Maurice & Friends

Betty Chimpo Simba soon realized that she had a rival for her husband’s attentions even greater than the current mistress, Jane. Shane Simba was falling deeply in love with the country he led as president. His was not an egregious love nor one filled with personal ambition or greed. His love for Kenya ran deep with much desire to see our nation rise to glory in the enlightened world of the 21^st century. He worked at this diligently and with a certain amount of reverence. I dine with former President Ralph Lyon at least twice a month. He will stand on the front steps of his retirement home in his pride compound and greet me warmly as will his wife, Mildred. Immediate after the bear hug will come a quiz as to how Shane is doing in Ralph’s former role. I will describe the young lion leader in the glowing terms he deserves. Ralph will sit, nodding his great maned head until I come to the end of my current report.

“I knew he’d be magnificent,” he roars in glee. “I chose well.”

Ralph had backed Shane Simba even against one of his own sons, so sure was he that Shane would provide the leadership needed after his retirement.

“He’s carrying Kenya into glory, eh Maurice?” he enthuses.

I will nod my head in complete and sincere agreement.

Shane was gone on one day or more extended trips across Kenya, troubleshooting and resolving land, cattle and other varied disputes and feuds. He was determined to snuff out internecine quarrels that were holding our nation bound tightly to the medieval ways of old. One who was not privy to the fire in his soul would imagine these excursions to be a way of seeing his lioness lover, Jane Leoparde. I knew better. I saw the passion in his strange green eyes and sensed his dedication which radiated from his very pores.

For her part, Betty fell even more deeply in love with the husband who already fueled her obsession. She would watch from the balcony as he strode across the lawn to the mansion of a late afternoon. She would observe the sultry, sensual stride, the thick mane and well cut suit. She would listen for the elevator door to open on the family’s living quarters. She would hear the fall of his footstep in the corridor and the delighted young Solly’s glee as he welcomed his much loved dad. Betty had realized recently that even a partialy engaged Shane Simba was better than none at all. With the help of her new psychiatrist, Cate Ocelot Leoparde, Betty was coming to peaceful terms with her oftimes turbulent marriage.

Betty Chimpo Simba had recently borne twin sons, Jalil and Tarek. Shane made room for his offspring as often as he could. He would have the nanny bring the cubs to the library where he would play with them in front of a roaring fire, drink in paw. They were beginning to totter and crawl in the traditionally awkward way of the infant lion cub. Their eyes were now open and on their way to being the unexpected green of their father’s.

Ashley Lyon had resumed his affair with old flame and former hooker, Tookie Simba. His wife Leah had gotten a clue when she attended Sarah Lee Simba’s Sunday brunch and heard her grandmother declare with glee that her only daughter had divorced her human husband. This realization dawned as Ashley was spending a great deal of time in Mombasa where Tookie managed her pride’s resort.

The district of the Masai Mara for which Leah Simba Lyon was the mayor, held a dinner at the Predator Club which was designed as a fund raiser for the new Kenya Medical Facility on the Mara River. When she had phoned Ashley’s cell he had said that he wouldn’t make the soiree.

“I’m stuck in Mombasa, Babe - engine problems. I’ll be in the Mara tomorrow,” he had declared.

She had hung up and gotten dressed for the dinner. She donned her sexiest garb designed by her mother and viewed the results in her full length mirror. Leah Simba Lyon was aware of her effect on males. She had what was locally termed the ‘Simba wow factor’. She adjusted her dress and gazed down at her stylish spike heeled sandals.

When she entered the Predator Club alone she was aware of the male eyes that followed her to the bar. She recognized Lucy Cougar standing there drinking with a male lion. She said hello to Lucy and ordered a gin and tonic. The lion wore marvelous threads. His suit had an impeccable cut - the earmark of her mother’s male wear line. He turned toward her when she ordered her drink, his gold eyes aggressive and sensual. If a gaze could be said to bore through one, this male had the knack down pat.

“I recognize you from your pictures, Mayor Lyon, and I must say that no district has ever been graced with such a lovely leader.”

“And who might you be?” she asked, her Janice-green eyes alight with deliberate flirtation.

“Dr. Trevor Tau, at your service,” he said, making a mock bow.

Lucy Cougar, realizing there was a dalliance happening right before her eyes, tried to deflect such.

“Let’s dance, Trevor,” she suggested, putting a paw on his shoulder for added enticement.

Trevor was having none of it. His focus was on the stunning Leah. Leah loved her husband, Ashley, with all her heart and mind but she was the sort to endure only a certain amount of marital infidelity especially regarding her husband’s weakness for her aunt. Now here was this totally sexy and attractive lion physician vamping her. Her dad, Roy Lee Simba, passed by and invited her to join her mother and other guests at their table. She declined politely giving her superstar pop a hug. Leah was curious as to how far Trevor Tau would take this and, quite frankly, how she would respond. She could see Lucy becoming more and more agitated. Leah was a kind animal and didn’t relish hurting anyone but this lion was apparently unconcerned about Lucy.

“A dance, pretty Leah?” asked the lion.

“Well, maybe,“ she said hesitantly, still not wanting to damage Lucy’s ego or romance, if one existed.

Trevor, recognizing Leah’s dilemma, took the bull by the horns leading her by the paw to the dance floor where he proceeded to hold her tightly and start a smoothly voluptuous dance. his hips were against hers in a suggestive fashion and as much as she hated to admit it, she was enjoying the hell out of it. As luck would have it, one romantic tune after another was being played by the baboon orchestra. As if in a spell, Leah and Trevor swayed, clasped together, as one dance segued into another. They broke for more drink and Leah realized that she was mesmerized by this male lion. When they approached the bar, Leah saw that Lucy Cougar was nowhere in sight.

“Leah, I am not holding you cheap in anyway, but do you want to have a nightcap at my place? I am temporarily bunking with Juma Mnyama. I just bought a bungalow on the Mara River and the renovations are completed. I will be moving next week.”

“I need to make some rounds socially. I’ll meet you in half an hour. Where should that be?”

“Out the side door.”

Leah made a beeline toward the table where her fellow district bigwigs held sway. Carolyn Cape Buffalo mooed sweetly and Maude Hyena rose to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Where is Ashley tonight?” asked Carolyn.

“Stuck in Mombasa with a faulty plane engine,” said Leah, extending Ashley’s flimsy excuse to those at the table.

“Oh dear me,” sighed Maude, releasing a miasma of halitosis.

Leah went about the necessary tables dispensing her charming brand of goodwill. Finally she was done and made her way to the side exit of the Predator Club. There stood Trevor in the shadows cast by the dim lantern by the door. Leah followed him to the Watering Hole town homes where he lived with his cohort, Dr. Juma Mnyama. Trevor let them into a darkened foyer and led the way to the living area which contained a handsome teak bar. He turned on a lamp.

“Where is Dr. Mnyama?” asked a slightly nervous Leah, as she accepted a drink from Trevor.

“Probably with his lover, Staci Simba.”

“I saw them there tonight. She’s my first cousin.”

“I know. What’s the President like? He hired me. Seems like a dynamic chap and on the ball with Kenya.”

Leah began to laugh. “I expected the typical question – what’s it like being Roy Lee Simba’s daughter?”

“I’m not a film buff,” he chuckled.

“What is your buff?” giggled Leah, who at this point in the evening was feeling no pain.

“If you are referring to my hobby, it’s malaria. No layman is interested in that subject,” he laughed, his golden eyes taking on a warm light.

“What’s your next favorite thing?” she asked, almost falling backward onto the couch. He grabbed her and held her close.

“You, Leah,” he breathed into her neck.

“You just met me tonight, Trevor. How could I be your favorite thing?”

“Do you know what you’re like, Leah?”

“No,” she said, unbuttoning his shirt and placing her face on his naked chest.

“A confection of sheer delight -a long drink of water in a parched desert.”

“Wow!” she breathed, kneeling and unzipping his pants.

Trevor Tau and Leah in Juma Mnyama's apartment....

Leah managed to get to her home on Leoparde Drive long after midnight. She fell into her bed and thought of Trevor Tau and his lovemaking. Ashley Lyon couldn’t be beat in the sack but Trevor with his intense sensuality, made her toes tingle along with everything else on her body. She drifted into sleep and dreamed of him, waking with a start and going to the deserted kitchen at four a.m. and making coffee. She sat in her garden patio and drank the coffee, lighting a cigarette, a habit she rarely indulged in. She watched the red ball of sun rise over the trees.

Bertram Baboon was in a fret. The Cannes Film Festival had transpired without giving him his third plum for a film he felt was worthy. I walked to his home one evening when I knew Lachlan had a board meeting at the new medical facility and would be late in coming home. Gloria, his wife, pointed me to his new greenhouse where his orchid collection was gathered on long tables

“Maurice, how good to see you. Glo and I just returned from Cannes where I was passed over for the Palm D’or,” he groused.

“Bertram, you have two,” I reminded him.

“You cannot have too many if you’re to be a sensation in the film world,” he snapped, spritzing one of his orchid babies with a fine mist of purified water.

“You have a wife who is a marvelous writer as you are. Why don’t you two concoct something original?”

“Maurice, to not be a show business figure, you do come up with some marvelous ideas. Glo and I will do just that. Come now, let’s not vex abut lost awards. We can have a drink with my lovely wife indoors.”

For a gay guy who married a heterosexual, Bertram is deliriously happy.

Shane Simba had recently been staying overtime in his presidential office. Once the doors were closed to the State House after working hours, he would take a Scotch bottle from a cubby hole under his desk and pour a drink. Placing his legs on his desk, he would sit back, cigarette and drink in paw and watch the evening shadows gather in the room. There he would sense the presence of his deceased wife, Catherine. Her lovely cheetah face would float before his eyes in a burst of intense memory and nostalgia.

“I’m at the pinnacle now, Cathy, and you’re not here to share it with me,” he lamented to her phantom one evening.

Of course there was no reply. His thoughts were consumed with his dead wife lately. The part of him that didn’t focus on Kenya, become obsessed with the powerful memories of their life together. He would finally close the door to his office and trod the path to the mansion where he lived with his current family. At night, his dreams were filled with Catherine Cheetah Simba.

Shane Simba in his office....