"Let’s get a drink," she suggested.

In the kitchen she poured Scotch for them.

"Shane, if I’m out of line tell me but you had said that in the past, you and Catherine were into kinky S & M sex. Do you miss that?"

"That was Cathy’s big thing. She introduced me to it and I have to admit - I didn’t mind it at all. After we had children we gave it up except for the rare occasions they spent time with Dorian and Cynthia at their house. It was never an issue with me. Sort of like going along with her on something she enjoyed."

"I just wondered, is all."

"Catherine, for all her sexy, troubled and edgy personality, was a wonderful mother. She got off to a very bad start but once Staci was born and established in our lives, she was all about her child and later, children. I was amazed at that. And of course Maurice changed her life when he gave her that job at the arts center."

He leaned his head against her refrigerator and fell silent. She didn’t want to disturb his thoughts and poured more Scotch in his glass, setting it before him on the counter. He snapped out of his reverie.

"So, Betty, what was the name that your mother mumbled in the Gombe District when you were a babe?"

"It was Fifi. I hate that name. My grandmother’s name was Fifi so Mother named me that."

"Fifi. I like that. It’s sort of interesting, evocative of maybe a French Can Can dancer. It actually suits you. I think I’ll call you that from now on."

"Oh please don’t," she giggled.

Suddenly she went to him, putting her arms around his waist.

"I have changed my mind. Call me Fifi, call me anything.......just so long as you call me."

"We talk about Cathy and my life always. It’s about time I heard your thoughts on, for instance, Ashley Lyon, Montecore......and don’t let’s forget......dear old Sam. Start explaining."

"Have you got all day?" she joked.

"I've got until we go to Tookie’s house later this evening for a fish grill. You’re invited too."

"Montecore was my first marriage. I knew he was bi-sexual when I married him but he was so kind to my family and me and I loved him in a gentle, unimpassioned way. So we married."

She lit a cigarette.

"And Ashley Lyon?"

"Ash was sexy and passionate and I thought I loved him. And I actually did. I tackled motherhood for the first time. Then I had one of my lethal attacks of postpartum depression and accused him of being unfaithful. He decided he would make my nightmares come true so he impregnated Simone Serval and left me for her."

"And last, but not least, my dear brother, Sam Simba."

"Sam, was something else. He came on as so strong. He was such a contrast to Ashley with his steady, controlled intellectual manner. He tantalized me because he refused to have sex with me until my divorce was final. I loved him a great deal. Then when we finally married, he showed his penchant for puritanical ideals. Oh, I don’t know, Shane. I may have judged him wrongly. I will always wonder about that."

"No, you didn’t, Betty. Sam would have been in his element if he had lived in a different age, shaved his mane, put on a pointy hat, worn buckled shoes and boarded the Mayflower for Plymouth Colony. He would have been right in there burning witches at the stake in Salem. Sam has always been something of a Pollyanna. Very, very judgmental."

"I’ll always wonder," she said, sadly.

"So is that your complete story? Of course, I realize that it’s the Reader’s Digest Condensed version."

"Yes, that’s my story. Didn’t you read my book?"

"Hell no! I got all the gory details from Cathy. I think she read it at least twice. She loved the part about the blow jobs you gave me. And I meant to tell you, that those are getting even better if today’s was any example."

"I so hate that I wrote that, Shane."

He came and stood very close to her. He leaned down and licked her lips with his cat’s tongue. She kissed him. He lifted her from the floor and she locked her legs around his waist. He took her in that position to her room, placing her gently on the bed, then got in beside her.

Leah Lyon wore a sarong wrap over her bikini when she came to Tookie Simba’s fish grill.

"Are those knockers new?" asked Leah’s uncle, Shane Simba, upon first noticing her distinctly larger bosoms.

Betty stifled a giggle. Leah laughed loudly.

"Yeah. Dad had to re-shoot several movie scenes because of them. They didn’t match the love scenes with my old flat ones."

"Daddy, can I get some put in when I’m an a full teenager?" asked Staci Simba who was quite enamored of her older first cousin, Leah.

"No mam!" was Shane’s clipped response.

The atmosphere was festive. Tookie was still seeing the human yacht captain hired by Mombasa Simba Marina. He had caught the sea bass they were grilling.

Christine Cheetah sent a memo to Baboon-Simba Studios for Micah Mbubé. It was a request for him to meet with her at some point to go over potential plays for his next production at the arts center. Micah was beginning to wind up his filming of The Thomas Crown Affair. His contract required him to alternate with plays at the arts center between films.

Christine was sitting behind the desk in her office when Micah came in looking wonderful, the faint scent of an expensive male cologne in the air about him.

"You smell great. What’s your fragrance?" she asked.

"Dior."

"Hmmmmm. Sexy!"

"I must say, you look damn great, yourself, Christine."

"Thank you," she said, standing up, letting him see the black jersey wrap around dress that clung silkily to every curve.

"I wish you’d reconsider dating me. I know you have something about the employee thing but I’m not exactly the janitor around here, you know. I’m a contract stage actor."

Christine thought a moment before answering. She had given up on Shane Simba. She had seen his picture with Betty Chimpo in three editions of The Masai Mara Daily. She knew he must be seeing her.

"Okay, then, Micah. I’ll do an about face and say we can see each other."

"Are you free tomorrow night? I have a late shoot at the studio this evening. We’re about to put the film in the can."

"Sure thing."

"I’ll pick you up for dinner at eight sharp."

They spent the rest of the time going over plays that would possibly be good vehicles for him and the arts center.

Micah.....

Ashley Lyon rushed home. Under his arm was an issue of Hustler magazine. The house was quiet with the children obviously in bed for the night. He ran up the stairs and found Leah on the bed in their room. There was a half full champagne flute on the bedside table. Next to it was a bottle of Dom Perignon that was half empty. Leah was stretched out watching Jay Leno. She was topless and wearing a pair of filmy bikini panties. Ashley opened the magazine and placed it in her lap.

"Leah, where did this magazine get this nude centerfold of you?" he roared.

She began to giggle, making him realize that she was quite tipsy from the champagne.

"That’s my head, Ash. But I never posed naked. That’s not my body."

"It sure looks like your body, Leah - privates and all."

"Well, it’s not mine, Ash. I would say if I had posed for this. I’m not afraid of you."

"I’m sure you aren’t. You’ve become very strident these days."

"Of course I’m strident," she giggled. "I’m a Simba."

"Oh, of course you are. A god all mighty Simba."

Suddenly Leah’s slightly inebriated mind cleared. She remembered that Ashley was especially sensitive about her family these days since his own father had placed her uncle second in command in Kenya. She jumped out of bed and put her long graceful arms around his neck, pulling him close.

"Ash, there’s no one like the Lyons. They are the top of the mountain in this country," she crooned.

He could feel her ample bosom press into his chest. She unbuttoned his shirt so he’d feel the effect even more.

"Want a blow job, Ash?"

"Leely, what in the hell has gotten into you? You never used to talk about things like blow jobs."

"I’m growing up, Ash. I’m not the young thing you married any longer. I’m your wife and the mother of your children---and damn proud of that fact."

That was it. He was sunk for the evening and hot to trot for her. He put a paw in the lacy band of her panties and dropped them to the floor. He pushed her back on the bed and got on top of her. The rest of the night was lost in a fog of love making. He even got his BJ.

    At the breakfast table the next morning, Ashley was drinking coffee. He took a sip and lowered the cup abruptly. He had suddenly realized that for the first time in his adult life, a female was getting the best of him. And what’s more - he sort of liked it.

After the idyllic weekend in Mombasa, Betty didn’t see or hear anything of Shane Simba for two weeks. Not even a brief phone call. She decided to take Arlon to the State House to visit Mildred and Ralph Lyon. While Arlon was visiting his grandmother, who absolutely doted on him, Betty went to Ralph’s office where he was closing up for the day. After asking him about himself and the state of affairs in Kenya, she made her way to her topic of choice.

"Any chance of my getting another interview with Shane?"

"You should ask him, Betty. For the moment, he’s with Mandiba (Nelson Mandela) in Swaziland, South Africa. He’s been there two weeks, sitting at the knee of the old master. He sent for his children last week so they could benefit from Mandiba’s magic. I wanted him to go there to learn. Of course, Shane is a master politician but I wanted him to absorb some of the heart that Mandiba teaches. He’s the one that taught me the correct way to govern."

"Well, then, I can catch him when he gets back."

"Yes, I’m sure you’ll catch him in more ways than one, Betts," said Ralph, removing his glasses from his face.

He had never been entirely comfortable with the spectacles that Mildred had foisted on him, insisting that impending age would weaken his eyes without optical assistance.

"Meaning?"

"You don’t fool me, Betts. You are very much in love with my vice president. If you keep helping him the way you have, he might just end up your husband. Life is filled with strange knots and tangles that we must unravel before we peacefully go to our graves."

"You are a master philosopher, Mr. President," she laughed, feeling very set up at the suggestion he had just made.

"Me? A philosopher? The only philosophy I know is what’s written on my personal coffee cup - Life’s a bitch and then you die."

Shane returned to the Mara two days later. He took his children to Mombasa the following weekend. Betty decided she wouldn’t smother him by following his trail to the beach. She was sitting on her patio on Leoparde Drive, having a drink with Wilda Wildebeest when he called.

"Why aren’t you in residence in Mombasa this weekend, Fifi?"

"I thought you needed some time with your children, Shane. You didn’t tell me you were going there either."

"I just assumed you’d be here with Arlon. I’ve had an entire week of tooling around with my kids and Mandiba on his farm in Zululand. Now, I want to see you. We’ve got a light plane at the resort. If I send it for you, will you join me?"

"Of course I will."

"Good," he said and hung up.

Shane Simba was not one for extended phone chat.