort Hotel.  I pitied the displaced and homeless but was selfishly delighted to fall into my pristine bedding, placing a call to Lachlan as I flopped against the cushy pillows. 

 In the suite next door, things were less serene. 

“Janie, how can you say you love me and proceed to turn your back on me for so long?” asked Shane Simba, pouring his third Scotch of the night. 

“You are the one that precipitated it, Shane, by simply not getting in touch or being completely distracted when you were,” she answered him, lighting a cigarette. “That is your right to do so.  You and I have never been anything but a love affair that used the time available from other commitments.”

“Damn, Jane…..what a cold analysis from one I think of as the love of my life.”

“You are the love of mine, Shane.  But now I am pregnant by Luke and you are with a human.  So there we are – in a nutshell.”

He sat beside her, lighting a cigarette off her embers.  “Can you stay with me while we’re here, Janie?”

“Of course I can, Luv,” she told him, taking her arm and drawing him close for a lingering kiss.

Shane and his great love, Jane Leoparde, in the suite at the Mombasa Simba Resort...

            Betty fired up her computer and looked at her notes.  She was going daily to the Gombe Reserve and interviewing the chimpanzees who were, for the most part, relatives.  She had become enthralled with one particular female chimp whose life story was complex and difficult, to say the least.  She had thought to write a novel based on Pansy’s life struggles.  She lit a cigarette and tapped into her slow loading email.  There was one from her son Solly. 

Mommy, he had written, I miss you.  Daddy says he saw you.  Can I come there soon?  Love, your cub, Solly

She fired back, “Of course you can, darling.  Have Daddy make the arrangements.  Maybe Ashley Lyon can fly you down.  Love from your Mommy.

             Leah Simba Lyon knew she had to pull herself together.  She had been the one to fall in love with Dr. Trevor Tau and Ashley, already playing around, had bitten the bullet and asked her for a divorce.  Now they had settled amicably and the cranks were turning to make it official fact.    Ashley had offered her the house on Leoparde Drive so she returned with four of her cubs to the place where she had lived since their marriage.  Imani was still diligently keeping house for her dad, against his regular protests.  The father/daughter team was ensconced in his safari club bungalow – that is, when Ashley wasn’t occupying Simone’s boudoir in her luxurious Lyon Towers penthouse, rented from Shane Simba.  She had last seen an angry Trevor at his river home when he had read her the riot act for fuming over Ashley’s sudden affair with Simone Serval.

            Leah found the door unlocked to Trevor’s house and slipped inside.  He was still at work in the huge medical facility down the road.   She placed the bag of groceries she had purchased from Margaux’s Fine Meats & Spirits on the counter and removed them one by one.  Then she got out a pan and poured the gourmet marinade, placing two substantial steaks in the thick liquid, swishing them about with a cooking fork.  Next, she put a bottle of Chivas Regal Scotch on the counter and filled an ice bucket.  When Trevor arrived, he found Leah busily working away in his kitchen. 

“To what do I owe this honor?” he asked. 

She wasn’t sure of the nature of his tone but pressed forward with an answer.

“I realize what an idiot I’ve been and wanted to make amends,” she told him, heart in throat. 

“Come here,” he ordered, arms wide open to receive her. 

                                                                  Georgy Simba, daddy's girl extraordinaire.........

            Georgy Simba was in full blown tantrum mode, screaming and kicking on the floor of the bungalow her mother and newly acquired stepfather were moving into on the Leo pride estate.  Unpacked boxes surrounded the raging cub.  Georgy’s half brother, Carly, was sweetly following Homer and his mother around the place.  In desperation, Caitlin Cougar Leo phoned her ex-husband, Sloane Simba, at his State House office. 

“Sloane, Georgy is having a shit fit. Can you help me out?  Homer and I are trying to get moved to the new bungalow,” pleaded Georgy’s desperate mom. 

A half an hour later, Sloane arrived at the scene and removed his hysterical daughter from the cottage, taking her to the bush home he now shared with his pregnant wife and stepson, Sunny. 

“Oh Jesus H. Christ!” muttered the caustic Caroline Cheetah Simba, to no one in particular, as she got a gander at her husband extracting her howling and not terribly venerated stepdaughter from his Mercedes.  “What the fuck is going down with that little monster now?”

the distressed stepmom, Caroline Cheetah Simba...

            The weather in the mountainous area of Gombe Stream Park was rainy with intermittent storms blowing up from Lake Tanganyika but it didn’t dampen the reunion of Solomon Figan Simba and his mother, Betty.  She could see Solly bouncing around in the back of Ashley’s four seated Cessna as he pulled into position and cut the engines.  Soon Solly came bounding from the plane and almost felled his mother with the size and energy of a growing lion cub.  She didn’t mind at all.  She giggled and wept as she hugged her oldest child by her adored Shane Simba.  Ashley stayed only long enough to say goodbye and see Solly strapped in the jeep next to Betty.

“I’m flying to Paris tomorrow to attend a big film gala with Simone,” he told her by reason of his quick departure.  “I need to get back to the Mara and buy a new tuxedo.  My old one is in threads.”

She waved to him before driving toward her new digs with her son. 

            The next morning, Solly arose early as the young have a habit of doing.  It was none too soon for Betty who was already up with her cup of coffee and cigarette, watching the fisherman prepare to launch their vessels.  Out of the blue, Solly jumped up and ran down the stairs.  Before she could stop him he had made a beeline for Tarzan’s boat.  She could see the tall figure of Tarzan stop what he was doing and speak with the cub.  She waited curiously to see the outcome.  In a few minutes Solly came running toward the cottage, Tarzan following at a slower pace. 

“He says I can go fishing with him,” relayed her excited son. 

“I’m going out for as long as the weather allows.  If the cub wants to go with me, he can,” reiterated Tarzan, casting a wary glance at the brooding thunder heads hovering above the lake's choppy surface.   

“His name is Solly.  He’s my son,” explained Betty. 

Tarzan raised his brow:  “I don’t have time for that particular explanation right now- maybe when I bring him back.  I’m sure it will be a humdinger!”

They headed for the boat, Shane’s son running eagerly at the side of the male lion that was slowly but surely becoming Betty’s friend. 

Solly and Tarzan near his boat on Lake Tanganyika...

            Over a dinner of grilled grouper and tilapia, Solly talked nonstop to Betty and Tarzan, who had joined them.  Finally, having exhausted himself with enthusiasm and chatter, the cub fell into a deep slumber.  Tarzan carried him up the stairs to Betty’s loft where he occupied the guest bed.

“He’s a nice little kid,” noted Tarzan, sitting down with a fourth beer.  “He tells me that his dad is living with a ‘humor bean’.  I guessed that taking place in today’s fucked up Kenya, he is referring to a human being.”

Despite the heaviness in her chest, hearing that Shane was living with Johanna Delacroix for whom he had almost left his deceased wife, Catherine,  she was greatly amused at Solly’s having shared this tidbit with his new buddy, Tarzan.  

“I know now that his dad is Shane Simba.  I had thought that it might be the other lion dude in the seaplane but he apprised me of the fact that his father is the president.”

“You never call me by name, Tarzan.  Why is that?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject. 

“Because I don’t know it,” he said in a matter of fact manner, taking another huge gulp of beer.

“You don’t?”

“You were busily finding out mine but never mentioned your own.”

“It’s Betty.  Betty Chimpo Simba until I get my divorce from Shane.”

“Hmmm,” he mumbled, going to get another beer and removing the top in his usual toothy manner. 

“Are you married, Tarzan?” she asked, holding her breath that this elicitation wouldn’t rouse his ire. 

“Married?  Married, did you ask?  Betty, marriage is for humans.  They invented that shit and in Kenya animals fell in the trap trying to mimic the bastards.  Lions don’t get all gussied up and tie the knot. If they’re lucky, they take over prides and copulate with the lionesses to create a gene pool of their own.”

“Wow, you’re really a heavy player in the romance department, aren’t you?  No  moonlight and roses for you,” she countered, feeling royally ‘told off’ on the topic of lion nuptials.  

He threw back his massive head and laughed heartily at this clever take on his denunciation. 

            Shane arrived at the mansion, disheartened and depressed from his days at the site of the flood and his brief but intense time with Jane Leoparde.  A pale Johanna met him as he stepped off the elevator on the family quarter’s level.  She was wearing a revealing negligee.  He checked his watch which told him it was only 3:00 pm, a bit early for ‘nighty-night’ he thought.  She put her arms around his neck and drew him toward her for a kiss.  He was patient for a second or so but pulled away and headed for the library where he knew the servants would have his drink ready.  She followed him. 

“I should have been by your side in the flood areas” she stated. 

“What the fuck for?” he asked, lighting a cigarette and polishing off his first drink. 

“As your consort, the people need to see me,” she continued, pulling her neckline down to reveal more of her ample bosom realizing it was a favorite thing of his. 

“My consort?” he asked flattened eyes tinged with unease.  “Since when are you my consort, Johanna?  My real consort took a powder recently.  Hopefully she’ll return to take her rightful place at some point.”

He knew he was being detestable but was tired and couldn’t control the urge.  She was just so ripe for the ripping, all quivering lips and teary eyes.  He supposed it was his inner predator surfacing, but she was such an easy mark.  Furthermore, that was exactly what his daughter, Staci, was referring to when she told him that he ‘didn’t treat the females who adored him very nicely’.

“You’re taunting me,” Johanna whimpered. 

“Oh shit,” he groaned.  “Forget I said that, Jo.  I’m being a son-of-bitch.  We’ll have an early supper and fuck our brains out.  Will that work for you?”

            Two days later, he felt terrible again, chalking up his mental abuse to a case of ragged nerves and stress.  That night as they bedded down, she put a slim hand on his chest.  Her voice was soft and childlike. 

“Are you excited about our baby, Shane?”

He rolled over and moved his lips along her hairline that met the translucent skin.  Tenderness won out.

“Yes, Jo.  I am.  I love all my kids and this one will be no exception,” he murmured.  

“Do you think it will be a monster, Shane?”

With this question, he sat up abruptly.  That thought had never occurred to him.  It was a miraculous conception – but grotesque?  He lay back down very slowly, still tense, his muscles twitching. 

“I could have done without that thought, Johanna,” he snarled.  “Particularly post midnight.  Thanks a million, I’m sure you have murdered any chances I had of a peaceful seep tonight.”

“It’ll be okay, darling,” she soothed.

“Bullshit!” he exclaimed, between clenched teeth.