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#Post#: 16508--------------------------------------------------
An Appointment With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: October 22, 2017, 12:22 pm
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AN APPOINTMENT WITH TRUMP
Washington, D.C.
May 2017
The Opening
When Mack Stemple vectored into the doorway in an alley near
Howard University, in Washington DC, he immediately perceived
that he was undetected. He could see that no one had witnessed
his sudden appearance in the doorway. He knew this because of
both by sight, and because of his telepathic awareness of the
immediate area around him. He didn’t want any surprises for
anyone, especially the norms. Mack found that teleportation
wasn’t one of life’s best surprises for them. Depending upon
an individual norm’s nervous system, his sudden appearance
because of teleportation could be a bad shock. Mack had seen
some happenings: one man losing his dinner, another man having a
heart attack. Mack didn’t want any of that.
Mack immediately focused, mentally scanning outward
telepathically, passively, that is to say, not projecting
telepathic energy as in an active scan, which would be more
detailed. He wanted to remain undetected. He got good
information of his area, nevertheless. He quickly sensed
faintly the outlines of the buildings, streets and alleys to
about a mile around him. He sensed the brain pulses of the
people, and the animals in the scanned area. There were the
norms whose thoughts he could listen into and memories that he
could read; and, there were the aprators, those whose minds were
anti-psi, resistant to his abilities. He waited until he could
sense that there was no immediate problem or danger to him
within that scanned area.
Mack didn’t like any blind vectoring into a location. Mack
preferred vectoring into a location after first doing a
telepathic scan through the teleportal aperture. This allowed
for a safer clandestine entry into a location to all except for
certain aprators and mentalists who would happen to be nearby
and who could detect him. But this blind vectoring was what had
been requested to him by government agents. They wanted his
psionic signature to be as faint as possible in his location.
They wanted him to follow high security procedures.
Mack looked around from the alley doorway. There was nobody
walking down the alley. There were the usual garbage bins and
closed doorways. Mack reflected that this site for
teleportation had not been used since 1946 when the Star People
had sent its operatives to the American presidents. This
particular site was from one of the memories of an agent going
back to the Second World War. The man had been a friend of
Franklin Roosevelt.
Mack quickly engaged his autonomous intellection, his AIs, to
monitor his passive scan focus area. He had 36 of them. They
would monitor the wireless telephone and radio signals, and the
behavior and brain action of the people within the scanned area.
Mack then stepped out and headed for the nearest street with
its sunlight and warmth. He walked quickly and deliberately
until he reached his government-assigned route street to the
White House. It was Vermont Avenue NW. Mack followed the
avenue to the South West. It would lead him eventually to Logan
Circle, later to Lafayette Park, and to the White House.
It was a beautiful May morning; Mack fully enjoyed it. He found
the air was fresh and clear. The sun was bright and richly
illuminated the street and the trees, especially the tree
leaves, as they shimmered in the wind, offering a mix of green
colors to the observer. Mack could see that the people on the
avenue seemed appreciative of the weather. There were smiles of
contentment, with some joviality, as Mack walked past the people
on the avenue.
His area of Washington DC was fairly quiet. As he sensed
thorough his AIs, there was little police activity. Other areas
were hot, though. Mack sensed a number of his AIs monitoring
the police activities in those areas which were to the North and
to the East of him. Mack briefly listened into police radio
activity involving an armed robbery in which a perpetrator was
trapped and surrounded. There was and another case where a
purse-snatcher was being chased. None of the telephone or radio
traffic seemed to have any reference to him.
Mack paused in front of a store window and looked at himself
through the reflection. His eyes met his eyes in the
reflection. He was five feet nine. He noted his squarish face,
military style hair cut, thin nose and dark piercing eyes. He
could see that, though he was 71 years old, he didn’t look it.
He looked more like a man of 40 or 45 years of age, too lean and
athletic, his black hair peppered with gray. He suspected that
his age or identity would be questioned. This was not a serious
problem, though. He had been advised that given that he had
been to the White House before, he was on file and that this had
been noted down. He would annoy Donald Trump by the way he was
dressed, which was business casual. Donald Trump was well-known
to prefer people who dressed in quality business suits. Donald
Trump is going to be annoyed in other ways as well.
There were others he would not disappoint: they were the
government aprators. They were the people who were guarding the
American government from people like him, people who were
psionics, the Star People. The aprators, who were anti-psi in
their abilities, had dictated his walking approach, from the
ingress site to the White House, were anti-psi. They could
suppress his powers within a geographical area, even hunt for
him; or, at least, some of them called prime aprators. They
could echo-sound for him using their anti-psi pulsation, and if
his presence in the area had not been permitted to him, they
would detect him and he would have to run for it if he couldn’t
teleport. They would chase him and run him down like a pack of
navy destroyers hunting a World War Two submarine. And he would
be as helpless as a norm if he was caught within an anti-psi
suppression field.
There was no hunting today as far as Mack could sense. The
pulsation of an aprator brain echo-sounding is quite
distinctive. It was not going on. It was quiet. From what
Mack had heard, there were no active program for the
apprehension of mentalists and psionics at the present time,
only identification of anyone who had such ability. Not enough
critical persons, in the American government, had been read into
the secrecy of the anti-psi program to allow it to work to its
full efficiency.
Mack wondered about the mentalists. They were telepaths who
could do some telekinesis; but they could not teleport and were
vulnerable to capture. How many of them will elude capture at
the present time given the inadequacies of the Trump
Administration? Probably a number of them shall. The anti-psi
program of the United States was currently in lock-down for its
own security. The President, Donald Trump, was determined to be
too unstable and unsuitable for his position to be qualified for
his deep security clearances, by the Archon Directorate, which
controlled the anti-psi program for the United States.
The Archons, in fear of Trump, after receiving the necessary
Congressional committee permissions, and, also, proceeding under
treaty stipulations with the Star People, asked the Star People
to put a mind-lock on the President of the United States. Mack,
a ‘controller’ who could fabricate telepathic mind-locks, locked
one in place on Donald Trump after the aprators had dropped the
anti-psi suppression field around him while he was in flight on
Air Force One. The lock was limited in its effect. It did not
change the President’s mind in any way except closing it from
making inquiries and taking action concerning psionics and
anti-psionics. The locks, mentally witness by Group Mind
Potomac, were meant to act as a guard for the program. For Mack
it was a strange moment in time. The chief magistrate of a
nation, his own nation by birth, was not regarded as
sufficiently competent or having the necessary integrity and
loyalty for his office. Indeed, it is possible that he may be
subversive to it if he is colluding with the Russians as it was
recently discussed in the news regarding the fired FBI Director,
James Comey.
Group Mind Potomac was quiet this morning. All of the other
mentalists out there, were also quiet. There was no detected
mental activity. The mentalists were out there, though, forever
listening and passively scanning. Mack wondered about them.
Mentalists cannot create AIs to help them to monitor their
scanned areas. Their scanning would have to be done by their
own direct mental focus, which had to be intensive and
physically draining. Frequent headaches and fatigue would have
to be their lot, thought Mack.
As Mack neared Logan Circle, he began to sense the great unseen
anti-psi domes of energy that surrounded the White House and
Executive Office Building. His telepathic scan could not reach
into those areas. The further he walked, the more he sensed
other, similar domes, surrounding other governmental buildings
immediately on and off Pennsylvania Avenue. Soon he will be
entering into one of the most protected areas on the planet
guarded against psionics, against his own kind. It was an area
that psionics never entered, except by permission.
Mack walked quickly but not in any way to strain himself. On
the other side of Logan Circle he felt a telepathic focus upon
him. It was faint but unmistakable. Its faintness was a credit
to the ability of the telepath in question. One of his AIs
warned of the direction of the pulsation. Mack stopped and
looked to his left. It was Deputy U.S. Marshal Devin, a
sandy-haired man in his thirties, across the street. He was a
government mentalist.
Welcome to Washington, Mack. Devin’s telepathy was strong.
Mack sensed a kindness in the telepathy, it was faint, and then
it was masked. Devin was communicating clandestinely by narrow
focus or what is called line-of-sight. He didn’t want his
telepathy listened into by others.
Thank you, Devin. Do I have permission to proceed?
You do. We do advise of the President’s instability this
morning. He has had several angry rages and is out for blood.
You are on his dinner plate and could be eaten to the bone.
Mack paused at that. Thanks. Maybe I’ll give him something to
choke on. He sensed Devin’s amusement.
Mack walked on. Soon he came to the geographical border where
his telepathic scan wasn’t working, and couldn’t penetrate the
anti-psi suppression dome that surrounded the White House and
the Executive Office Building directly before him. Mack didn’t
hesitate but stepped into it. At that moment all of his
telepathic scanning faded. For all intents and purposes, he was
now a norm. Mack didn’t mind the experience. He felt confident
in his abilities. He continued walking on until he reached
Lafayette Park. He crossed the park and went up to the NW
Appointment Gate to the White House.
He was greeted by the White House security detail and was led
into the security facility next to the gate. He was told to
show his ID. Mack gave them his Montana Driver’s License. They
scrutinized it very carefully as if they didn’t see those very
often. Perhaps they didn’t. Then they asked him to empty his
pockets and take off his shoes and put them into a basket.
After going through a metal detector and after putting on his
shoes back on again, he was asked by a Secret Service agent some
questions which were already on the White House questionnaire
that he had filled out a week before his appointment. Mack
didn’t mind. He could understand the Secret Service’s concern
about their being careful. He appeared to satisfy them. They
then clipped a Visitor’s Badge to his sport coat lapel. He was
then told to wait in the security facility’s waiting room until
the agents, who were going to escort him, had arrived. Mack sat
in one of the waiting room chairs and closed his eyes. He
called into memory his prior visits to the West Wing and quietly
listened to the sounds around him.
It was a short time later that he heard voices in the waiting
room. He opened his eyes to see the agents who were to escort
him enter into the facility lobby. There were three of them.
One identified himself as Donald Knell, the senior of the three
agents. Mack asked why it was necessary that three agents were
needed escort him. The senior agent, Donald Knell did not reply
to this.
My reputation has preceded me, thought Mack.
“The visitor representing the ATA, the Association of
Traditional Americans, is right on time to see HEGOMEN,” agent
Knell spoke into his radio receiver. “We’ll bring him up.”
Following Knell and with the other two agents behind him, Mack
walked up the drive to the West Wing. They went past the
driveway portico and entered the vestibule. They then entered
the lobby, an elegant but tastefully simple room with chairs.
It was much as Mack had remembered it. He observed the
well-dressed and self-important men and women standing and
sitting, talking to each other and on their phones. That was
something unchanged over the years. There was, also, the smell
of newness, of new carpeting that was different. Mack had heard
that there had been some remodeling and refurbishing. Some
changes were for the better. Mack remembered that long gone,
during his first visit, there was the pervasive smell of
cigarette smoke.
Mack, following Knell, with the two agents behind him, entered
into a corridor to the left of the lobby. It was a short
corridor that led to another hallway. To the right in that
hallway was a waiting area, one-time called Waiting Room #1.
Mack had been here before. It still had a number of comfortable
chairs. He took one and waited. The Secret Service agents did
not leave him but silently waited until a Presidential aide,
Titus Boucher, a man that Mack had met before in several
Manhattan cocktail parties, came out and greeted him and shook
his hand. Mack was then informed that he would have only
fifteen minutes with the President. Boucher gave no indication
that he remembered seeing Mack before. Probably he didn’t.
“Remain on your side of the Presidential desk. Speak only when
you are spoken to,” intoned Boucher. “And please remember to
sit and stand whenever he sits and stands.”
Spoken like a courtier, thought Mack, as he and his Secret
Service escort was led by Boucher first into the ovaloid
corridor that serves as the vestibule for Oval Office, and then
into the Oval Office itself. It was there that Mack observed
President Trump standing by the windows with his back to him.
The President was looking out over the Rose Garden.
#Post#: 16509--------------------------------------------------
Re: An Appointment With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: October 22, 2017, 12:24 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Shadows of Past and Present
As Mack entered the Oval Office he saw that little was changed
in the two years since he had met Obama. At that time that
President had given him his thanks regarding the case involving
the Spectral Death Killer. Mack observed that the room had that
same cream colored pastel on the walls and flooring that
displayed the Presidential Seal had that an admirable artistry.
It was very easy on the eyes. To Mack’s left he saw the famous
fireplace in the room with the portrait of George Washington
above it. This was at the very opposite end from the
Presidential desk. Beyond that, along the wall was the old
grandfather’s clock and the door to the Rose Garden. President
Trump was standing at the windows further on with his back to
his visitors. Another man, over six feet tall stood quietly
behind the President’s desk. He was not dressed in the trim
manner of the Secret Service. He was someone Mack knew about.
His name was Milo Doubek, a private bodyguard to Mr. Trump. To
the left of that bodyguard there was a small chest of drawers
and a more ornate door that led directly into the President’s
Study. Mack could see that there were two armless straight back
chairs in front of the Presidential desk. Behind them, in the
center of the room, were two davenports with matching end
tables, and easy chairs, all available to the President if he
had a larger, more informal, working meeting.
Following the Presidential aide’s manner, both men stopped and
stood quietly in front of the President’s desk, in front of the
two chairs that were meant for them. The three Secret Service
men stood further back but within a distance that they could
intervene if they were needed to protect the President.
Mack could see that Donald Trump was over six feet tall. He was
over-weight, but not yet obese. His long but rather sparse hair
had an odd orange tint to it. It looked to Mack as if it was an
over-comb, a combing of long hair to cover over a bald spot in
the scalp. He was wearing black shoes, a dark blue suit with a
purple tie. From his friend, Preston Callender, he understood
that Trump enjoyed costly suits and shoes and expected people,
in his presence, to be well appointed in their dress. He
appeared to be a man who expected to get his way in things.
Mack heard the President sniff as he was looking out the window.
It was not very loud but it was noticeable. During the
presidential campaign it was alleged by the Democrats that he
was a drug user. But this was completely bogus and not taken
seriously by anybody. From what Mack had heard, during the time
when Trump was married to Ivana, he had sought to have scalp
reduction surgery. Trump’s vanity would not permit baldness,
and so a painful surgery was done where a bald spot was cut away
and the remaining part of the scalp was sewn together. It
didn’t go well for The Donald. Though it healed, the tighter
scalp inevitably caused headaches, exasperating Trump. It was
such an annoyance that it supposedly led to Trump’s divorce from
Ivana. Trump then took up taking the dangerous prostate-based
hair growth drug, finasteride, which is marketed under the name
Propecia. This drug had some bad side effects. It not only
caused the Presidential sniffles. It could cause problems with
blood pressure, impotence, abnormal ejaculation, swelling in the
hands or feet, swelling and tenderness in the breasts,
dizziness, weakness, feelings of passing out, headaches, running
nose and skin rashes.
Mack learned about this when his friend, Preston Callender, told
him about it back in 1984 when word of this got out in certain
circles. According to Preston, people did not speak about this
to Trump’s face. No doubt. And no doubt, it led to
conversation behind his back.
It was a bad business for the young and sexually active
businessman. At the time, the younger Donald Trump was sexually
active and he felt he needed the full head of hair to attract
the women. But the drug cut into his sex drive. Unlike the
1970s when he had a different woman in bed with him each night,
he was rumored to be having trouble. But Trump still indulged
his sexual desires. With his health troubles, and his loss of a
bodily invulnerability, he eventually developed a fear of
sexually transmitted diseases. From what his friend, Preston,
said, the President is now a confirmed germophobe.
A young blond-haired woman, clutching a folder, entered and
walked right by him and the other men. She went up to the
President and handed it to him. She was the President’s
daughter, Ivanka. She spoke softly to him briefly and turned
and smiled at Mack and left the room. The President watched her
go and then turned to Mack and his own aide, Mr. Boucher.
The usual introductions were made. The aide stepped forward and
introduced Mack to the President and the men shook hands. Mack
discovered that Donald Trump had a good strong handshake. The
President asked them to be seated and sat himself. To Mack,
Trump’s face had a certain dignity, even imperial look in a
certain sort of way.
“I’m happy to be seeing you,” said Trump. “If you don’t
remember, I had seen you a number of times in the 1980s and
1990s at a number of Manhattan cocktail parties back then. I
remember you accompanying our friend Preston Callender.”
“I remember those days and I remember meeting you at the time.”
Donald Trump was quite genial. He gave a broad smile. “I
understood that you had helped Preston Callender when he and his
bodyguard were mugged by three young men outside of that
Broadway Show. It was quite a fight from what I’ve heard.”
“It was a moment of excitement for all of us.”
“I wonder why Preston didn’t fire his bodyguard and hire you on
the spot.”
“The bodyguard’s actions were flawless. He and Preston were
being overwhelmed by the numbers. I intervened to correct the
situation.”
Trump looked down at the file that he had been given by Ivanka.
“Your full name is Adrian Macheath Stemple.” He read for a
while and then looked up and said, “I understand that you are
Preston’s friend. What truly is your relationship with him?
According to the White House questionnaire that you’ve filled
out, your income currently, and for many years, is at the
poverty level.”
“It’s strictly that of friendship. I’ve served as a courier and
negotiator for him. I’m currently, acting at his request, as a
representative for the Association of Traditional Americans.”
Donald Trump frowned. “I understand that you have worked for
him as a courier and as a negotiator. You should have made
substantially more income over the years.”
“I’ve only worked for Preston, informally, as a representative
for a friend.”
Trump’s frown continued. “That is strange,” he said. “He has
the money. A man should get something out of a relationship
with another. Has he written you into his will?”
“No. Our relationship is not like that.”
“I’ve heard that during the winter, when you are in Manhattan at
his penthouse, you both sit before his grand fireplace in his
library, and play chess and drink fine cognac.”
“We do. Over the years, I’ve provided him much company when I’m
in New York town.”
“Yet you are in poverty.” Trump looked Mack over. “According
to this file, you’ve visited five other Presidents before me.
You know that White House dress guidelines indicate appropriate
business wear.”
“I’m not an employee, Mr. President, but a visitor. For
visitors, business casual is appropriate.”
“Your dress looks very plebian to me.”
“I’m wearing the finest Dickies dark brown trousers. They are
closely-weaved in a way to matches the weave of the best
close-weave of high-end trousers. My light brown button-down
shirt is also closely weaved; it is, also, a Walmart special.
My dark tan shoes are Mason shoes.”
“Those are moc-toed work oxfords.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“You’ve come to see me without a necktie while dressed in work
clothes, such as those worn by an auto mechanic.” Trump
frowned, obviously annoyed.
“No sir, this is business casual. I’m also wearing an expensive
Western motif sport coat. It cost me several hundred dollars at
a store in Bozeman, Montana.”
“You know that amount of money you spent is a pittance.”
“I suppose so, Mr. President.”
“I don’t know what to think of you, Mr. Stemple. We’re the same
age. As it stands, I’m a billionaire in the White House, the
President of the United States, and you are another nobody at
the poverty level. I wonder why the Association delegated you
to meet with me. I’m wondering if they’re trying to belittle me
or something.”
“I was not supposed to meet with you but with another of your
aides, a Mr. Henry Grote, in the Executive Office Building.
This appointment meeting was your idea instead of mine or
Preston Callender’s.”
The President sighed and smiled briefly, “I do confess that I
wanted to meet with you, given that, in certain ways, you
fascinate me.” He leaned back in his chair and studied Mack for
moment. “I’m curious,” he said. “Are the same old board
members of the Association still governing its affairs?”
“With several exceptions, the same members of the Association
board are still at their posts.”
“Who are they, Stemple?”
“Horace Gleeb, the textile CEO, Donovan Schmidt, the well-known
New York banker, Anton Wexler, the stockbroker, Ginger Kaupe,
the retired newspaper executive, Alex Gembala and Mike Chadd,
who are computer graphics software CEOs, and the two co-chairs,
Jerome Wiseman and Preston Callender.”
“Excepting Gembala and Chadd, I know these people. Some of them
I’ve known for years.”
“I thought so. I remember Mr. President, that at the cocktail
parties that we’ve both attended with Mr. Callender, you’ve
talked with these men, sharing jokes and drinks.”
“Some of them really know how to party, that’s a fact.”
The Presidential aide, Titus Boucher, cleared his throat. “Mr.
President,” he said. “We need to have Mr. Stemple complete his
report. We’ve only fifteen minutes for this appointment.”
The President jerked forward suddenly in his chair. “I WILL RUN
THIS APPOINTMENT HOWEVER LONG I WANT!” he yelled. “WHO ARE YOU
TELLING ME WHAT TO DO?”
Mack observed Titus Boucher wilt in dismay, surprised at the
President’s anger and glaring face. This was new to Mack. He
had never seen an angry President in person, before. Boucher
had served several Presidents as an aide, and none of them
displayed anger when Mack was present. Mack remembered Boucher
as being very easy-going, very experienced. Boucher started in
the Reagan Administration and has been actively helping
Republican Presidents for years. Mack viewed the anger
negatively. This abuse of personnel is not a good thing, he
thought. A Presidential aide must have the courage to give the
President the bad news as well as the good, and to keep him on
course.
Trump swiveled in his chair towards Mack. “My problem,” he
said, “is that I’m constantly being undermined by my own team.
I expect loyalty from all of my people. I expect to be the boss
of my own shop.”
Mack offered an oblique defense of the aide. “I understand Mr.
President, that you can be pressed for time. We can stop this
meeting now and I can deliver the balance of my report to your
aide, Mr. Grote, in the Executive Office Building.”
“Absolutely not,” Trump replied. “I want to hear this report
and I want you to convey to the board and members of the
Association of Traditional Americans, my concerns and gratitude
for all that they’ve done for me. I understand that they are
part of an important voting bloc.”
“Very well Mr. President.” Mack frowned. “Concerning the
voting bloc, I would say that the Association is not, at all,
that important.”
“Let me be the judge of that, Stemple.”
Trump was about to speak again but there was another
interruption. Mack heard the door open behind him. Mack turned
his head and watched another Presidential aide, a man
indifferently dressed in a business suit, Steven Bannon, come
into the office, and, quickly, walk up to the President. The
two men talked quietly for a few minutes and then Bannon
departed.
It’s a strange way to conduct business, thought Mack. First
Ivanka, now Bannon, are interrupting a Presidential appointment.
This would be unheard of in prior administrations. There is a
very bad ordering of staff here in the West Wing, even alarming,
thought Mack, if you think of what could occur in a crisis.
“Before you give me your report, tell me about the members of
the board. What do they think of me? And what do they think
about our political chances?”
“You might not like what you’re going to hear. The report is
not good, and the board members, with several exceptions, are
very pessimistic about the political situation.”
“I can take the bad news, Stemple.”
“Very well Mr. President.”
#Post#: 16510--------------------------------------------------
Re: An Appointment With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: October 22, 2017, 12:26 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Members of the Board
Trump leaned back in his chair and smiled, “Brother Gleeb,” he
said. “I remember that one.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Mack returned the smile. “Horace Gleeb is
your stanchest supporter on the board. He’s a religious man who
feels that you are called by God to your present position in
society. He told me that he wishes the best for you and wanted
me to convey to you his heart-felt thanks for your public
service.”
Trump smiled broadly. “Horace is fine man, a good man, a CEO in
textiles,” he said. “He knows what needs to be done to produce.
‘Produce, produce, produce,’ that’s his motto. You know what
he means to produce? He’s a fine man, a good man. He knows how
to be a winner and he’s got God on his side. That’s a good
side.”
“He sometimes gets things arsy-versy. He's praised you, Mr.
President, calling you ‘another Samson, who has been sent by God
to smite the philistines among us with the jawbone of an arse'.
“That’s Gleeb. That’s the man. Not a man for the vulgar but
still strong. That’s a real stand-up guy.”
“No doubt, sir, that your jawbone shall bring pain and confusion
unto all your enemies, both foreign and domestic.”
“Yes, and like Gleeb, we got to be stand-up, too. Got to let
our enemies know how we are standing. Standing is a really good
thing.”
“Mr Gleeb says that your voice shall be like unto a trumpet
pealing out to the masses; and if it sounds like braying, it is
only the true arses who think so.”
“Amen,” said the President, smiling happily.
Mack smiled inwardly. He is completely unaware that he has been
obliquely referred to as an arse. Mack continued, “Donovan
Schmidt, the New York banker, is another of your enthusiastic
supporters. He wanted me to let you know that he’s looking
forward to the tax cuts that are coming. He is concerned,
though, that the tax cuts haven’t been done in the first 100
days. This concerns him in that he wants this done before
people realize that there are other bills that need to be paid.
He’s also worried about this year’s hurricane season and how
expensive it could be. You can’t get the tax breaks if people
are worrying about the budget deficit.”
“We’ll have tax cuts no matter what. The budget be damned. If
there are any politics on it, we’ll blame the budget deficits on
the Democrats like we always do. Donovan’s a good man and a
long-time friend. He tried to get the loans I needed through
his bank but it all fell through. I had to go abroad to Europe
to get my money.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“I’ve known Donovan for many years, Stemple. We go back to the
days at Wharton where I’d received my education. Did you
acquire any higher education?”
“I took a number of courses at the University of Montana. I
didn’t get a degree.”
“I suppose that explains your poverty.”
“Perhaps it does. I did get one good thing out of it.”
“What was that?”
“Through the University, despite not being a student, or having
a degree, I manage to receive library access privileges. I’ve
enjoyed it for many years.”
“That would lead to an education of sorts.”
“It has been useful for me, a source of pleasure. I’ve always
been fascinated by sorts.”
“That’s pure defensiveness, that last comment of yours. But
Montana is in the sticks, and the towns there are nothing but
Hicksville.”
“We do manage, Mr. President.”
“I suppose so.” Trump paused, thinking. Then he continued,
“Donovan is a great man. Back in the day, when we were both
young and green, at Wharton and in New York, we lived the sexual
revolution, drinking and banging the girls to our hearts’
content. It was a happy time.”
“I suppose so.”
Trump smiled broadly. “Now it’s hard to speak to people of
those days. If you haven’t lived it, how can you understand?
We were liberated, in grand rebellion against authority,
studying during the day, daring to ask the big why and the big
why not. At night we went plowing the crotch, racking up a
score, banging the young university girls until we couldn’t get
it up again. We even took our chances with some girls.
Nowadays, it’s even intoxicating to think about it.”
“Sounds like the midnight creep.”
“Yes indeed, Stemple. But it wasn’t the blues. I remember
getting the girls who vamped around like they’ve slept with
hundreds of guys and finding out that they were virgins. Now
those virgins were a lot of fun.” He paused. “Imagine it,
Stemple. The girl is inexperienced, afraid of the pain and of
the consequences of her broken hymen. She’s needing the support
of the man. She is led both fearful and filled with desire.
The man’s not that vulnerable; his position is otherwise.
Though she trembles, he is exalted in the majesty of his
manliness! He takes his pleasure with the vulnerable girl in
the manner that he thinks, and then he dumps her in the manner
that he thinks is most proper or improper. Bang ‘em and forget
‘em was the order of the day. What a time! What a time for
banging the chicks!”
“You don’t think that this harmed them?”
“No. This was done with their full consent.”
“You don’t think that this may have harmed you?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m just wondering, Mr. President, that your ability to love a
woman may have harmed by all of this vamping.”
“I don’t think so. I’m married you know.”
“You’re not bothered that you may have missed out in finding the
life-long love of your life during those years.”
“No, Mr. Stemple.”
The two men eyed each other silently. Mack continued, “The next
board member, Anton Wexler, the stockbroker, at one time said
that he was a supporter of yours, but he’s reported to me that
he’s very disappointed in you.”
“How’s that?”
“He’s a stockbroker by profession and is very concerned about
business probity.”
“I remember the man on the cocktail circuit. Not much of a
drinker, that one.”
“You don’t drink alcohol at all, Mr. President?”
“Very little since my brother Fred died of alcoholism. I don’t
smoke, either.”
“Anton Wexler says a man’s word is his bond. He states that a
man’s honor is based upon his personal integrity which involves
particularly courage and honesty. He says that he didn’t like
how you conducted your Presidential campaign or your behavior in
the days following your inauguration.”
“Well, that’s just too bad about Wexler.”
“What should I tell him, Mr. President?”
“You let Wexler know that I didn’t find the world being truthful
when I entered politics. I didn’t invent the stories or
questions about Obama’s birth and religion. I merely took up
where other people left off and went with it. I’m not a liar.
I’m a man who has found himself in a culture that consents, even
approves of lying on the big scale. This big culture war is
just one more big lie. Honor be damned! Honor is just another
big lie that’s put over people. If he has any problem about
this, he should go to a mirror and look at his face in the
reflection. He’s one of the people that made it and me
possible.”
“Very well Mr. President.”
“Honor is rubbish. It isn’t real.”
“The next board member is Ginger Kaupe, the retired newspaper
executive.”
“I remember her, Stemple. She’s really a ginger when it comes
to her hair and skin. Back in the Eighties we called her the
Dragon Lady because of her fierce, gimlet eyes and her grasping
ways. She’s just another one of those know-it-all feminists.”
“Ms. Kaupe is angry with you regarding your treatment of women.
She asks that you would seek to make your Administration a model
for the treatment of women. If you do so, she thinks that you
will get back the women’s vote, an important bloc of voters.”
“Well hell, Stemple. Women be damned! What have they ever done
for me? When I was at Wharton, the educated ones wouldn’t give
me the time of day. Imagine that! I have more money than all
of them together, but it is not enough. They’re all takers,
every one of them. You can plow their crotch ‘til they're
gasping out their orgasms, but they’ll still want the money, the
jewels and the power. These feminists are just dragons in
search of a hoard of treasure. The best woman I know is one
that’s not educated, not originally part of her husband’s
country and culture, and knows how to take care of her man.
American women are not worth the time of day. They’ve forgotten
how to be proper wives to American men.”
“But wouldn’t you say that a woman in a state of dependency on a
man is a taker, too?”
“But she’s a better woman despite the dependency. She’s going
to be obedient and a help-mate for her husband. Obedience is
what helps make a great beauty even more beautiful.”
“Ms. Kaupe will no doubt think that that is far-fetched.”
“She and the other feminists are far-fetched, Stemple. A
woman’s place is in the home. That’s where the happiness of
couples is to be found and that’s where the finding is
important. Like I’ve always said, that finding is found in the
kitchen and in the living room. It’s found there. And when a
man comes home, the house is clean and his dinner is waiting for
him. That’s where the happiness rests and that’s where the
happiness is for the both of them. That’s where it could be.
That’s where it should be. That’s where the gladness is. I’m
glad of it. You’re glad of it. And thoughtful women are glad
of it. It’s good to be glad.”
Mack smiled inwardly. He offers his short stump speech
flourishes within his own White House appointments. It’s rather
curious, he thought.
“What about the last two board members, Mr. Stemple?”
“The last two board members, Alex Gembala and Michael Chadd,
are, as you’ve indicated, not known by you. They are both
computer graphics software CEOs. They are millenials, much
younger than the other board members. They wanted me to state
to you that they had supported you and that they were hoping
that your election would change the politics in America.
They’re tired of political gridlock. They were hoping that
you’d change things, but this hasn’t happened.”
“You tell them I shouldn’t be blamed for it. The fault rests
with Obama, Hillary Clinton and the Democrats for blocking our
legislation. I’ve wanted to do many things but we can’t get
over this continual obstruction by the liberals. It’s a sad
thing that they don’t really love their country. And it’s also
a sad thing that they are aided in this by the liberal, fake
news industry.”
“These board members are critical thinkers and fact checkers,
Mr. President.”
“Then they’ll be pleased to see that I’m right.”
“They don’t have any pre-commitment to your views. They are
their own men.”
“I wish that they and others would be more loyal. What is the
world coming to when they cannot believe and follow a man when
he comes onto the scene. Disloyalty is sheer ingratitude,
something very disgusting.”
“Loyalty is gustatory?”
“What?”
“You said, Mr. President, that disloyalty was disgusting.”
“I did.”
“So that would mean that loyalty is gusting in some sort of
way.”
“What the hell is ‘gusting’?”
“I’m trying to figure it out.”
“Look Stemple, Having more education than you do, I’ve learned
that we’ve got to attend to the details and to avoid nonsense.
The miss-educated and un-educated don’t know squat. Any rise
out of them is little more than squat floating up to the top of
the toilet bowl. Fact-checking and loyalty are best done by
those who know better. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mr. President. “I’m worried about it, though.”
“About what?”
“About the squat floating up to the top.”
#Post#: 16511--------------------------------------------------
Re: An Appointment With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: October 22, 2017, 12:34 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The Report
Mack continued, “Then there are the co-chairmen of the board,
Jerome Wiseman and Preston Callender. Of course you know both
of these men.”
“Of course I do.”
“Jerome Wiseman is, actually, not taking part in the board
deliberations. His co-chairmanship is strictly honorary and pro
forma. He is currently living in a rest home on Long Island.
He’s suffering from a mild form of Alzheimer’s.”
“That’s too bad, Stemple. He was quite the party animal in his
day. He told a lot of good stories over the years. I remember
him best at the time you were at Preston Callender’s penthouse
in the summer of 1997. Jerome was telling stories while you
were cooking some rib-eye steaks over the charcoal grill next to
that small garden on Preston’s penthouse roof.”
“I remember that.”
“They were very juicy despite being char-grilled. How did you
manage that?”
“What I did, Mr. President, was to first dredge the steaks in
olive oil seasoned with garlic and herb seasoning. Then I
browned the steaks in a large, very hot, cast iron fry pan that
Preston had, to seal the juices in. Then I finished cooking
them over the fire grill. That allowed for a juicy thick steak
that was char-broiled.”
“It was really good. I like a thick, char-smoked steak. It
went well with the salads and pies that Mrs. Callender did for
the rest of the meal.”
“To the last, Mr. President, Jerome Wiseman believed in you. He
hoped that you would do well in your campaign and in your
Presidency. Regrettably, he is increasingly limited in his fits
of lucidity. I don’t think he comprehends much about what’s
going on with you, and the country, at the present time.”
“I wish we had more people like him.”
“He was quite the man, I agree.”
“Yes, Mr. Stemple. It’s too bad that we grow old and develop
health problems.”
“I thought I would speak about Preston Callender after I’ve
given you the summary of the report. He had requested that I
present the report in a way that was specified by him.”
“I see.”
Mack smiled. No you don’t, he thought. Preston Callender is
quite angry with you, and he told me to ‘give you hell’.
“Give me your report, Mr. Stemple.”
“As you know, Mr. President, the Association of Traditional
Americans is an activist organization for traditional American
values. It possesses some distinctive qualities to it. It
prizes political advocacy and dissent. It is, also, a voters
union.
“Organizationally, it is composed of two levels, one composed of
outright members, the others are the voters that each of the
members network with. The top level, the formal level as it is
called, is the Association members themselves, roughly number
200,000. They are the ones that pay the dues and have a voice
in the deliberations of the Association. Now, each of the
Association’s members network with all the voters that they
know, that they seek to persuade to vote in a particular way.
This second level, also called the informal level, is composed
of roughly a bloc of 4 million voters. It works out to about 20
networked voters to one Association member.
“In the last election, Mr. Trump, in the very last weeks of the
campaign, you had the Association largely supporting you. The
percentages broke down as follows: Trump 65%, Cruz 20% and
Kasich 11%. This came to an amount of approximately 12,000
Association members supporting you and votes that eventually
accrued to you were 2.45 million votes. Your approval rating
was at 84% among the Association members and their networked
voters.
“When you won the election, the Association determined that you
won 2.45 million votes, but the networked voters also brought in
an additional 1.7 million votes. It was a substantial success
given that the Association at its organization core is only
200,000 members.
“The Association reports that this was the height of your
political power in the Association. But it has deteriorated
since your inauguration. Your actions in the course of your
Administration have precipitated a loss of political power.
This loss has not been dramatic, initially, but there has been a
continual bleeding off of many voters from your election bloc.
Your approval rating in the Association and among the network
voters dropped from 84% to 79% in February when the first
internal poll was completed. It further deteriorated in April
when it fell from 79% to 49%. This last poll was shocking in
that it indicated that you had lost decisively the independent
voters that made your election possible.
“Preston Callender did his best for you. When conservative
intellectuals came out, making their statements in ‘The National
Review’ in January of 2016, condemning you and warning that you
are not a true conservative, Preston stood by you. Preston,
like many Americans, wanted political change. He stood by you
through all the outlandish statements and assertions that you
made during the course of the campaign. He was particularly
hurt by the insults and degradation that you leveled at Jeb Bush
and Marco Rubio.
“When you claimed that Ted Cruz was an illegal alien and that
his father was involved in the John Kennedy assassination,
Preston was horribly embarrassed but he stood by you despite
much cost to himself socially and through his business contacts.
“Preston was further embarrassed at your conduct while in
office: the tweets, the belligerent tantrums, the occasional
foolish pronouncements. His embarrassment has also been shared
by the Association. Hence, the loss in political power in the
membership that extends into the networked voters that are in
contact with that membership.
“The full data has been put into the report that is on your desk
in front of you. I see that you are fingering the report. I
recommend that you study the suggestions that are embodied at
the end of the report to repair the political damage.”
The President frowned and glanced at the report in front of him.
“I’ll look at it, Stemple. I must say that I’m disappointed
with Preston Callender. He needs to have more faith in me and
my agenda to make America great again.” Trump paused, looking
sharply at Mack, continued, “My problem is, is that the
Association is too conservative. They’ve learned nothing over
the years, that you can’t have a conservative movement that
undermines labor. You’ve got to share the economic pie more
fully. Both the Democrats and the Republicans are big business
parties. They do not offer a working man and woman much. This
has got to change and I mean to change it.”
“I’ve heard you say this before. I would agree that that’s a
laudable political goal.”
“From what I remember of you, Stemple, you are not a
conservative. I’ve always understood that you’re politically
independent. Why did Preston ask you to give this report? Why
didn’t he come himself?”
“Preston prizes me for my impartiality in political matters when
I am representing him. But I’m not representing him but rather
the association. He was, also, not able to come for reasons of
health. He has a heart condition and is highly fatigued for
much of the day.”
“That’s too bad.”
‘Yes, Mr. President.”
Trump smiled. “Did you vote for me?” he asked.
“No comment.”
“If you didn’t vote for me, why not say it?”
Mack did not reply.
Trump chuckled.
Mack continued. “Preston Callender had one more message to give
you along with this report. It is not an essential message and
is not directly related to the Association’s report. It relates
to the very recent firing of FBI Director James Comey.” Mack
paused. “He told me that his message could be painful for you,
and he wishes to spare you any kind of disappointment or
emotional pain.”
Trump smiled. “I’ll be okay. I’m a big boy now.”
“As you know, Mr. President, Preston lost an older brother in
the Vietnam War. That was way back in 1969. Preston wanted to
say that he’ll be deeply grieved if it should be found that you
or your presidential campaign had colluded in any way with the
Russians during the election. Preston said that he regards the
Russians as the main enemy of that time, and, that, possibly
Russian Spetsnaz personnel may have killed his brother in
Vietnam.”
“I didn’t know about that.”
“Preston said to me that he told you about this once back in the
1980s, but he believes that you’ve most likely forgotten it
since so much was happening during that conversation.”
“I don’t remember it, Stemple.”
“Preston also wants to let you know that he’ll be quite angry if
collusion with the Russians exists.”
“Tell Preston, Stemple, that I’ve had no contact with the
Russians in any way. Neither I nor any of my people have had
anything to do with them. Please give him my best assurances
regarding this.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Please let him know that I’m misunderstood by many people.
Like I said it before, regarding Alex Wexler, I didn’t find the
world being truthful when I entered politics. Again, I didn’t
invent the stories or questions about Obama’s birth and
religion. I merely took up where other people left off and went
with it. I’m not a liar. I’m a man who has found himself in a
culture that consents, even approves of lying on the big scale.
This big culture war is just one more big lie.
“Alex Wexler’s got it wrong. It’s not about honor. Honor is
just another big lie that’s put over people. If Preston or the
other board members have any problems about this, they should go
and look into a mirror. They’ve helped create this world that
I’m in and they helped to create me. They have made me
possible. If they deny this, they are just plain hypocrites.
“The American people made me possible. They elected me and are
allowing me to continue in my job. I did not create the world.
I was thrown into it and am making my way in it. The world is
bound up in lies and I am one of the people bound up in those
same lies. Only hypocrites make something out of this.”
#Post#: 16512--------------------------------------------------
Re: An Appointment With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: October 22, 2017, 12:42 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The Hegemon
Trump continued, “This Russian investigation is just simply an
angry reaction by the Democratic Party for losing the election.
It is based on partisan politics and is little more than fake
news. Preston shouldn’t pay any attention to it.
“A man’s word is his bond. I agree with that, insofar that we
can say it. It is good for a man to tell the truth. It is good
that the truth be told. Many are helped by it. Truth is like a
light to the world. And light is good. It is very good. I’ll
say even more. It’s good that a man’s word is his bond. Bonds
are good, and very good between people. I like good bonds
between people.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Mack watched as Donald Trump rolled backwards in his chair
opened his center desk drawer. He took out a balisong knife and
slid it across his desk.
“Mr. Stemple, you can do incredible things that I find amazing.
Could you do me a favor and flick open and shut this knife in
the same way you did it at Preston’s penthouse some twenty years
ago. That was ‘effing’ amazing.”
Mack heard movement of the Secret Service agents. Mack turned
his head and watched as Knell came forward. The Secret Service
agent said, “No, Mr. President. This is contrary to security
procedures.”
Trump enraged, yelled, “WHO ARE YOU SAYING WHAT I CAN DO?”
Knell tried to explain, “Mr. President-“
“SHUT UP!”
“Mr. President-“
“ARE YOU STILL TALKING? I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!”
Mack interrupted. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. I can’t touch
that knife. I’m bound by law not to. I cannot disregard any of
the rules and practices that are meant for your own protection.”
Mack watched as Trump glowered in anger at him, and, at the
Secret Service agents that were behind him. Angrily, Trump
snatched up the balisong knife from the desk and returned it to
his desk drawer. After slamming the drawer shut, he fixed a
cold stare at Mack.
“You could do some amazing things with that knife.” The
President said angrily.. “I wanted to see you show off what you
could do. My bodyguard, Milo Doubek, says that a skilled knife
fighter can kill a cop within twenty-one feet. The knife
fighter is so quick he can cripple or kill the cop before the
cop has the chance to draw his weapon.”
“That’s correct, Mr. President. That’s the immediate reason why
I could not touch that knife and why the Secret Service are
enforcing their security rules.”
Trump looked down at the surface of his desk. The anger began
to fade from his eyes. “Your skills are very impressive. Would
you be available for hire? I could always use a good man like
you. I do pay my people very well.”
“I’m retired, Mr. President.”
“That’s a pity. Given your poverty, I could remedy that.”
“Thank you for the job offer.”
“You’re welcome.
“The Association has some general questions that they would like
you to answer. These questions directly reflect their concerns
primarily about your ego.”
“What are they, Mr. Stemple?”
“Members of the Association have asked about your claim that you
had won the popular vote in the last election.”
“I did win the popular vote, Stemple. Millions of people voted
illegally in the last election. It’s absurd that Crooked
Hillary won any plurality of the votes. The Democrats are angry
about the fact that I was elected and that our Republican party
has won both houses of the Congress.”
“You really believe this.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Have you or members of your presidential campaign colluded with
the Russians or any foreign power prior to the election?”
“No.”
“Do you believe that the Russians are innocent of any
interference in our last election?”
“Yes. To think otherwise is simply another disgusting show of
partisan politics.”
“Thank you for your answers, Mr. President. Another Association
major question is: are you truly a man of prayer as you have
said during the presidential campaign?”
“Yes, I am. I’m proud to say that I’m happy that I’ve enjoyed
God’s favor over the years. I do not try to make any outward
show of this. I don’t like to talk much about it since
religious faith is a private matter.”
“Can you distinguish the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth, that you tell to yourself and to others, at any given
moment, from all the lies that you believe that you must tell to
further your own wealth and power?”
“What kind of question is that?!” Trump was glaring again.
“I had to ask that question, Mr. President, given that members
of the Association would be annoyed if I didn’t ask it.”
“I can tell the truth that I can say from any lies, little man.”
“So, if I understand you correctly, you’re affirming that you’ve
won the plurality of the popular vote in the last election, that
you or your presidential campaign has not colluded with the
Russians or that the Russians didn’t interfere with our last
election.”
Trump didn’t respond. The silent glare continued.
Mack continued. “Also, are you still affirming that you are a
man of prayer?” Trump remained silent. Mack could see that he
was seething. “The next question that the Association has
asked: are you able to apologize for being wrong concerning this
or any matter?”
Trump glowered at Mack. Finally he shouted, “THIS IS OUT OF
LINE, STEMPLE, DAMN YOU! APOLOGIZING IS FORM OF WEAKNESS!”
Mack remained silent.
“WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY!’
“You’re requesting my personal opinion, Mr. President?”
Trump lowered his voice, “Yes I am, little man.”
“The Association may not agree with my answer.”
“Go ahead, little man.”
Mack smiled inwardly. The man’s just asking for it. “The
ability to apologize is the ability to express love and the
capacity for giving and receiving love. It is, also, a measure
of whether or not one can take personal responsibility for
something and to escape the agony and trap of human
vindictiveness.”
“It just sounds like the tripe of moralizing weakness to me,
Stemple.”
“You strike me as unhappy, Mr. President. You’ve not been happy
in the matters of love and human relationships.”
“And you should keep your nose out of my life, little man.”
Trump paused. “I can’t see it, for the life of me, why the
truth or lies are important. They aren’t. It’s only wealth and
power. I suppose I might be confused about the truth at times,
but everybody does. And I don’t apologize for anything.”
“That’s not the way to happiness.”
“We have different ideas about happiness, little man. I’m a
billionaire and the President of the United States. You’re just
another nobody at the poverty level.”
“I’m just echoing a conversation you and Preston had some thirty
years ago.”
“I don’t remember it.”
“Mr. Wiseman, Mr. Isaac Holt, a particular friend of mine, and I
witnessed it. It was in May of 1987. At the time, Preston said
that he felt sorry for you, that he mourned for you.”
Trump remained quiet.
Mack continued, “Preston said that he remembered the years back
in time when you were struggling to be your own man, the person
you, yourself, wanted to be. He further stated that you had a
rough childhood, an unloving father and distant mother and that
you were in rebellion.”
Trump still didn’t respond.
Mack went on, “Finally you were forced into that military school
to learn discipline and self-control. Preston told you that he
suspected that it was either that or that you would be forced
into psychiatric treatment. In short, Preston said you were
beaten down and forced into the mold of what your father wanted
you to be. Preston stated that that he thought you had inwardly
died inside.”
Trump still didn’t respond.
Mack sighed and continued, “Preston said he mourned that you
never became the man that you wanted to be. Furthermore, he
stated that you never found your life-long love and that you are
inwardly a hollow man, a charnel house of burnt out emotions.
Remembering this conversation from long ago, he now warns you
that, because you’ve become the man you are, that this is no
excuse for treason or financial malfeasance. You are
responsible for all of your actions.”
Trump looked at Mack for a long moment. “I don’t remember this
conversation, Stemple. I find it difficult to believe that
Preston authorized you to say all these things.”
“Preston did not make any authorizations for my meeting here.
My representation is in respect to the Association.”
“Well, I want you to know, little man, that I am my own man.
Who I was when I was young was a failure. Becoming the man my
father wanted me to be was what I was supposed to be. I’ve
become that and even more. I’m the President of the United
States and I know that, given the great responsibility of my
office that the buck always stops here at my desk. One can’t
blame my father for what I’ve become. Tell Preston that I don’t
need his sympathy.”
“I will. And I will iterate again that he will view dimly any
attempts on your part to evade any personal responsibility for
your actions.”
“Very well, little man, or should I say, poor little man, get
out of here, Stemple. Tell Preston that I’m very disappointed
that he and his Association could not be more loyal to me. This
is just plain disgusting.” He got up and turned away to the
window towards the Rose Garden.
Mack was then quickly escorted by the Secret Service out of the
West Wing and across the White House grounds to the NW gate. At
the gate he heard a voice behind him. It was Trump’s personal
bodyguard, Milo Doubek.
“The President has told me to tell you, Stemple, to get out of
Washington DC.’ Doubek said. “He doesn’t want to hear that
you’re sticking around. He told me that you’d better not
participate in any way in the Russian investigations if you know
what’s good for you.”
“Please remind the President, Mr. Doubek, that I’m retired and
I’ll be returning to Montana.”
“You’d better.” The man turned and walked away.
A grim fellow, Mack thought. He went through the White House
pedestrian gate and looked back at the White House and the West
Wing.
Knell came up to the fence. He said quietly, “Thanks for
backing me up back there.”
Mack nodded and smiled. The Secret Service agents turned away.
Mack looked over the buildings and grounds, recalling his
memories of the place. He thought of the Presidents and White
House aides he’d met over the years. He lingered there, going
over his memories, until a White House policeman asked if he was
okay. Mack turned to the officer and replied that he was.
He turned and headed across Lafayette Park and beyond it, Logan
Circle. It was time to get out of the anti-psi suppression
field. It was time, he thought, to return to the fullness of
his powers. At the Circle, while under the observation of
government aprators, he would first make his phone call to
Preston. After that he would dictate over the phone his report
to the Association’s secretary. Then he would give Group Mind
Potomac, through an encrypted telepathic burst, a copy of his
memory cache of his meeting with Trump. Then he would go to the
egression point and vector out. After that it would be
pan-fried oysters and deep-fried clams in Seattle, at his
favorite eatery. He smiled at the thought and walked on,
enjoying the trees and the flowers that lined the avenue.
There will be no lasting repercussions because of this meeting,
he thought. Mack knew because he created and set up the mind
lock in Trump’s mind. He was one of the persons listed on the
personnel register that was part of Trump’s mind lock. Trump
will be angry with him for about two hours. Then, as the mind
lock worked its effect, Trump’s emotions and any concern on his
part about doing something about it, will eventually ebb and
fade. By tomorrow, Mack will be largely forgotten, and Preston,
and the Association’s report, will be a faded memory. Trump
will still have his knowledge of the report and of the political
danger he’s in, but it will not be a thing of his ego, like so
much else in his life is.
A blessing of telepathy can be a mind lock, Mack thought. It
can lead to peaceful resolution. Regrettably, this mind lock
was not meant for or cannot deal with character traits. Trump
could still blunder America into a war. This could be a tragedy
of the future. Mack, like many, hoped that this will not
happen. But it still could happen.
Trump remains spiteful and vindictive. And with all vindictive
men, because of their lack of self-worth and easily wounded
pride, they are ever vulnerable to the slights they find around
them, as they challenge and belittle others around them. They
bully on and on until, finally, someone catches up with them and
shakes them down. That’s coming for Trump, Mack thought, and
the man won’t be ready for it. He smiled at the thought.
#Post#: 17379--------------------------------------------------
Re: An Appointment With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 20, 2018, 1:12 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
AN APPOINTMENT WITH TRUMP
APPENDIX
New York City
August 2015
The New Candidate for the Presidency: Part 1
It was a beautiful summer day. Mack Stemple was enjoying
himself, drinking Jack Daniels over the rocks, looking out over
Central Park. He had one of the finest perspectives of the city
that was available. He was looking out over the parapet of the
patio roof of his friend’s penthouse apartment, 35 stories up,
which provided a splendid view of the park and of the city
looking towards the South. He was, also, enjoying the fact that
he was not entirely human; he was a psionic. He was psionically
active, passively scanning outward, mentally. He was sensing
and mentally visualizing the faint outline of the streets and
alleys below, the trees swaying in the wind in the park, the
sounds of the human minds within the scan that went out to a
distance of a mile.
His mind passed over the visualized images derived from the
electromagnetic fields that surrounded each of the objects and
persons that he was sensing. All appeared well to him. There
was a certain beauty in the intricacies of the 3-d
representation of the scan in his mind. From his autonomous
intellections, the independent functioning of his mind, Mack
could tell that there was nothing on the police, fire and
emergency services radios that was of any concern. All of the
cell telephone conversations within a four-block radius were
also perfectly normal. Many of the minds that he sensed were
anti-psi. They appeared to be non-threatening despite the fact
that if he mentally focused on them, he would not be able to
listen to their thoughts or telepathically penetrate more deeply
into them to learn their memories.
As he sipped his whiskey, he reflected that Preston Callender
and his wife, Sheryl had invited him to attend the Association
of Traditional Americans’ reception honoring Donald Trump who
had announced last June his candidacy for the President of the
United States. They were deeply satisfied that he was able to
attend.
Mack was indeed happy to attend. He had met Donald Trump in the
past, as early as the 1980s, but the last meeting was some ten
years ago. He had found Trump interesting. Mack wondered if
the playboy businessman had changed his ways since Mack had last
seen him. Probably not, he concluded. Mack always found Trump,
extremely willful, extremely egocentric, in all of his ways.
Mack focused on Preston’s penthouse apartment that was in the
two floors immediately below. He sensed Preston and Sheryl ,
with their distinctive brain pulses, standing in their front
room. He could tell, using the same mental focus, that all of
the board members of the Association with their wives or
husbands were there. There was also Preston’s bodyguard, Luke
Grayson, the cook, Pietro, the butler, Charles, the maid,
Nanette, and the three servant girls that were hired for this
reception.
His date, Amber Paige, was there and he faintly sensed her
amusement that he was mentally focusing on her. She was also a
psionic. From what Mack had heard, she was very formidable as a
psionic. She was Mack’s height, five feet nine, slender, blond
short hair cut into a very short pageboy hairstyle. She was
originally from Canada, from Calgary. She was very curious
about New York City and Jade Talmage, his onetime girlfriend,
had asked Mack to take her out to dinner and a Broadway show.
From what Mack could tell, Amber had enjoyed herself immensely
and had talked of coming back. Mack could tell that she had
acquired a few teleportation sites in the last few days. But,
given that it is New York City, she would need to clear those
sites, and her subsequent travels here. New York City was
considered a class R location because of its anti-psi protected
government and business locations in lower Manhattan. A psionic
required clearance from the Prefecture of the Star People before
vectoring into Manhattan.
Mack looked down towards the street in front of the building and
watched the traffic as it went by. After a short time, he could
sense Trump’s brain pulse traveling in a vehicle entering into
his scan area. Mack focused on the vehicle, it was moving
slowly in the crowded traffic. Trump’s mind was anti-psionic
but Mack recognized it. It had its own distinctive sound and
Mack had already entered it onto his mental signature registry.
Mack could not read him, telepathically, which was a pity.
Trump’s mind, no doubt, was very lurid; and no doubt Trump had
many stories to tell. Trump’s anti-psi field was relatively
strong for a 68 year old man.
When Trump’s limousine came to a stop in front of Preston’s
building, Mack could clearly see Trump getting out of the
vehicle. Trump’s distinctive orange-yellowish hair was visible,
a tiny patch of color in the sunlight surrounded by a swarm of
gray and blue suits. The view of the man was very brief,
lasting only a moment. Trump quickly entered the building.
Mack left the roof patio and went downstairs and entered
Preston’s front room. He went up to his friend and quietly told
him that Trump had arrived and was parked on the street.
Preston then announced Trump’s imminent arrival to the
Association members and their wives.
When Trump arrived and entered the front room, Mack was
impressed as to how little Trump had changed over the years and
how he continued to compare unfavorably with his friend,
Preston. Mack observed that Trump was six foot three,
overweight but not yet obese. He was still sporting the
distinctive yellow-colored hair with the distinctive comb-over;
he still had the same booming voice, the intense, but not
intelligent stare, and the ever-pouting lower lip. Trump was
supposedly very successful in business. That was known to be
simply incorrect by the many people that knew better. Trump had
experienced a number of bankruptcies over the years. He had
developed a history of stiffing his creditors and those who had
provided services for his properties. Supposedly his business
behavior was so bad that he was unable to obtain financing
through any American bank. Trump was in business, in short,
more of a man of glitter than of substance.
Trump was accompanied by his wife, Melania. She was as tall as
her husband, and willowy, a former model from Slovenia. Her
English was still not fluent. The Trumps were accompanied by a
bodyguard that Mack was familiar with, a hulking brute by the
name of Milo Doubek, who had worked for an old adversary of
Mack’s, named Parker Simonsen.
Mack watched as Preston Callender, accompanied by his wife,
Sheryl, left him and went up to Trump and Melania and greeted
them, and have them accept the celebratory drinks offered to
them, an Italian soda to The Donald and champagne for Melania.
Then accompanying them, they began moving through the members of
the Association, greeting them, shaking hands, and talking.
Mack was aware that Donald Trump knew most of these people very
well. Most likely they had all been, at one time or another, to
Trump Tower. Mack supposed that he, as well as Amber, were the
only ones that had never been there.
Mack reflected on how much that Preston was very much unlike The
Donald. Preston was shorter, about six feet tall, within normal
weight, close-cut gray hair, quiet in voice and manner, and
low-key in all his ways. Preston, rarely in the limelight, was
one of New York City’s richest men. He made a fortune in real
estate and building sewers for the five boroughs. He had no
record of bad or sharp business practices. Unlike Trump,
Preston’s relationship with his bankers was very good. Preston
was known to pay his people well. But because he paid well, he
was viewed at times with misgivings by the Trumps, who
considered paying labor well, an indulgence. Preston was very
practical. He paid well but he also expected excellence from
all of his employees.
Amber joined Mack and they both watched as Trump and his wife
continued through the group of people, stopping, shaking hands
and talking. Occasionally, they would stop and have some hors
d’oeuvres at Preston’s long serving table.
“So this is the great man,” said Amber.
“Yes,” Mack replied. “Can you imagine him as President of the
United States?”
Amber laughed quietly at that.
Looking at the man eating, Mack wondered if Trump was going to
give a speech to the assembled Association. They watched
silently the eating and the talking and figured that if Trump
was going to give a speech he was going to do it shortly. It
never came.
As Trump and Melania came up to Mack and Amber, Mack was struck
by the fact of Trump’s glee, the joy of his personal power and
of his ill-concealed arrogance. Trump’s candidacy for President
had no effect of humbling him. Preston, with his wife Sheryl
standing beside him, then introduced Mack and Amber to the
Trumps. Mack and Amber shook their hands.
As Mack was shaking Melania’s hand, he said to her,
“Pozdravljeni, Melania. kako si?”
Melania smiled with pleasure. She was happy that someone was
able to speak the language of her birth. “Jaz sem v redu,
gospod Stemple,” she replied.
Trump frowned at his wife, annoyed that she was speaking
Slovenian. He said to Mack, “I remember you. We’ve met about a
half-dozen times over the years.”
“That’s correct, Mr. Trump.”
“I must say that I find that you’re a fine looking woman,
Amber.”
“Thank you, Mr. Trump.”
Trump favored Amber with a broad smile, what Mack knew was
Trump’s ‘wolf’ look, his 1970s sexual predator look. Mack
smiled inwardly at that; it was not entirely unexpected. Trump
was rumored to still have the fires of sexual lust burning
within him. Despite Trump’s age of 68, with its loss of
vitality, Trump was still pushing for the satisfaction of his
lusts. That was bad news for Melania. That meant that Melania
may not be his last trophy wife; he may still yet seek another.
Mack wondered what Melania thought. Her face was guarded and
her mind was cloaked under her anti-psi mind. What Amber
thought, Mack couldn’t tell. She was carefully shielding her
thoughts as well as he.
Preston’s wife, Sheryl, frowned at Trump. She didn’t like
Trump’s aggressive sexuality, evidently, and after giving some
deft compliments to Trump , led both Melania and Amber away from
the three men towards the Association board members’ wives.
As the ladies left, Preston, Mack and Donald Trump were joined
by Horace Gleeb, the textile CEO and Donovan Schmidt, the New
York banker.
“Amber is exquisite,” said Donald Trump approvingly as he
watched her carefully as she walked away. “I must say, Mack,
that Amber is hot. She’s looking very fine in that summer
dress.”
“She’s a lesbian,” said Gleeb interrupting the two men. Gleeb
was also looking back at her. “I’ve heard it from Sheryl, your
wife, Preston that Amber is a queer. Is it true, Mack?”
“She’s a lesbian, Horace, if that’s what you’d like to know.”
Mack smiled at Gleeb.
“So you’re confirming it. I find it’s disgusting.”
“You must admit, Horace, that she is a great beauty.” Trump’s
eyes were merry with delight.
Gleeb looked like he was getting angry. “I think that such
people should not be permitted to appear in society as they do.
Mack, you were doing much better with that attractive,
mysterious blond girl that you brought the last time, Prisca
Lovec. Now, she’s a devout Christian girl.”
“Prisca is not as beautiful as Amber is, Horace,” interjected
Donovan. “I’m surprised about you, Mack.” Donovan continued
facetiously. “Don’t you realize that it’s only wasted time if
you can’t mount the woman you’re with, especially if she’s a
beautiful woman. I declare that if a man can’t jack a woman and
can’t get any play at all, he’s wasting his time. A woman, with
no sport, is little more than a frigid woman who’s been caught
up in her fears and her chastity.”
“Indeed,” intoned Trump. “Chaste makes waste.”
“Why are you dating this perverted woman?” Gleeb sternly asked
Mack.
“Amber was intrigued by how straight girls get along with the
menfolk, so I took her out on a date. Last night she told me
that she very much enjoyed herself when I took her to dinner and
to a Broadway show.”
“She’s looking over the other side of the fence?” queried
Donovan.
“You could say that.”
“You should try to get her into bed, Mack.” Donovan was looking
back at Amber. There was no mistaking what he was thinking.
“No, Donovan. Amber would not like that.”
“A woman dominated by perverted lusts,” Gleeb shook his head.
“That’s a shame, a downright crying shame.”
“Now there was that other exquisite woman you dated, Mack, some
ten years ago. She had a beautiful face and figure, long
beautiful legs, a fine creamy complexion, long jet black hair
and haunting green eyes.” Donovan looked back at Mack.
Donovan’s eyes had the fire of lust in them. He was enjoying
the memory.
“That would be Jade Talmage.”
“She’s quite a woman. I’m surprised that you didn’t bring her
here.”
“Me, too,” said Trump.
“She’s not all that you think, gentlemen. She’s the significant
other of Amber here.”
“You mean that those two women are sodomistically married and
that Jade is a lesbian too?” Sputtered Gleeb.
“No, Horace. She’s a bisexual. She has an appetite for women
as well as men.”
“That’s outrageous Mack, finding out that these two beautiful
women have turned from men, and in their burning lusts, have
become inverts.” Gleeb said softly, “It’s horrible.” Gleeb
turned his angry eyes on Mack. “You’re a Christian, Mack. You
need to lead these two women away from all these sodomistical
sins.”
“The Holy Spirit leads people, Horace. Not me. For both Amber
and Jade, their sexual orientations are not voluntary, so there
is nothing for them to decide about or change. God may recreate
them in his own good time if salvation is also based upon
recreation of a person’s sexual orientation.”
“I suppose that Amber is butch and Jade is femme,” said Trump.
“Imagine Amber and Jade in bed together,” Donovan said
breathlessly, looking back at Amber.
“I’ve had enough of this conversation,” said Gleeb sharply.
“Thank you, Mr. Trump, for putting in your candidacy for
President. May God be with you.” The textile CEO shook hands
with Donald Trump and walked back to other members of the
association.
“Let’s change the subject, gentlemen.” Preston had had enough
of it as well. He asked Trump, “Donald, do you wish to make a
verbal statement to the Association that’s gathered here?”
“No, Preston. I’ll let my written statement to the Association
stand.”
“I understand Donald that you want to make America great again.”
Preston was frowning. “What do you mean by that? Isn’t
American great already?
“America is not what it was. We’ve lost our greatness. We’ve
lost the rule of law. We’ve currently a foreigner, a dog eating
Kenyan, in the White House now. We’ve too many blacks, because
of these civil rights laws, who are insolent towards their
betters. We have that damned Crooked Bill and Hillary Clinton
breaking laws and corrupting our government with money coming in
from abroad. We’ve got to change things.”
Preston’s from remained. “It sounds far-fetched to me, Donald.
Concerning the President, Hawaii stands by its birth certificate
that it had issued concerning Barak Obama. If the Republican
Party had the facts concerning Obama being a Kenyan, why haven’t
they already impeached Obama for being foreign born?”
Trump frowned back at Preston. “Facts are not important, here,
Preston. The association must realize that.”
“Are you saying,” said Preston “that facts are irrelevant in
political discourse?”
“Aren’t they already?” Trump smiled. “The birther issue
clearly indicates that truth is now what it really always has
been all along. Truth is not simply ‘the truth’, it is only
‘the convenient truth’, or rather, ‘the convenient near-truth’
or ‘untruth’ that matters.” Trump looked briefly at Mack and
back at Horace Gleeb walking away. He then said to Preston,
“Look at how the Christian Evangelicals been doing the last
twenty years. Look at how they’ve swallowed every one of the
lies that has been put forward to them over the years. They
don’t want the truth because they hate it, and have waged war
against it. It’s not the Bible alone for them. Now they’ve now
got Breitbart, InfoWars and Fox News to fill out their
Scriptures. In fact, if it comes to the authority of the Bible,
that occupies second place to those splendid news sources.”
Mack stepped closer to Trump so that the man could better hear
him. “That sounds like a caricature of American Christianity,
Mr. Trump,” he said.
“A lot of those white Christian Evangelicals are more white than
Evangelical, Mr. Stemple. They want the old days to come back,
what life was like in the 1950s. They don’t want all this talk
and action on civil rights. They don’t necessarily oppose civil
rights, but they do want the same place in the Sun that they had
before. Why not try to understand them? Why not understand
their need to have white pride and white power? My father
accepted this; he wasn’t a racist; he only wanted people, that
is to say people of all types, to understand their place in
society.”
“The Christian Faith is colorblind, Mr. Trump.”
“Perhaps so, but the birther issue about Obama shows that race
is far more important than Christian belief on the part of white
Evangelicals. Why not give them politically what they want?
For all intents and purposes, white Evangelicals are
nonbelievers just like the rest of us. Why don’t we just admit
the truth about this? Though Republicans have dominated America
for the last 40 years, Evangelicals haven’t made any major
political inroads with the majority of the people. They’re only
just the same as the people they call pagans.”
“I would agree that many white Evangelicals have betrayed their
faith.”
Trump continued, “You know, Mr. Stemple, that it is in the
conservative political interest to divide Christians as much as
possible. Why not divide upon racial lines? We’ve always
practiced divide and conquer in religion as part of our party
tactics.”
“This would be destructive to the unity of the country.”
“But divide and conquer has always been American practice.”
“And love and community as well.”
Donovan interrupted, “But it’s gone too far, Mr. Stemple.
These civil rights issues are interfering with American
business. We need to have more cohesive organizations of
like-minded people that share the same values.”
“Or the same skin color or national origin?” Mack continued.
“Yes.”
“It sounds far-fetched to me.”
“You got it wrong, Mack. We need tort reform. We need tort
reform to prevent all these lawsuits. These civil rights
lawsuits are even affecting our most venerable traditional
office relationships. We have all these damned sexual
harassment lawsuits coming up. We need tort reform that
excludes, without sufficient cause, all these lawsuits.”
“Yes, Donovan,” Trump added. “How can a man workin’ his
tallywacker not ring up a good tally if he’s having to worry
about sexual harassment lawsuits?” He chuckled. “If a man’s
takin’ off his suit, he doesn’t want to put on a lawsuit after
having his fun. Women need to realize that they shouldn’t hate
sex and that they can score as much as a man.”
#Post#: 17380--------------------------------------------------
Re: An Appointment With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 20, 2018, 1:15 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
AN APPOINTMENT WITH TRUMP
APPENDIX
New York City
August 2015
The New Candidate for the Presidency: Part 2
Mack looked at the two men with narrowed eyes. “Continual
unwanted sexual solicitations are not fun with anyone,
gentlemen. As with any relationship, if an office affair
between a man and a woman is to be mutually agreeable both must
respect each other’s sexual boundaries.”
“No chance for a sexual conquest? That’s just a downer for
office relationships,” muttered Donovan.
“You’ve said something about office relationships once before,
didn’t you, Mack?” asked Trump.
“I have,” said Mack. “A woman shouldn’t be getting her meat at
the same place where she’s earning her bread. It’s a 1970s
proverb, I understand.”
“That’s just a downer, Mack.” muttered Donovan.
Preston looked sharply at Donald Trump. “What is your political
program, Donald, about making America great again? I understand
that you want a border wall with the expulsion of illegal
immigrants, a Muslim ban, infrastructure improvements, the
return of tariffs, and therefore jobs to the country, higher
defense spending, and a massive tax cut.”
“That’s my program,” said Trump. “I’ll make the usual noises
and take what I want. The tax cut will be the priority.”
“Now you’re talking, Donald.” Donovan beamed. “It’s time to
put these libtards back in their place. Let’s get the big tax
cut, and after that, during the budget talks, cut the
entitlement programs like we’ve always wanted. I’m tired about
all this Ponzi scheme involving Medicare and Medicaid and Social
Security. It’s time to tackle welfare and worker’s comp. It’s
time to tackle environmental laws that are harmful to business.
It’s time for working people to stand on their own two feet
without getting government help.”
“In an economy that is rigged against the average worker?” asked
Mack.
“We need to have economic freedom, Mack. You can’t have
Americans becoming ‘softies’ like the Europeans. You can’t have
people expecting a bailout when they hit trouble. Besides,
misery among the workers leads to industry.”
“You mean like the corporations and wealthy folks when they hit
trouble? They seem to have no problem receiving corporate and
elite forms of welfare. Why can’t they, when they suffer a
little, tighten their own belts and gin up a little more in jobs
and industry for American workers.”
Trump interrupted, “You’re from Montana, Mack. Why is it that
you don’t sound like a cowboy.”
“I do keep my eyes skinned, pard, so that you know that I’m not
herd-broke like the rest of ‘em. There’s a lot of
ground-hitched folks that are sticks in the mud and they won’t
be making it through the walk down. They’ll end up in some
untimely die-up; and, I don’t want to end up holdin’ short.
That’s to say really short as in the tail-hold on a grizzly
bear.”
The men laughed.
“Spoken like a true cowboy,” intoned Preston.
Trump looked at Preston and said, “I’m just making political the
noises that I need to make, Preston. I’ll get what I can get.”
“How are you going to pay for all that you’re wanting to do?”
Preston replied. The sharpness had returned to his eyes. “It’s
difficult to cut entitlements and the party will not allow for
the raising of taxes.”
“For starts, I’ll have Mexico pay for the border wall.”
“They won’t agree to that.”
“I’ll also jump-start the economy with the tax cut. We’ll grow
are way out of the debt we’re making.”
Mack interrupted, “The corporations are already sitting on
trillions of dollars overseas. There is, currently, no reason
for giving them a tax cut. Why not create a policy that forces
the return of those dollars overseas to America? A lot of jobs
could be created with that money.”
“That’s government interference in the economy! That’s
socialism!” sputtered Donovan.
“If you’re going through with the tax cut, you are, in effect,
making government interference in the economy. You’re also
borrowing the money from China. Don’t you think that having so
much of our national debt being held by China a serious national
security issue?”
Trump smiled. “No,” he said. “We’ll make America great again
as soon as we jump-start the economy and make American business
boom. We’ll reinstate a tariff system; we’ll bring the troops
back home. We won’t get ourselves involved in all these wars
overseas.”
“It all sounds far-fetched, Mr. Trump, this protectionism.”
“Mack, I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”
“A debtor nation, such as America, won’t be able to put tariffs
onto the products of a creditor nation, such as China. The
creditor might get angry and cut off the loans and start asking
for its money back.”
Trump frowned, “The Chinese wouldn’t dare,” he said.
“What makes you say that? Think about what the Chinese may be
thinking. Wouldn’t the Chinese want to make China great again,
as well? Why would they want to loan America the money to make
America great again? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Mack, I think that you’re just another libtard,” muttered
Donovan. “We have greater strength in this country than you’re
probably thinking. Anyways, a creditor nation better not offend
its debtors. The debtors can refuse to pay their money back, as
well.”
“That would lead to the cratering of our national
credit-worthiness. That would make borrowing for our country a
problem. It would mean the devaluation of our currency,” said
Preston. “It would lead to hyperinflation, a depression, and
untold misery.”
Trump changed the subject. Looking back at Amber he said,
“Mack, where do you find these women? Amber is hot; Jade is
hot. I never see the likes of them except in the modeling
industry. How did you ever meet Amber?”
Mack smiled. “When I first dated Jade, she had recently broken
up with Amber and so I dated her for several months. This got
Amber angry with me.”
“I can imagine that,” said Donovan. “Jade is so very hot with
her lustrous green eyes and jet black hair.”
“Like I said, Amber eventually got Jade back. But she was
curious about me. It wasn’t sexual curiosity. I think that she
didn’t understand the excitement that I was causing Jade, so she
obtained Jade’s permission to go on a date with me. And so I’ve
taken her yesterday to dinner and a Broadway show. We’ll go our
separate ways after this reception.”
“I can imagine Amber and Jade in bed together. What a thought!”
Donovan was looking back. His eyes showed all that he was
thinking. “Imagine, Donald, having both of them together in bed
with you.”
“It would be hot, I agree,” said Trump. “Lesbian sex would be a
great turn-on.”
“Gentlemen, could we cut out with the pornographic chatter,”
said Preston. “It’s beginning to get on my nerves.”
“****’s good, Preston. Nothing’s more beautiful than watching
beautiful bodies buckin’ and bangin’ together, in pleasure.
It’s also a good place to invest, to make money,” Donovan paused
and beamed. “It’s a multi-billion dollar industry with a very
large market. I’ve even heard that millions of Christians and
Muslims are watching ****.”
“I’ve heard that too,” said Trump.
“You must admit Mack that all this Christian moralizing about
politics and especially ****, means nothing. I’ve heard in some
quarters that 68% of Christian men and 50% of pastors are
watching ****. Now that’s one kind of seal of approval for a
product that’s out there on the market.”
Mack disagreed. “It could be a testament to human frailty,
particularly male frailty,” he said.
Donovan laughed at Mack. “Now that’s dodging the ball. You
know what it means. It means that the evangelicalism that we
find in America is nothing more than a spent, hollow moral
force. No wonder they were never able to really put down
abortion or gay rights.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Rubbish,” said Donovan. “Church people are a bunch of
hypocrites. At least the white evangelicals are waking up to
the fact that they’re losing status in America. That’s bad,
very bad. Unlike blacks, who are socialists, white folks have
the necessary respect for big business and property values.
It’s a damned shame that they’re losing power.”
“I can agree that many evangelicals have worshipped Mammon
deeply for many years,” replied Mack. “The white evangelical is
not, spiritually, what he or she used to be. That fact has
something to do with it.”
“I don’t know much about spiritual matters, Mack. They seem like
mumbo-jumbo.” Donovan looked back at his wife and then said to
the three men, “I’ve got to get back to the missus.” He turned
to Donald Trump. “Donald, I wish the best for you. Watch out
for all the political hacks and grifters out there.” He shook
the Presidential candidate’s hand. To Mack, he said, “Happy to
have seen you again, Mack.” He shook Mack’s hand.
As Donovan walked away, Mack was pleased that the banker had
gone back to his wife, his fourth trophy wife, from what he
heard from Preston. Now Preston and Mack could speak to Trump
quietly. They had some important questions for him.
“Is this a serious Presidential campaign, Donald?” Preston was
looking sharply at him.
“Yes, but I don’t expect to win.” Trump smiled. “Win or lose,
this will be a good way to advance the Trump brand. I stand to
make some money from it.”
Preston smiled. “That’s clever, Donald. I wish you well,” he
said. “I will consider voting for you to shake up things. I’m
tired of all the political gridlock that exists in Washington
right now.”
Trump thanked him, grinning at Preston as if he was a small boy.
Trump looked past the two men. “What kind of plant is that?” he
asked. Trump stepped past the two men and went up to the tree
and flowers; Preston and Mack followed. Mack observed Trump’s
delight at Preston’s cherished bonsai tree on its own ornate
stand in front of the widow. To its immediate left and right,
in sparate ornate planters and stands, were miniature red rose
bushes. Trump’s face indicated his pleasure at the tree and
roses. “What kind of bush is that?” Trump asked.
“That’s a bonsai tree, Donald. It’s one of several that I have.
That particular tree is around 300 years old.” Preston said
proudly.
“That’s effing amazing!” Trump exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such
a small tree before.” He looked back at his friend, Preston,
and Mack. “And those miniature roses are in full bloom!”
“These miniature roses are timed to bloom during the late fall
and winter, Donald.” Preston smiled. “My bushes have 40 to 60
blossoms each year. I’ve managed to have these bushes last for
two to three years. Commercially, they usually last only for a
single year if they’re kept as indoor plants.”
Trump looked back at his friend. “You’ve quite an eye for
beauty, Preston. And I suppose that it’s not even expensive.”
“The best things are not really expensive, Donald.”
“I have an intrusive question to ask you, Mr. Trump,” Mack
asked. “I hope you do not find the question offensive.”
“What is that question, Mr. Stemple?”
“As you’ve probably heard, I work contractually, sometimes
undercover, as an agent for the Federal government.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“Have you made any irregular financial transactions abroad
involving foreigners having links to intelligence services or to
influential members of their own respective governments?
Trump frowned at Mack. “Why do you ask that?” he asked sharply.
“Working as an agent, we hear things, Mr. Trump. I’ve heard
rumors that you’ve been deeply involved in irregular financial
transactions that have links to Russian oligarchs who are
associated with the Russian President, Vladimir Putin.”
“There’s nothing to that rumor, Mr. Stemple. I have my main
financial dealings with banks in Germany. I’ve not been making
any bank deals with the Russians or with Putin.”
Mack continued. “I would advise you, Mr. Trump, not to enter
politics if you’ve made any questionable financial dealings.
That would be asking for a whole lot of trouble.”
“I’ll be okay, Mr. Stemple. I’m really popular, you know.”
“Popularity will not serve as a defense against a criminal
prosecution.”
Trump smiled smugly. “I’ll take my chances,” he said.
The men turned and watched Melania, Preston’s wife, Sheryl, and
Amber walking up to them. Mack looked at them with pleasure.
The women were lovely, each in their own individual way.
“Are you gentlemen finished talking about sex?” Sheryl asked.
“We are, dear,” Preston answered.
Mack asked, “Melania, imeli Preston je sprejem?”
Trump’s wife smiled. “Imam, gospod Stemple,” she replied.
“Ne pozabite, da imajo pogum, poročena s težko človek.
In moliti k Bogu.”
“Let’s talk American, here,” Trump snapped. To his wife he
said, “You know, Melania, how I don’t like it when you’re
talking that drivel language of yours. You should –“
Mack interrupted, “You didn’t understand what we said?”
Trump turned back at him. “No, I didn’t,” Trump said loudly.
There was a glint of anger in Trump’s eyes.
Mack looked firmly at Trump. “Why don’t you learn Slovenian?”
Mack asked. “To learn the native language of a foreign-born
wife is a very good way to more deeply bond with her.”
“I’m not interested in talking drivel, Stemple.”
“It would bring you and Melania closer.”
“You’re getting out of line Stemple by going into my personal
affairs.”
Preston intervened, “Mack is concerned about the happiness of
you two.”
Trump stopped and he smiled. “I’m happy that you’re all
concerned about me.”
A young aide, who had been standing by the door with Milo
Doubek, Trump’s bodyguard, came up the Trumps and whispered
something into Donald’s ear.
“I have to go the next reception,” said Trump abruptly.
The Callenders thanked the Trumps for coming. Mack and Amber
shook the Trumps’ hands and watched them leave, with the
Callenders escorting them, slowly going again through the
reception, shaking hands, saying their goodbyes.
Mack focused on Donald Trump’s brain pulse. It had the same
distinctive signature that Mack had heard before, but he sensed
a background buzz that he hadn’t heard before, a change in
synaptical quality. Was the man’s brain deteriorating? It was
likely, thought Mack, given the man’s age. Mack decided he’d
submit the pulse signature to the Prefect of the Star People.
It would not do well for America to have a Presidential
candidate whose mental decline may become imminent.
Amber spoke as they watched the Trumps depart, “Sheryl said, as
she led me away from you men, that Donald Trump hates it when a
woman speaks up. She was afraid that I would be snapping at Mr.
Trump.”
“She’s quite right.”
Amber turned and looked into Mack’s eyes. “Now you know,
darling, that I would have enjoyed joining in with the menfolk
to tell them like it is. I hate leaving them to their own
devices and misplaced sense of superiority.”
“Now hush, dear. You know that these men need all the vanity
that they can get.”
Amber laughed and they both watched the Trumps enter the
penthouse foyer and turned one more time to say goodbye to the
Callenders and the other assembled guests. Donald Trump was
handling it very well. He seemed to have a talent for politics.
Mack again looked into Amber’s eyes. She had enjoyed her date
with Mack. It had been a good time for the both of them. It
had finally reached the point of both of them speaking words
such as ‘darling’ and ‘dear’. Mack could imagine what Jade is
going to say about that. As the Callenders approached, it was
time to thank them for all that they’ve done for them. It was
now time to go.
*****************************************************