Betty hadn’t really put much thought into the makeup of the lion that was a presidential candidate in Tanzania other than – well, he was a lion.  She went along for the ride with to be with Jack Tarzan.  Bob Bushbuck of the Masai Mara Daily had been pleased that she would get her own professional take on the lion.  Jack had wanted to take his car instead of flying in

her plane. 

 

            They pulled up to a rustic house in the Serengeti where the candidate still resided.  A heavily maned male lion opened the door.

 

“Are you the reporter from the Mara?” he asked Jack.

 

“We’re both from the Masai Mara Daily,” he answered. 

 

The lion led them to a table where three chairs were pulled up and indicated that they sit. 

 

“Do you drink?” he asked.

 

“Yes, we do,” answered Betty.  “Jack is a beer drinker.”

 

“You are Jack?” asked the lion turning in Tarzan’s direction.  “We animals in Tanzania aren’t as into names as you in Kenya.”

 

“I’m Jack and she is Betty,” said Jack by way of rudimentary introductions.  “And you’re Pete?”

 

“Yes, my name is Pete.  My mother and aunts called me Grunt. I thought I needed something other than that.”

 

Jack Tarzan gave a great guffaw.  “Very close to the one that my mum gave me.”

 

“That’s not a very leonine name – Pete,” chuckled Betty.

 

“I don’t need a leonine name.  I am a lion and all you have to do is see me and you’ll know this to be a fact.  I don’t think Shane is a very leonine name either.  Sounds Irish to me,” scoffed Pete. 

 

This was all said with his gaze directly on Jack. 

 

“Do you have a surname?” inquired Betty whose nose was slightly out of joint at Pete’s seeming disregard for her presence. 

 

“No, I don’t have a surname,” he answered with impatience rampant in his voice.

 

 Betty lit a cigarette.  “No smoking in here.  I don’t know why any animal would take up that repulsive human habit.”

 

She dropped her cigarette in her almost empty bottle of beer. It sizzled as it extinguished with smoke rising from the bottle top.  Pete took his paw to disperse the microscopic wisps in obvious annoyance.   . 

 

“your president, Shane Simba, is backing me.  He came over last week and campaigned with me.” 

 

“Betty was married to Shane Simba,” announced Jack, in an effort to force the lion into paying attention to her.  He could see Betty was fuming inwardly. 

 

“I thought she looked familiar,” said Pete, not once glancing in her direction. 

 

        Pete sat in the chair next to Jack after having brought three more beers to the table.  He shoved one in Betty’s direction.  He focused his attention on Jack and went about describing his campaign tactics, plans for the presidency should he win and his educational background.  Betty might as well have not occupied the room for all Pete focused on her, or for that matter, even acknowledged her. 

 

Pete, Betty and Jack in Pete's house in the Serengeti plains....

           

            After what seemed like an interminable period of time in which Betty would go outside and smoke intermittently, Jack finally wound up his interview with the Tanzanian lion candidate.  As they were pulling away, Betty gave a great groan. 

 

“What a male chauvinist pig that bastard is,” she complained.  “Do you think he’s gay, Jack?”

 

Jack laughed heartily.  “No, he discounts females as creatures of importance obviously.  I could tell you were pissed.  I’m sure his treatment didn’t sit well with you.”

 

            They tried to register at several tourist camps in the Serengeti for the night.  The managers would have happily accepted Betty but Jack, a lion, was out of the question. 

 

“Madame, our guests get taken to view lions in the bush.  They are never included on our guest register,” announced one pusillanimous lodge manager.

 

            They ended up with Jack taking a pup tent from the back of his Land Rover and pitching it in the bush under a banyan tree.  After several stiff drinks, Jack opened a can of beef and beans and heated them over a fire.  When they turned in, Betty checked the strength of the puny looking tent.

 

“Jack, will this be safe from lions tonight?” she asked. “Won’t they be coming inside?”

 

Jack roared with laughter. 

 

“This one sure will,” he answered.

 

“Jack, I’m serious.  The lions in Tanzania aren’t like the ones in the Masai Mara.”

 

“You’d better hope not,” he chuckled.

---

 

“Alex,” said her husband.  “I hate your taking flying lessons.  That’s a dangerous thing to do.  It’s very risky business.”

 

Alexandra threw her arms around Shane and kissed him. 

 

“I hate that you hate my doing it, but it is something I feel strongly about.  It’s a quick and efficient way for me to get to my plantations in a timely manner.  I have only six more hours of flying time before I can receive my license.”

 

“Alex, I have any number of piloted small aircraft at my disposal that can fly you there in the same amount of time,” he argued. 

 

“They are government planes, Luv.  We don’t want the Kenyans to get restive now, do we?  A headline such as President’s wife uses government planes relentlessly for personal use just wouldn’t do at all.”

 

“Alex, I prefer you to be safe.  I can purchase a small plane and hire a seasoned bush pilot, if you prefer that.”

 

“No, Shane, I will buy my own plane and pilot it myself.”

 

Well, that was that.  Alexandra Delamere Simba had an independent streak that was miles long and acres wide. 

---

 

            In the interim, Chris Simba was having a hell of a hard time.  Johanna, his newly acquired bride, was becoming more rapacious with each passing day.  She spent inordinate amounts of time shopping and using Chris’ credit cards.  Her favorite haunts were Harrods’s and Gina Genet Lyon’s recently opened Louis Vuitton boutique in her husband’s mall.  Alexandra and Shane, along with moi, had cut the ribbon at the elaborate opening party for that particular venture. 

 

The First Couple and I cut the ribbon at Gina Lyon's latest shop.....

 

            Allow me to do an awkward shift from the shenanigans of Johanna Delacroix Simba to Gina Lyon’s elaborate opening of her latest boutique, Louis Vuitton.  The first couple and the Lewis Lyons have become as thick as thieves (no pun intended on that one).  Shane gladly acquiesced to Gina’s request that he and Alexandra cut the ribbon at the gala affair.  Since Alexandra and I have also become great friends, she asked me along.   Naturally, I am quite friendly with Gina and Lewis, having been his father, Ralph Lyon’s right hand his entire presidency and his friend long before that.  In fact I knew Lewis when he was a small cub.  It was a delightful party which Lachlan joined after finishing his rounds at the mental health center.  Champagne and other cocktails were served.  The whole affair was catered by my sister Margaux’s fine foods and eatery that has relocated to Lewis’ mall.  It was a great evening all around.  Lewis has opened another mall in Nairobi.  I suspect, but cannot confirm, that Shane Simba is a silent partner in that venture. 

 

            Let’s revisit our original subjects once more and eavesdrop in the boudoir of Chris and Johanna Simba.  Johanna has just dumped four elaborate Vuitton bags on their satin clad bed.  She has also purchased sunglasses and shoes. 

 

“Are these charged to me, Johanna?” asked Chris. 

 

“Of course they are, you’re my husband, aren’t you?” is her nonchalant answer, as she spreads the items on the bed in order to admire them. 

 

“Johanna, I am not among the billionaire class in this country,” he roared.

 

“Shane was never stingy with me,” she stated, lighting a cigarette. 

 

“Shane owns a frigging shipping line and as the president is probably up to his neck in lucrative deals, Jo.”

 

“Don’t call me ‘Jo’.  That was Shane’s name for me,” she said, her manner insolent, blowing smoke in his face. 

 

“I don’t intend to tread on Shane’s turf with you.  Believe me, I merely called you that because your fucking name is a mouthful and I get tired of saying it.”

 

“Do you like my purchases, Chris?” she asked, picking up a large signature bag and caressing it.

 

“No, I don't care at all for them and I’m beginning to feel the same way about you, Johanna,” cracked the enraged Chris.

Johanna Simba holds her day's purchases for Chris to view...

 

            That evening he called his lawyer brother, Sam, on his office phone and told him he wanted to file for divorce from Johanna.  Sam Simba wondered what took him so long.

---

 

“Do you miss the feel of fur?”

 

Alexandra Simba lay beside her husband on their bed in the bush house.  She languidly trailed a polished finger nail across his belly. 

 

“Not with you, Alex,” said Shane, taking her fingers and putting them in his mouth. 

 

“Did you with others who didn’t have fur?”

 

“Yes, sometimes with Betty and with Johanna. With you, absolutely never.  Let me turn the tables with a question of my own.  Do you miss having a man in your life that doesn’t have jagged canine teeth capable of ripping an artery wide open,” he laughed.  “And do be candid.”

 

She giggled throatily.  “I will be very candid.  The equipment you were born with is totally delightful.  I wouldn’t change one iota of it even if I could do a bit of filing here and there.”

 

“Do I need to be filed?” he asked rolling on top of her. 

 

“Don’t you dare…..everything is as it needs to be and then some.”

 

“You mean I am endowed with extras,” he laughed. 

 

“Let’s just say you are endowed – period.”

 

Alexandra and Shane Simba.....

 

---

 

            I took Betty to the party at the new bush house that the first couple threw for media figures.  It was a beautifully prepared bash as it seemed all were under Alexandra’s guidance.  I think it unsettled Betty that Jack Tarzan was there with Leah Simba.  She had a brief exchange with Shane that evening. 

 

“How are you doing these days, Fifi?” he had asked, using his pet name for her. 

 

“I can’t complain,” she answered.  “I believe my real talent may lie in being dear friends to all my ex-husbands.  What do they say?  Always a best friend never a best wife,” she said, giving a sardonic laugh. 

 

“I imagine that can be construed as a good thing, Betty,” answered Shane, putting a lighter to her proffered cigarette. 

 

“You could use some of that yourself, Shane.  You make enemies of yours.”

 

“How do you figure that, Betty?  I’m standing here talking to you during an invitation in my home.  We have an amicable arrangement regarding our children.  As for Cathy, I can’t remain friends with a dead wife, now can I?”

 

He didn’t stay for the answer; he stubbed his cigarette in the grass and left her side, saying, “You should try the truffles for dessert, Betty.  They’re delicious.”

 

She watched him return to his wife, seeing the look of love in his eyes when he was with her.

 

“Maurice, shall we go?” asked Betty, as she tapped me on the shoulder. 

 

I was talking to Lewis Lyon and Bob Bushbuck, the publisher of the Masai Mara Daily.  I turned to her with a quizzical expression. 

 

“Betty, I’m Shane’s chief of staff and this is an official party.  I can’t leave until it’s over.” 

 

“I’ll call a taxi then, Maurice.” 

 

"A taxi?" asked Lewis. "This place is miles into the bush.  If you will wait a bit, Gina and I will drop you at your house."

 

"No, don't bother but thanks," she snapped. 

 

She seemed very irritated.  She ended up catching a ride home with her old nemesis, Glenda Gorilla, who was the Daily’s entertainment columnist. 

---

 

            That same week, Simone Serval moved back into Shane Simba’s penthouse in Lyon Towers that she had leased previously.  On a lovely evening, she waved across the way at Chloe Cougar who was on her balcony opposite.

 

“Let’s have a drink, Simone,” called Chloe. 

 

“Be right there, Chlo.”

 

The two cats spent a pleasant evening together.  Although they competed for roles as contract players for Baboon-Simba Studios, they had no one else to play with at the moment.  They decided to be new best friends – for the time being anyhow.