DIR Return Create A Forum - Home
---------------------------------------------------------
Love God Only
HTML https://lovegodonly.createaforum.com
---------------------------------------------------------
*****************************************************
DIR Return to: Arts
*****************************************************
#Post#: 27199--------------------------------------------------
An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:25 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Manhattan, New York City
October 2019
The wind was blustery and howled faintly when Mack suddenly
appeared within the trees and shrubs near the Hallett Nature
Sanctuary in Central Park in Manhattan. He had vectored in
unseen, well-screened by the rocks and bushes of the sanctuary.
Mentally extending his awareness outward, he didn’t sense the
faint gleaming of any faint telepathic touch upon his mind which
indicated a telepathic interest in him. Moments before, he had
been standing in the doorway in an alley in downtown Seattle,
out of the rain.
Mack waited for a moment, partially hidden in the foliage,
amidst the falling leaves driven by the wind, his mind reaching
further out, psionically, to about a quarter mile. He sensed no
immediate danger. Upon exiting his hidden area he quickly
mingling in with many people who, despite the wind, were walking
on the many sidewalks that could be found in the park. After
about an hour of walking in the park, pausing to look at the
birds and squirrels, he came to conclude that he hadn’t
attracted the telepathic interest of anyone, something he’d
expected.
He figured that he had risked mental detection coming into the
area. After all, he appeared within the radius of fourteen
blocks of Trump Tower, where the Secret Service had a number of
telepaths, called cowls, a hidden number of special agents who
protected the President. One of them could have been in the
park, or near enough to detect him. But apparently there wasn’t
a picket posted within the park.
New York City was a bad place for a cowl to keep watch. Keeping
track of the thousands of brain pulses of the people around
Trump Tower was something that was beyond the ability of most
telepaths, and there would be few of those. The cowls were few
compared to the normal people that surrounded them. The
arithmetic of this comforted Mack as he walked on. The surface
thoughts of many of the people around him were normal and many
were glad of their walk through the park despite the wind.
Those exceptional persons whose minds Mack couldn’t mentally
listen into, the blanks, behaved seemingly normal. Mack
remained guarded. Anyone of those people could be an aprator, a
non-telepath, a mentalist of another type as well. Some of
these people were pickets and could be hunting him. Mack
exercised his usual street craft, checking for surveillance in
the normal human methods.
At the end of an hour, Mack decided that he was in the clear,
and could proceed to do what he had originally planned, to go to
a fine Manhattan restaurant over near Lexington Avenue. The
police and cell phone traffic, monitored by his mind, in his
subsidiary consciousnesses, his AIs, didn’t disclose anything
unusual. Most of the government telepaths, the cowls, and the
anti-psi aprators who could echo sound for him and cast psi
suppression fields, were, undoubtedly active at and around Trump
Tower. The only telepathic noise was the usual area psi
suppression field, a very strong one around Trump Tower, but,
other than that, there was complete telepathic silence. Most
likely the cowls were listening for any telepathy adjacent to
their security area. It’s possible that some of them, if they
were outside of the psi suppression field, may have heard his
teleportation into Central Park, but would have lost track of
him in the thousands of other minds milling around in the park
and in the buildings that lined the streets of that park. Those
cowls and aprators would not be hunting him since they’d be
picketed on a Presidential guard detail. It would be doubtful
that there were any hunter-killer teams around Trump Tower.
Those were usually present around the governmental buildings in
Washington D.C. After Mack practiced what was considered the
textbook monitoring of his environment for surveillance both
human and psionic, he gradually, by a circuitous route, began to
walk towards Fifth Avenue and Sixty-Second Street.
As he walked on, he reflected that before his arrival to New
York, he recalled standing in an alley doorway of an old
building near Pike’s Market in Seattle, Washington. Things were
very different what was going on Seattle compared to New York.
In Seattle, it was about to rain and Mack had spent the day
there going through the book stores and several coffee shops
that he frequented. He had spent a good part of the day playing
Go, a challenging Oriental game, with one of the talented
players who lived there, and who frequented the same coffee
shops as Mack. Rather than having corn and clam chowder or some
other dinner at or near the Market, as was his usual custom on a
rainy day, he planned instead to dine in New York City. Four
days previously, he telephoned Restaurante Courbet making a
dinner reservation hoping there had been a cancellation, for
they were frequently booked up. To his great pleasure, he had
learned that they had had a single table available and Mack
booked it.
He didn’t regret his decision. Now he was in Manhattan and was
happy to be out of the nearly continuous rain and drizzle that
he’d experienced in the Pacific Northwest. He felt comfortable
in the dry, cool early evening that could be experienced in
Manhattan, in the midst of its many skyscrapers. It would get
colder as the shadows of the evening came on, but it wouldn’t
compare to the penetrating cold and damp of Seattle. In that,
Mack was well pleased.
Walking down East Sixty Second Street, going towards the East
River, Mack mentally reached out and sensed again the psi
suppression field that was around Trump Tower. There were no
changes in activity around that suppression field. Would Trump
be going anywhere this evening? Mack didn’t think so. As
President, Trump, nowadays very much aware of public skepticism
and hostility towards him, usually didn’t stir out of his tower
when in New York City. The President wouldn’t want to put up
with it. Trump would most likely dine at home.
As he walked on Sixty-Second Street, Mack paused and did some
window shopping. He was sure that he wasn’t being tailed, but
he sensed something unexpected. He sensed a smaller
psi-suppression field around East Fifty-Eighth Street and
Lexington Avenue, the area where Restaurante Courbet was
located. The suppression field, being smaller, was more of a
tactical or mobile kind of field. He wondered if he should go
on or cancel his dinner reservation. He had to consider his
next move. Was it possible that the President was dining out
this evening?
Trump, a late evening diner, generally didn’t dine out this
early in the evening. It was only around 5 pm and many in the
city, especially the city’s most prominent citizens and
officials, preferred dining out much later, taking in even later
in the evening the many social events, some of them highly
exclusive. Mack paused and wondered. He could vector out to
another location. He could eat at a fine restaurant in Boston,
or maybe up in Maine. He mused as looked at the women’s
fashions on display in the window. Should he cancel his
reservation and vector out? To be prudent, it would be
something that he should do. Mack sighed and decided to
continue on. Perhaps the security was for someone else and may
not pose a problem. Mack continued walking until he came to
Lexington Avenue and turned South.
It felt unusual walking towards a psi-suppression field. If the
suppression field that was put in place for an American
President and Vice President, Mack’s people, the Star People,
had standing instructions to avoid, if possible, those fields.
Most psionics avoided them anyway because many didn’t like the
loss of their mental powers while under those fields. Some
psionics, like Mack, didn’t mind entering psi suppression. They
were prepared for anything that came their way. Also, some of
the smaller psi suppression fields were meant for lesser
government officials since these officials didn’t have the
elaborate anti-psi hunter/killer teams that sometimes
accompanied Presidential and Vice Presidential protection.
The Star People frown on their people entering the lesser
psi-suppression fields but that didn’t necessarily mean they
were forbidden to do so. They simply didn’t advise it. As he
walked closer to Sixty-Second Street, Mack confirmed that the
suppression field was small, especially for a tactical field,
much smaller than the static one around Trump Tower. The size
of the field was important. It usually indicated a lesser
government official. If the suppression field was protecting
the Vice President, Mack would be needing to avoid the
restaurant. If it involved a cabinet official, it was still
possible he might be able to dine at the restaurant. What he
would need to do is to observe the outside security detail
guarding the official. Mack knew by sight a number of the cowls
and aprators. If he recognized, by its cowls and aprators, that
the security detail was guarding a lesser government official,
Mack reasoned, he would be able to enter the restaurant.
He walked on and felt a chill from the wind blowing in from the
East River. When he reached East Fifty Eighth Street, he looked
to his left on the street and observed the aggregate of suited,
watchful security men and women, standing with some city police
officers near the old brownstone where the restaurant was
located. As Mack stood at the traffic light, he caught a
glimpse of a bald-headed man outside in the wind, a man that
Mack recognized. It was Harold Wilkinson, an aprator who was
well-known by the Star People for projecting strong anti-psi
suppression fields. Mack knew that he served with the
Department of State under Michael Pompeo. That meant that the
security detail was not Secret Service but the DSS, the
Diplomatic Security Service, a security team which lacked the
anti-psi hunter/killer teams. Mack smiled faintly at that
thought and decided to keep his dinner reservation and continued
walking towards the restaurant.
As he walked up to the stoop to the restaurant, he was pleased
that Harold Wilkinson had not seen him, but was looking in the
opposite direction while talking to several local uniformed
policemen. At that point, Mack was challenged by the security
team. It was the usual questions: Did you have a reservation
for eating here? Are you carrying any weapons? After he had
stopped and answered their questions, he was permitted to go up
the steps and enter into the restaurant.
Mack reflected on Harold Wilkinson. The man seemed harassed and
most likely was having trouble with one of his bosses. This sad
fact was far too common at the present time, especially in the
upper echelons of government. This problem was afflicting many
talented government professionals, because of the mediocrity of
the Trump Administration. They had to deal with a lot of
stupidity from a host of unqualified political appointees.
Inside, he was challenged again by the special agents. At the
Hostess’ station, they checked his ID, confirmed his dinner
reservation, and scanned him with a hand-held metal detector.
After that Mack went and took a seat in the waiting area. He
chose his seat with care. It was closest to the entrance to the
main dining area and furthest away from the special agents of
the DSS. There he waited.
A gray-haired matronly woman and her husband, sitting next to
him, were looking sharply at him. Perhaps they disapproved of
his dark navy blue Pea Jacket and light gray turtleneck sweater
which he wore underneath his coat. The dress code for the
restaurant made it mandatory for men to be attired in a suit, or
a sport coat and necktie for dining. Perhaps the woman didn’t
realize that turtlenecks were permitted in lieu of a necktie.
Despite their annoyance, Mack asked them whom the special agents
were guarding. Perhaps he was to learn that Secretary Pompeo
was entertaining a foreign diplomat in one of the dining rooms
upstairs. He was disappointed to learn that they didn’t know.
The woman, in particular, was annoyed at the agents’ presence.
She resented having to show them her identification. She had
called them jackasses.
As he waiting, he could hear, faintly another motorcade arrive
in front of the building. Shortly after that, another group of
special agents, both men and women burst into the waiting room.
These men Mack immediately recognized as part of the
Presidential Secret Service detail. This was bad because it
meant that Mack now risked having an unauthorized meeting with
Trump. He leaned back in his chair trying to shield his
presence by hiding behind the elderly couple he was sitting next
to. He glanced briefly as President Trump and his wife,
Melania, and Rudy Giuliani, strode into the waiting room and
headed for the stairs that led up to the exclusive second floor
dining rooms. President Trump and his wife had the usual aloof
arrogance, not condescending to look either right or left at the
assembled people. Rudy Giuliani was very different. He looked
around the waiting room with curious eyes. He had a lot of
friends in Manhattan and was known for his open friendliness. A
former New York City politician, Rudy Giuliani could expect to
see people he would know at a deluxe restaurant such as this.
Mack sensed Giuliani’s eyes lit upon him briefly for a moment as
he followed Trump and Melania for the stairs. There seemed to
be no look of recognition on Giuliani’s face as their eyes met.
Perhaps Mack hadn’t been seen.
It would be doubtful that his presence would not escape the
notice of the Secret Service personnel. One of them already had
a laptop out and was entering names found on the restaurant’s
reservations list. Undoubtedly, this restaurant visit was
unplanned. Most likely, Trump abruptly decided upon it and now
the Secret Service agents were scrambling to check everyone in
the day’s current reservation list with their own records to see
if anyone listed as a security risk to the President. It was a
bad way to do security, and for a government official such as
Trump, to disable the effectiveness of his very own security
team by a lack of proper planning.
Pierre, a quiet, efficient maitre d’, that Mack had known for
years, came up to him. “We have your table ready for you,
Mack.”
Mack answered his greeting and followed him to a small table
along the wall. Mack sat down at Pierre’s bidding and a hostess
brought him a glass of water and a menu.
Mack began to look through the menu and faced the usual,
delightful dilemma of what to have. He was originally thinking
about having a lobster salad to be followed by a main dish such
as sweetbreads with Madeira, topped off with thinly sliced
shallots, and with a brown sauce over onions and carrots. At
least that’s what he originally thought about eating, but, yet
again, other menu items now also looking inviting. He hadn’t
had for a while the French-Canadian pork and spice pie known as
Tourtiere, which he favored. Then there was also Blanquette de
Veau, which is veal in a wine and cream sauce, served with
mushrooms, onions, garlic and carrots. There were also several
new items on the menu.
Mack sensed someone coming up to him. It was a Secret Service
man with the identification badge around his neck. “Are you Mr.
Adrian Stemple?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Adam Tindall of the Secret Service.” The two men shook
hands. Tindall continued, “The President invites you to dine
with him and his dinner party.”
That surprised Mack given how he left the President very angry
with him at their last meeting at Mar a Lago. This was out of
character in respect to this President. What would have made
the President change his mind? It would be best to avoid any
further trouble. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tindall. Given my schedule,
please tell the President that I must respectfully decline the
honor.”
Tindall’s face showed his disappointment. “Very well, Mr.
Stemple; have a good evening.”
“Thank you.”
Mack watched the man’s back as he left the dining room. Then
Mack began to look at the menu again, only to be interrupted by
his friend, Pierre, the maître d’. “Was that the Secret Service
questioning you?” Pierre knew that Mack wouldn’t be annoyed by
the question. Both men went back a long time.
“It certainly was, Pierre. The President was asking me to dine
with him. I declined.”
Pierre’s face beamed. “That invitation sounds like a very great
honor,” he said.
“It may be, Pierre, but I think that, nowadays, dinners with
Trump are not going to be pleasant affairs. He’s a very
impatient, contrary man in all his ways.”
Pierre frowned. “That’s too bad, Mack.”
Another steward came up to him, a perky blond with large
expressive eyes. “Have you decided yet on your menu, sir?” She
asked.
“I’m still looking, ma’am. I think it will be several minutes
longer.” Pierre then apologized for the interruption and they
both left his table.
#Post#: 27200--------------------------------------------------
Re: An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:28 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Mack looked again at the menu. He contemplated the lobster
salad. That was a favorite of his. He considered that he could
have fish instead of veal or sweetbreads. He could have
Virginia crab cakes over wild rice or corn-meal fried oysters
with the restaurant’s subtle mustard sauce. As one of the
specials, he could also have broiled, marinated scallops in
vermouth. That sounded good as well.
Another Secret Service man came to his table. The
identification badge said he was Charles Price. “I’m sorry to
interrupt you, Mr. Stemple. The President is again requesting
your presence at his dinner party. He would appreciate it if
you could accept his invitation. He says that you’ll be
interested to know that in 2020 he’ll be charging the high
donors to his upcoming Presidential campaign 60,000 dollars each
for the privilege of dining at his table.”
Mack sighed. “I’m sorry Mr. Price. As I’ve already told Mr.
Tindall, given my schedule, I must respectfully decline the
honor. Please give the President my regards.”
The Secret Service man’s face, likewise, showed disappointment
at this answer, and apologizing for the interruption, he turned
and left the dining room.
Mack looked down again at his menu. As he was looking at the
menu, he heard the sound of footsteps coming to his table. Not
again, he thought. Looking up, he saw that it was one of the
Secret Service supervisors that he knew by sight, Michael
Collins. He knew Collins, having met him, briefly, at Mar a
Lago. Secretly, Collins was an aprator, one of Trump’s best
anti-psi security men. It was probably galling to him that he
had to ask a psionic to attend an unauthorized meeting with the
President, a man he was to protect. It was the rule that
psionics had to get special permission to meet with the
President of the United States.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Stemple,” Collins began.
“No problem, Mr. Collins. As I’ve told Mr. Price and Mr.
Tindall, given my schedule, I must respectfully decline the
honor of the President’s dinner invitation.”
“Mr. Giuliani is the one originally requesting your presence.
He wants to talk about what he calls ‘the old days’ and your
activities in helping to take down part of the Mafia. The
President assures you that the dinner will not last inordinately
long.”
It was easy to see from Collins’ face that he didn’t want to
make this request, but he was in a difficult spot. Both knew
that Mack, a psionic known by the American anti-psi services
wasn’t preauthorized to be in the presence of the President. It
broke down all the security protocols between the AAP, the
American Anti-Psi Program and the Star People, which required
prior clearance to any meeting with the President. It would get
him in trouble as well as Collins. But it looked like it
couldn’t be avoided if the President insisted upon it.
“I’m curious, Mr. Collins.” Mack asked. “Why hasn’t Trump
decided to dine-in at Trump Tower tonight? I understand that he
has on his staff at Trump Tower, or on call, several very decent
gourmet chefs.”
“He decided, after first declining it several weeks ago, to dine
with the Vice President and his wife this evening. He’s also
brought the First Lady and Mr. Giuliani. They’re dining with
Vice President and his wife.”
Mack frowned at that. “I thought that Secretary of State Pompeo
was here and that Harold Wilkinson and the security people I
originally met outside were with the Diplomatic Security
Service.”
“You’re wrong, Mack. The security people that you greeted
outside are Secret Service, detailed to guard the Vice President
and his wife.”
That surprised Mack though he was careful not to show it. He
had blundered by improperly identifying the security team
screening Restaurante Courbet. Mack frowned and told Collins,
“I’m sorry to hear that. I saw Harold Wilkinson outside. I
have long understood that he’s detailed to the Diplomatic
Security Service.”
“He was reassigned to the Secret Service about a month ago.”
That was annoying. It served Mack right for making an
assumption about somebody he knew, and this made him miss the
fact that he misidentified the security detail guarding a
government official. The government sometimes changed the
service assignments of their precious anti-psi security agents.
“Why would the President want to see me anyway, Mr. Collins?”
asked Mack. “I caused him a lot of aggravation last year at Mar
a Lago.”
“I suppose he’s happy about how you eliminated the potential
scandal involving Mr. Doubek. The blowback from that scandal
proved minimal. I think that he still may be interested in
hiring you.”
Mack was skeptical. “It’s difficult to imagine that.”
The Secret Service man, Mr. Tindall returned with another man.
Mr. Tindall, with a harassed look on his face, introduced the
man as Arthur Grayson, a special aide to the President.
Grayson pleaded with him, “We request that you accept the honor
and have dinner with Trump. The President has said to me that
he offers to pay for your dinner and that there’s no limit to
what you can order off the menu and at the bar.” Grayson’s
appeal was almost plaintive. “If we do not bring you upstairs,
we may never stop hearing about it for a long time.”
Mack thought about it for a moment and then asked, “No limit on
the bar, eh?”
“That’s right,” said Grayson.
“So if I took home an unopened bottle of whisky with me, he
wouldn’t object?”
“That’s right, Mr. Stemple. Trump likes to show off his
wealth.”
Mack turned in his chair and waved to Pierre, the maître d’ who
was silently standing in the back of the dining room and who had
been watching them. When Pierre came up to the table, Mack
asked, “The President wants me to dine with him. If I chose to
dine with the President, will you be able to quickly fill this
reserved table? I don’t want to be charged for it.”
“Sacre bleu! Yes, Mack,” Pierre cheerfully exclaimed. “We have
a walk-in couple waiting for a cancellation that could
immediately fill this table. We’ll also cancel your reservation
and notate that you went into the Presidential dinner party.”
“I hope that won’t be held against me.”
“It won’t Mack.”
“I wanted to make sure.” Mack smiled inwardly. He had to say
the following despite the presence of the Secret Service.
“Please be sure to advise the Shift Manager to charge and
receive payment from the President before the President leaves
the restaurant. He has an unfortunate habit of not paying his
bills.”
“That’s okay, Mack. People in Manhattan are fully aware of
Donald Trump and his reputation.”
Mack thanked Pierre and got up from the table. Looking at Mr.
Grayson and the Secret Service men he solemnly intoned, “Take me
to your leader.” He was faintly amused that Mr. Grayson’s face
showed immediate relief.
#Post#: 27201--------------------------------------------------
Re: An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:36 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Mack followed the Secret Service agents out of the main dining
room into the corridor. They had Mack empty his pockets,
putting various items onto a small table in the hallway. They
quickly scanned him again with a hand-held metal detector. The
non-anti-psi agents were puzzled that he didn’t have a cell
phone and asked him about it. When Mack told them that he
couldn’t afford it, they looked at him with disbelief, as they
had discovered him within one of New York City’s finest and most
expensive five-star restaurants. After giving him his pocket
litter back, they led him up the steps to the second floor.
Mack stopped briefly in the corridor and looked at a brass
memorial plaque posted on the wall outside of the first private
dining room. It said: IN MEMORY OF OUR GOOD FRIEND, HUGO
RUSTERMANN, AN AMERICAN PATRIOT WHOSE COVERT ACTIONS IN THE
GREAT WAR AS AN AGENT OF THE UNITED STATES MILITARY INTELLIGENCE
DIVISION, SAVED HUNDREDS OF LIVES AND HELPED TO END THE GREAT
WAR IN THE ARMISTICE OF NOVEMBER 1918, THIS PLAQUE IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. M. VUKCIC, N. VUKCIC, E. STAHL S.
HARWOOD APRIL 4, 1927. Next to the plaque, in a display case
set in the wall was an oversized wheeled dining chair which had
its own plaque set into its front rail or apron. It said: THIS
PLAQUE IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED IN MEMORY OF OUR GOOD FRIEND
AND FELLOW GOURMET N.W. FROM F.C. RESTAURANTE COURBET OCTOBER
27, 1975.
“He must have been a big man who occupied that chair,” said
Collins softly.
“He was that in many ways, I agree,” replied Mack.
Collins led Mack down the corridor to the second, larger dining
room and opened the door for Mack. As Mack entered the room, he
was impressed by the room, with its plush carpeting, redwood
paneled walls and graceful crystal chandeliers. He saw
President Trump talking with Vice-President Pence and his
lawyer, Rudi Giuliani. They were standing next to a large,
round mahogany dining table that had six ornate place settings.
From what Mack could hear, Trump was doing all of the talking,
with Pence and Giuliani silently listening or nodding in
agreement. The President was talking primarily about himself
about how he could have been a professional golf player if
things had been different. Trump was in his element, declaiming
that everyone knew that he was one of the greatest golf players
that had ever lived. Looking over towards the other side of the
room, Mack could see that Melania Trump was in a quieter
conversation with Karen Pence, the Vice-President’s wife. Mack
smiled inwardly about the fuss involved getting him here. None
of the people seemed to have noticed his entrance.
Mack looked back and observed that the Secret Service hadn’t
followed him into the room which was a serious violation of
security protocol involving psionics. In order to provide
proper security for the President against psionics, there was
always supposed to be security personnel between him and around
him within the presence of the President. Frowning at Collins,
who, knowing what he was thinking, Mack could see him silently
shake his head. Collins knew that none of this was right, but
the President had the final say in setting the protocol of his
own security. Mack nodded at him and turned. At that moment,
Rudy Guiliani recognized him.
“Hello, Mr. Stemple,” Rudy Giuliani exclaimed. “I thought I
recognized you down in the waiting room.” He briskly stepped
forward and shook Mack’s hand. The President and Vice
President silently followed behind him. To the President,
Giuliani said, “Isn’t this man remarkable? He helped us to
bring down the leadership of several Mafia crime families.”
Mack shook hands with President Trump, who was frowning, most
likely peeved that he was suddenly no longer the center of
attention. Mack was then introduced to Vice-President Michael
Pence and his wife, Karen, who, with Melania, had silently come
up to greet him as well . They shook his hand and they had,
most likely, that bewildered and perhaps annoyed look of having
to greet yet another Trump and Giuliani acquaintance. Lastly,
Mack shook hands with Melania Trump. “Topio pozdravljeni,
Melania,” Mack said to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he
could see that Trump’s frown deepened, and the eyes that
indicated annoyance. Trump was annoyed by Slovenian speech, and
of any language and conversation that he couldn’t take part of.
Melania, seeing that annoyance, didn’t reply.
Mack then turned his gaze onto the President. He could see that
the President was tired and his eyes still had a trace of cold
anger faintly behind them. Those eyes were probably always
angry now. His screaming rages within the White House for the
last three years were well-known and much commented upon. The
impeachment proceedings in the House of Representatives, which
was now slowly deposing witnesses, was causing him to rage
virtually every day. Thinking of the anxiety of Mr. Grayson, it
was a grim job, these days, to be an aide to the President of
the United States.
Looking at Vice-President Pence, he could see that his eyes were
not much different. Though they lacked the anger, Pence had the
same cold, sharp eyes that he’d always been known for. In
Stafford’s Tavern in downtown Seattle, the Vice-President had
been described by one local wit as a ‘finely tooled old ferret
face’ which noted the man’s predatory eyes. The tavern wit
failed to take into account the Vice-President’s other eyes, the
submissive dog-like eyes of loyalty that he has also shown to
the President. Other tavern wits had noticed those other eyes
and had stated that Pence had that other look, the groveling
looking upon Trump as if Trump was ‘the second coming of
Christ’. That was an overstatement as well.
Mack came out of his thoughts. “Is it true, Mr. President, from
what your aide had said to me,” Mack asked, “that you’re buying
my dinner?”
Trump smiled, amused by the question. “Yes Mr. Stemple. I’m
doing that for you and for everyone here. I’m celebrating my
upcoming victory over Congress.”
Mack frowned at that. “The impeachment proceedings are just
getting started, Mr. President, and that doesn’t seem to be
anything worth celebrating. You could be impeached for that
business in Ukraine.”
Trump grinned. “The impeachment means nothing to me and its
proceedings are nonsense, Mr. Stemple,” he declared. “As soon
as the House sends its impeachment to the Senate, they’ll
exonerate me and then I’ll have both those Houses in my pocket,
able to do what I want. I’m here celebrating that I’m the
smartest, wealthiest, most powerful man in America. Now that’s
a cause for celebration!” Trump laughed. “Trump has already
demonstrated that Trump knows more than the economists,
constitutional scholars and lawyers, and the military and
diplomatic experts combined. People should be grateful that
Trump has sacrificed so much in time and in his wealth becoming
President of the United States.”
“Amen,” said Vice-President Pence.
“When I first arrived here, Mr. President,” Mack continued, “I
didn’t see the Presidential Secret Service detail out in front.”
“That’s because I decided, at the last moment, to come here.”
President Trump grinned. “Melania and I were going to have
steaks at Trump Tower but we remembered Vice-President Pence was
dining here this evening and that he had invited us several
weeks ago.”
“So you took up the invitation at the last moment.”
“We did.”
Mack scrutinized the Pences, noting their deadpan faces.
Doubtlessly, the Pences had planned for a quiet, intimate dinner
together until the President had surprised them by his last
moment acceptance of their dinner invitation. Most likely other
diners were also surprised as well. It was hard to book a
reservation at Restaurante Courbet. Mack had to ask an obvious
question, “This dining room probably had been reserved for a
dinner party several weeks ago. How could you have gotten the
reservations and this dining room for the Pences, Mr. Giuliani,
Mrs. Trump and yourself?”
“I didn’t.” Trump laughed. “The restaurant had to scramble to
get it. That’s one of the privileges of great honor and power.
Others must bend and give way to it. It doesn’t matter that
I’ve caused another business dinner party to get booted from
this building because I came tonight. That’s the power of great
men, and such power has to be demonstrated.”
“I suppose that such a demonstration has improved your
appetite.”
“Great men have large appetites. I’m sure you understand that.”
Trump led him to a gracious long, narrow hors d’oeuvre table
along the wall. “Help yourself, Mr. Stemple.”
Mack thanked the President and looked at the appetizer table and
marveled that it had crabmeat canapes, stuffed anchovy
mushrooms, a selection of sliced fruit and cheeses, and
delicately seasoned foie gras to put onto small buttered, toast
squares. There was also a selection of wines already poured
into fluted wine glasses. He took up a small plate and fork and
placed several crabmeat canapes, stuffed anchovy mushrooms and
several slices of pineapple and various cheeses. He picked up a
small glass of Pinot Grigio. He stood and watched as Trump
continued boasting about his achievements to the assembled
dinner party, who, while listening, eventually came over to the
table and selected their own hors d’oeuvres.
Trump’s boasting was greeted with silent nods or with the
occasional ‘yes’ from Giuliani and ‘amen’ from Pence.
Eventually, Trump paused in his boasting and, took up a plate
and helped himself with the appetizers. His listeners watched
in silence as he, eagerly, piled the hors d’oeuvres onto his
plate and selected a fluted glass of champagne. Trump was
publically known to be a teetotaler because of the death of his
older brother, Fred Junior, who died an alcoholic. But as with
many things, he wasn’t entirely what he declared himself to be.
He wasn’t entirely teetotal. He drank alcohol occasionally, and
as far as Mack knew, in temperate amounts.
Mack watched as the President gladly began eating the hors
d’oeuvres. The more that he ate of them, the more quickly he
would be eating, an indication of why he was obese. His
watchers were glad for the respite. At least for the moment,
Trump was no longer boasting about himself. But it was not to
last. As soon as Trump’s plate was empty and his glass of
champagne was downed, he resumed his boasting, which continued
about his prowess in golf, and how he could have been a
professional player.
What were Trump’s issues with cognition nowadays? Mack
wondered. The President was getting older and the stress was
wearing heavily upon him. By common accounts, the President’s
thinking was getting more muddled, his words more frequently
mispronounced or slurred. After putting the President under a
mind-lock back in 2016, on behalf of the American anti-psi
services to protect their secrets, Mack’s mind lock had an
important effect. It enabled the President, only within Mack’s
presence, to be more lucid, to speak and think has he used to be
back in the early 1980s. Now that Mack was present, Trump’s
listeners will soon notice the eventual change in his lucidity.
Mack half-listened to that conversation, or rather, Trump’s
rarely interrupted proclamation of his skills. When Mack had
finished his appetizers and wine, he set the plate and glass
down onto the table where it was quickly taken up by one of the
few attending stewards. As he went over to the bar, he sensed
Trump’s boasting seem to fall off. Perhaps the President
noticed that Mack had walked away from the President’s
declamation of supremacy. He nodded to the bartender and looked
at the bottles locked up in the mahogany cabinet behind the
restaurant’s fine long mahogany bar.
Looking back at the others in the Presidential party, he
observed that Trump had followed him. He asked the President,
“Your aide, Arthur Grayson, told me that you told him that I
could order any bottle from the bar, and that I could take the
unopened bottle home with me.”
When Trump confirmed that Mack heard the offer correctly, Mack
thanked him, and turning to the bartender, requested a bottle of
Glenfiddich 30-year-old single malt Scotch whisky. Mack
instructed the bartender that he wanted it to remain unopened
and kept in its original packing display cylinder. He
instructed that he wanted the cylinder to be wrapped in paper,
and put into one of the restaurant’s fine to-go canvas satchels
reserved for the finest bottles of alcohol for carry-out. He
wouldn’t drink any of it here.
Looking at Trump and sensing the President’s amusement at Mack’s
selection of whisky and Mack’s request that it be packed away to
be carried out, Mack smiled inwardly. Did the President know
how much this whisky cost? Perhaps it didn’t matter. Trump was
making the display of his wealth and power. Perhaps this was
one of the costs of that vanity. As Mack looked into the
President’s eyes, he saw that Trump continued to look at him
with amusement. This didn’t seem right given their last,
unhappy meeting at Mar a Lago. Perhaps this meeting had more to
do with that than with the dinner itself.
When a steward, unobtrusively, entered the room and nodded at
Trump, the President invited his guests to sit down at the
large, round mahogany dinner table that dominated the dining
room. Trump sat at the table with his back towards the wall.
Melania was sitting to his left and Vice President Pence to his
right. To the left of Melania was Rudy Giuliani and, on the
opposite side of the table, to the right of the Vice-President,
was Pence’s wife, Karen. Mack, who wasn’t accompanied by
anyone, sat directly opposite of the President, between Karen
Pence and Rudy Giuliani. Given the seating arrangement, Mack
was sitting farthest from the President, indicating that his
status was the lowest of all.
The senior restaurant steward gave all the diners a menu and
another steward started to fill the water glasses. President
Trump ordered a seltzer and a diet coke. The Vice President
ordered a near beer and the women ordered a bottle of wine.
Giuliani, who was well-known to favor scotch and cigars, ordered
a tall glass of scotch. Mack also ordered a tall glass of
scotch over ice and a diet coke.
Mack looked at the menu. It was the same as what he had looked
at downstairs in the main dining room of the restaurant. Given
that Sundays through Tuesdays, the restaurant, offered its
so-called ‘executive’ menu, which consisted of a plainer fair
than what was offered on Wednesdays through Saturdays. Because
of this, Mack wouldn’t be able to order a costly, multi-course
gourmet meal from the restaurant’s more exclusive ‘premium’ menu
and enjoy a wonderful evening with the palate, as well as
extensively soak the President’s wallet. It was a pity, though.
Restaurante Courbet was renowned for its fine haut cuisine and
Mack remembered the selections that could be had for the making
of an exquisite multi-course dinner. He looked up at Trump
intently studying his menu. Mack smiled inwardly. He was,
already, soaking the man for a nine-hundred dollar bottle of
whisky. He looked at the others in the dinner party. He
doubted that any of them would be that extravagant.
The sommelier came to the table. Apparently, he had already
spoken with the Presidential party. He presented a wine bottle
to Melania Trump and then to Karen Pence, displaying the bottle
of wine they had ordered. Mack could see that it was Chateau
Leoville Barton St.-Julien, an excellent, expensive wine. The
sommelier, standing at Melania Trump’s side, peeled back the
foil and popped the cork. He handed Melania the cork for her to
sniff, to see that the wine was acceptable. She nodded yes.
The sommelier looked at Karen Pence who nodded as well,
accepting Melania’s decision. The sommelier, after pouring the
wine into their glasses, left the bottle on the table and
quietly departed.
As the sommelier departed, the bar steward came and distributed
the drinks around the table. Mack was pleased to see that the
tall glass of scotch he received only had a small amount of ice.
Only a small splash of water was needed to enhance its taste.
Vice President Pence, who alone ordered beer, received a bottle
of O’Douls a non-alcoholic beer. It was known that Pence liked
O’Douls with pizza. Giuliani ordered a tall glass of scotch
without ice. Drinking it neat, Rudy Giuliani was risking
getting drunk. But what worldly man wouldn’t seek to get drunk
if given the chance to drink premium whisky? Both Mack and Rudy
were having Ballantine’s 21-year old blended scotch, a brand
that was well-known for its smoky mellow, rich notes of oak wood
and nuts, with after notes of oranges, tangerines, cinnamon and
cloves. Except for the women who ordered a fine wine to go with
their meal, the men had ordered drinks that would ruin the
palate of any passionate gourmet.
After a short time, when the Presidential party had looked at
the menus, when the steward came to the table, as Mack
anticipated, everyone requested the lobster bisque soup, a
famous Restaurante Courbet prime specialty. For the salads, the
President ordered a wedge salad with Roquefort dressing, one of
the few vegetables that he eats. The ladies each ordered a sour
cream and vinegar cucumber salad without the greens. Vice
President Pence, Rudy Giuliani, and Mack, ordered the usual
dinner salad with either Italian or vinegar and oil dressing on
the side. Mack had decided not to order the cherished lobster
salad. He was going to have the lobster bisque soup.
For the main course, Melania Trump and Karen Pence each ordered
the crab-stuffed avocado salad with raspberry vinaigrette with a
small side dish of fried calamari with garlic lemon sauce.
President Trump ordered a New York strip steak well-done with
garlic mashed potatoes and, to his reluctance, a vegetable
medley given that he didn’t like most vegetables. He also let
the steward know that he wanted some ketchup so that he could
put it on his steak. The steward, always in good form in
keeping with a five-star restaurant, managed to keep from
flinching at such a strange request, and duly punched it into
his menu tablet. Vice President Pence ordered a steak as well,
a filet mignon, but he requested it medium rare with garlic
mashed potatoes with asparagus as his vegetable. Rudy Giuliani
ordered the corn-meal fried oysters with mustard sauce, beans
and rice, and a side dish of a sweet dill pickled cucumber onion
salad. Mack, knowing he’d be drinking the Ballantine 21-year
old blended scotch whisky throughout the dinner, ordered a large
dish of smoked deboned duck with caramelized apricots, with a
side dish of brown rice and shallots over asparagus.
Looking at the President, he could see Trump watching him in
amusement. “I can tell you’ve eaten here before,” the President
said.
“Yes, indeed.” Mack replied. “As we both have when we’ve had
lunch together here in the 1980s. I’ve struggled much in my
poverty, to get from the fast food to the slow food.”
#Post#: 27202--------------------------------------------------
Re: An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:39 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
“As if you are really poor.” chortled Giuliani. “Though you’re
supposedly poor, you’ve lived in the black economy like many
operators for years, and you’re really an operator! Your wealth
may not be large but, I’m sure, it’s very well hidden away.”
Giuliani’s smile had a lot of warmth in it. The former district
attorney continued, “I remember you working with us in the 1990s
against the Mafia. I heard that the FBI was paying you a
pittance on a contract basis. I later hear from the ADIC of New
York City the common, wild stories about you. Supposedly, years
before, you had infiltrated drug houses on the West Coast
looting them of their cash and guns. With your intelligence and
foreign connections, I suppose you’ve quietly circulated and
exchanged those stacks of old bills for new ones.”
“I can’t be held responsible for those old stories,” said Mack
apologetically. “Funds and firearms seized by me always go to
the FBI.”
Trump shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve always represented
yourself as poor in all of our prior meetings, and yet you’re
here in a five-star restaurant where all the menu items don’t
even have the prices listed,” Trump frowned. “If one has to ask
for the prices in this kind of restaurant, one shouldn’t even be
here.”
Mack replied unctuously, “Mr. President, though my boodle may
not as big as yours, I’ve scrounged and saved the stash to be
here.” And he smiled as he said it.
Giuliani laughed. “He won’t tell us, Mr. President, about his
finances, or even how he gets around. He may still be hunted by
some organized crime figures.”
“Most of them are dead,” replied Mack.
Trump looked at Mack. “I can understand why you’d want to keep
your finances secret. I do the same though the fake media says
a lot about it. I understand that Vladimir Putin had warned the
Russian Mafia not to hunt you anymore,” the President said.
“I didn’t know about that.” Mack responded. Actually, he knew.
The Star People, through its emissaries, had given a stark
choice to Putin, who had many links to Russian organized crime
figures, to either have them stop hunting Mack Stemple or
possibly die himself. Putin did the intelligent thing. He
chose to stop the hunt, warning the Russian oligarchs that if
they didn’t stop the hunt, that he would stop the hunt for them.
They did so. At that point the conversation between the
President and Pence and Giuliani turned to other matters and
Mack reverted back to silence, occasionally sipping his whisky.
Mack reflected on how things had changed since last year when he
had met the President at Mar a Lago. Since then, Trump had
managed to consolidate his control over the White House staff
and the Department of Justice. Given the general indifference
that the Trump Administration had for American security, the
Archon Directorate had further determined that more mind locks
were needed to ensure that psionic and anti-psi security
remained hidden within the United States. A total of
thirty-eight more mind locks were put into place in the White
House, Department of Justice, Homeland Security, and several
other departments. Mack didn’t have anything to do with these.
They were put into place by his friend, Warwick Cota, under the
protocol set by the Archon Directorate. It was strange, Mack
reflected, on how American anti-psi security had become
dependent upon the goodwill of the Star People. But it had not
been entirely goodwill. The Star People, as well as the Archon
Directorate had seen the need of both psionics and anti-psionics
remaining clandestine. It was a common concern that some among
many who accidently knew about the existence of psionics would
want a general knowledge of it being made available to the
public. It would lead to massive social changes.
The President brought Mack up out of his thoughts. “Have you
considered what greatness is, Mack?” Trump asked, his eyes
reflecting a merry pride.
“I have, and we’ve had this conversation before, Mr. President.”
“Well tell me, Mr. Stemple.”
“Greatness is a generalized term of approval of something or
someone. It can refer to magnitude, degree or effectiveness in
respect to something. It can refer to superiority of character
and quality, a pre-eminence among certain persons.”
“What kind of man do you specifically think is the great man?”
Mack’s answer was immediate. “I think that the great man is the
virtuous man.”
Trump made a face and shook his head, “That’s the answer you’ve
given me before. You can only give me idiotic religious and
moralistic answers.”
Mack smiled faintly, “Indeed. You didn’t like the answers I
gave in our prior conversations.” It was evident, at this point
that the President’s full mental lucidity had returned.
Trump frowned at that. “The answer you’re giving me is
childish,” the President said. “What men really want is what
men know, that the great man is the man of power, not bound by
religion or morality.”
Mack glanced at Michael Pence sitting next to the President.
The Vice President’s eyes had flashed his surprise at Trump’s
words. Pence looked at Mack, his eyes giving him a searching
glance. Pence had now become very interested in the President’s
sudden lucidity. Mack was aware that Pence was already
well-aware of the President’s cold indifference to any
understanding of right and wrong.
The conversation was interrupted. The soup had arrived.
#Post#: 27203--------------------------------------------------
Re: An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:46 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The soup had been brought quickly, thought Mack. The restaurant
staff didn’t want to keep the Presidential party waiting. Trump
and his guests watched silently as the stewards quickly set
before each of them a small plate with a variety of crackers,
and the dark ceramic bowls of the hot, lobster bisque soup. The
light pink chunks of lobster in the reddish, creamy soup, with
the light hint of garlic pleased Mack. As the stewards
departed, everyone began to eat.
Everyone ate silently except for the President who noisily
slurped his soup with relish, quite unconscious of the fact that
he was making a spectacle of himself. Mack didn’t mind the
President in this. It had been his experience that if he was
sitting far enough away from boorish diners, he sometimes found
them entertaining. Unlike his fellow diners who ate their
crackers apart from their soup, Mack quietly broke up some of
his crackers, putting them into his bowl before eating,
something that he liked doing with rich, creamy soups. Looking
at his fellow diners and thinking how they contrasted with the
working people found in downtown Seattle, Mack wondered if he
should have remained there despite the fog and the rain, having
his favorite corn and clam chowder at Pike’s Market.
At a certain point, Trump looked up from his soup. The
President looked with satisfaction at all of guests until his
eyes eventually settling on Mack. He frowned and then asked
Mack, “So you’ve had some contact with the Genovese Family?”
“I have, Mr. President.”
“I’ve met Fat Tony Salerno, back in the day. He was a real
stand up guy.”
“I suppose so.” Mack replied, who quietly regarded it as dubious
that the President had actually met the man. “He really liked
his cigars.” Mack smiled as he said this because smoking,
especially cigar smoking, was something that annoyed Trump.
“Indeed,” agreed the President ignoring the reference to his
private peeve towards smoking. “I’ve heard that he knew the
real estate development and construction business quite well,
which was a good thing. I don’t think I could have built Trump
Tower without his influence. It’s the largest concrete building
in the world.”
“Yes, Mr. President; Fat Tony was into concrete,” agreed Mack as
he returned to his soup.
“At one time Fat Tony had a hidden and controlling interest in S
& A Concrete and Transit-Mix Corporation, which built Trump
Tower, as well as several other important buildings in
Manhattan.” Giuliani added. He would know these things given
that Salerno was a target for prosecution by the city and state
of New York.
“He knew how to keep labor peace,” continued Trump. “If any of
the labor unions ever got out of line, Fat Tony would know what
to do. He would go out and bust some heads. Now that’s power,
imposing one’s will in the style of a real Mafia Godfather.”
“He wasn’t the Godfather of the Geneovese Family,” Giuliani
corrected. Mack could see that Rudy Giuliani was getting
relaxed, feeling the whisky flow through him, giving him the
courage to contradict Trump. Soon he would be getting drunk.
Trump frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He was the ‘front’ boss, the putative Godfather,” replied
Giuliani. “The real Godfather was Vincente The Chin Gigante.”
“The Oddfather,” said Mack briefly pausing from his soup.
“Yes,” said Giuliani.
“What do you mean by Oddfather, Mr. Stemple?” asked the
President.
“He feigned insanity for years,” replied Mack, “pretending to be
punch drunk from his former boxing days. I understand that he
had psychiatrists diagnose that he suffered from schizophrenia
and dementia among other things. It was quite an act.” Mack
returned to his soup.
“What’d he do?” asked the President.
Giuliani explained, “Accompanied by bodyguards, for years he
would amble about on the streets of Greenwich dressed in a
bathrobe and old pajamas, or an old windbreaker and worn
trousers. He could be seen picking up old cigarette butts from
the street and smoking them, talking to himself, making wild
gestures, or dropping his pants to urinate in public.”
Mack looked up from his soup. “It was called his ‘bug act’,”
Mack added, smiling, “since it sometimes involved the harassment
of people. I met him once that way.” Mack paused and spooned
the last of his soup into his mouth.
The President frowned in disbelief. “How’d you meet him?” he
asked.
Mack continued. “I was in Greenwich Village and had no
intention of meeting him. At the time, I was at Calvino’s, at
one of its sidewalk tables waiting for my breakfast, when
Gigante ambled up, as Giuliani would say, in his old pajamas and
bathrobe accompanied by two of his bodyguards. That was back in
the summer of 1984. He was unshaven and looked tired.”
“What’d he do?” asked the President.
“Uninvited, he sat down at my breakfast table and started
muttering something to himself. I could see that the pajamas
and bathrobe were dirty. After watching him for a minute, I
asked one of his bodyguards, ‘how long has this been going on?’
The bodyguard replied, ‘you don’t know who this is?’ When I
answered no, the bodyguard replied, ‘for years’.”
“If I remember correctly,” interjected Giuliani, “he’d been
feigning insanity since 1969 or 1970, so if you had seen him in
1984, he’d probably been doing it for about fourteen years up to
that time.”
“It’s odd, him behaving that way,” said the President returning
to his soup.
Mack smiled at that. “When my generous breakfast plate of
freshly-made corned beef hash, lightly seasoned with honey and
garlic, topped with three poached eggs, with hot garlic toast
arrived, I could see Gigante’s eyes light up. After I had
lightly peppered the dish and put some hot sauce on the eggs, I
was struck by the hunger in The Chin’s eyes. When my large
glass of Clamato juice arrived, I asked one of his bodyguards,
‘has he eaten, yet?’ The guard said that he hadn’t eaten for
hours. At that point I said that ‘out in the West where I come
from, we could never see a man go hungry’, and slid the plate
and glass in front him.”
“I suppose he relished the food,” said Giuliani.
“He initially sat there, probably startled that I’d given the
food to him. Soon he started wolfing the food down, like a
starving man, but gradually he let up and ate more normally. I
could tell that he was enjoying it.”
“I don’t like hash,” muttered Trump as he finished his soup.
“It’s a good meal for a mobster,” said Mack. “A substantial
meal lessens the need for interrupting business by going out for
meals during the course of the day.”
“That’s also the advantage of pasta,” said Giuliani, sipping his
whisky.
“So he cheated you out of a breakfast,” said Trump frowning.
No, Mr. President,” said Mack. “When Gigante finished his meal,
he belched loudly and got up and shambled on, followed by his
two bodyguards, one of which, dropped a hundred dollar bill on
the table for me. Moments after that, the manager of Calvino’s
came out and apologized for the interruption of my breakfast and
offered a refund on my breakfast if I needed to go. I said that
I didn’t have to leave and soon another identical plate of
breakfast hash came out for me. They had heard me talking with
the bodyguards and were stunned when I said I didn’t know who
the Oddfather was. I offered to pay for the second breakfast
plate but they refused me.”
“So you came out a hundred dollars ahead,” said Trump. “But I
don’t think I’d offer my breakfast to any seemingly shabby
riff-raff or panhandler.”
“Better to be kind to a man, seemingly insane, rather than to
have that man dumping your breakfast plate onto the ground,”
said Giuliani.
“I think, Mr. President, that Gigante was favorably impressed
with me.” Mack sipped some of his whisky.
“How’s that?” asked the President.
“As far as he knew, we were both strangers to each other, yet I
offered him compassion and respect, and offered him food, which
he accepted, something Italians and Italian-Americans view very
favorably. I had given him respect, something that was rarely
accorded to him in his lifetime.”
Trump shook his head. “No, Mr. Stemple. That can’t be. The
Mafia has great power and is greatly feared as a consequence of
that power. The Chin wouldn’t have tolerated any disrespect and
it wouldn’t have gone well with you if you hadn’t shown him
that.”
“I think you’re missing the point, Mr. President, on what
happened between us,” Mack disagreed. “Those who are feared do
not receive respect, only fear. Fear is not the same thing as
respect. At a certain point, I think that The Chin wanted
respect, not fear.”
#Post#: 27204--------------------------------------------------
Re: An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:47 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
“That’s something that doesn’t seem important to me,” said
Trump. “I don’t believe that respect cannot come except from
fear. What’s important is the power that leads to human
respect.”
“Gigante had loads of power,” Mack responded. “He was the
protégé of Vito Genovese himself and his former ultra-secretive
boss, Philip Benny Squints Lombardo. But in his world he didn’t
have much love. At a certain point, I think that The Chin
would’ve wanted a little genuine respect.”
“I think that he’d rather have you fear him,” the President said
brusquely.
“That’s possible, Mr. President, but as far as he knew, we were
both as ships passing in the night, and that it was a moment of
human respect between two men.”
“Love is like everything else, something bought and sold.”
Trump remarked unconvinced.
“We’ve also had that conversation before, Mr. President.”
The men fell silent as the stewards entered and cleared the now
empty soup dishes and placed the salad plates in front of each
guest of the Presidential party. Mack was pleased with the
tossed salad he received. It was a wonderful creation which had
a red leaf lettuce, red cabbage, spinach, and sweet onion
medley, with cherry tomatoes, thinly sliced radishes and
avocado, all lightly sprinkled with bacon crumbs, with carrot
and celery sticks and a house Italian dressing served on the
side. Earlier, while in the main dining room, he had thought
about the lobster salad, but this was fine.
Trump was eating with gusto his wedge salad with a knife and
fork, one of the few salads that he really liked and which had
to be eaten with both utensils. Mack could see that Trump’s
salad had a generous wedge of iceberg lettuce, topped off by red
onions, pomegranate arils, bacon crumbs, and genuine Rocquefort
blue cheese dressing made from sheep’s milk from the South of
France, something proudly offered by Restaurante Courbert.
Mack looked briefly around at the salads the Pences and Rudy
Giuliani were having. They all appeared delightful. He resumed
his eating, listening to the Pences speaking briefly and vaguely
to each other about a private family matter. Melania Trump
remained as quiet as always, a trophy wife meant to be seen, not
heard. When the ladies had finished their first glass of wine,
Vice President Pence briefly stood and poured a second glass of
wine for the ladies.
Rudy Giuliani, who was eating a tossed salad similar to Mack’s,
except that it had a vinegar and oil dressing, casually asked
Mack, “Did you ever hear about the mobster Matthew Matty the
Horse Ianniello?”
“Yes I have,” answered Mack between bites of salad.
“Who’s he?” asked Trump, looking up from his salad.
Giulaini grinned, his eyes twinkling. “He’s a mobster, Mr.
President, that you and I’ve bought many fine products and
services over the years.”
Mack smiled at that and Trump looked puzzled. Both men
continued eating their salads. After eating a few more bites of
salad, Mack looked up and saw that Giuliani was grinning at
Trump whose face remained puzzled.
Eventually Giuliani relented. Still grinning at the President,
he said, “Matty the Horse controlled the prostitutes, sex clubs
and peep shows around Times Square. He also had control of many
of the call girls in Manhattan.”
Trump looked up from his salad. He lamented, “I miss those days
when the sexual revolution came. It had finally made things
wide open for everybody, despite the self-righteous busybodies
that disliked the fact that people were having fun. There was a
lot of fine excitement back in those days, with all those Times
Square hookers.”
Giuliani, still smiling, continued, “I take it that Fordham and
Wharton girls were disappointing.” He grinned and returned to
his plate, hungrily forking salad into his mouth.
Trump also returned to his salad, grumbling, “It was damned
disappointing indeed, Rudy. The Fordham and Wharton girls were
too lily pure for real men, wouldn’t put out for the Trump. So
it was just as well for me to return home and have the usual
slam, bam, thank you ma’ams.”
Mack wondered what the ladies at the table thought about Trump’s
last statement. Stealing a glance at them, he observed that the
women’s faces were impassive. They didn’t say anything.
Perhaps this was to be expected. In Trump’s presence, what did
it matter what a woman said or thought?
Mack did eventually notice Karen Pence’s fleeting grimace of
disapproval. Mack reflected that it had come out in the news
months ago that she had considered the President odious. And
the President eventually learned of it. Later, it was the usual
politics regarding such scandals. The Pences denied the
statement and the President called the Pence marriage a
wonderful marriage, somehow making a bad moment of scandal into
one of goodness and light again. It reminded Mack of the
proverb about dining with bad company, ‘Better a dish of herbs
when love is there, than a fattened ox and the hatred to go with
it’.
The silence except for the faint clash of cutlery continued
until the Presidential party finished their salads. It was over
their drinks that the conversation resumed.
The President said, “The Fordham and Wharton girls didn’t know
what they had in Trump. For supposedly smart women, they passed
Trump up for all the chumps that were around them.”
“Now that’s a word I haven’t heard in a while,” said Mack
softly.
“It’s like I said, Stemple. I have the words, all the best
words. And chump’s a good word. Like I said, those girls
married losers, chumps merely, and all they got out of it was
chump-change.”
“So you think that, apparently, they didn’t think you were a
good buy for their love?” asked Mack.
Giuliani smiling wickedly asked, “Didn’t the girls mob you like
Julio Iglesias in the 1970s?”
Trump smiled, “Yes indeed, Rudy. The young girls worshipped
Trump back then. Trump was hot like he is now, and the girls
loved it. Hot between the legs, and eager to put out, they
mobbed Trump back in the day. At the sight of me, they would
become hysterical, and screaming, they would tear off their
panties to throw at me.”
Mack looked briefly at Melania Trump and Karen Pence. Melania
was looking at her wine glass, her face expressionless. Karen
Pence was looking at the President, her eyes clearly showing her
annoyance.
Looking at Mack, the President, with triumphant eyes, continued,
“And to resume one of our prior conversations, Mr. Stemple, I
will continue to assert that monogamy is monotony and that it’s
normal for human males to have multiple sexual partners. I can
only say that as far as true, manly men are concerned, marital
fidelity is for fools.”
“I would continue to disagree,” answered Mack.
Turning to his right, Trump asked, with his eyes twinkling
mischievously, “What does our Vice President have to say about
this?”
Pence, fascinated at Trump’s heightened lucidity ever since Mack
had arrived, looked annoyed, defensive about being drawn into
this conversation. Trump’s lucidity for Pence was very
disturbing. “People have many differing ideas about this
subject,” he said evasively, not wanting to contradict the
President, especially this more lucid, more alarming President.
Mack, annoyed at the Vice President’s response a typical
Washington evasion. Regrettably, given that Pence was
determined to be too much of a toady of the President to ever be
his own man and so he could never be read into the secrecy of
the AAP, the American Anti-Psi Program. Because of his
ineffectual leadership in his national security responsibilities
he eventually had to be put under a mind-lock similar to the
President’s by Mack’s own colleague, Warwick Cota. Regrettably,
Vice President Pence’s mind lock didn’t improve his courage.
The stewards appeared and quietly began clearing the salad
plates off the table. The bar steward also appeared and
inquired of the President and Vice President if they wanted
anything. Trump requested a hard seltzer, deciding at long last
to have alcohol at his meal. Vice President Pence requested
another bottle of O’Douls. The ladies were fine with their
bottle of wine only partially consumed. Rudy Giuliani ordered
several tall glasses and Mack ordered only one more tall glass
of the splendid 21-year old Ballantine blended scotch. Soon the
stewards were gone.
Trump said, “Despite all this talk, I must say that the Pences
have a wonderful marriage. I suppose marriage works for some
people.”
“It didn’t work for me,” said Giuliani dully, sipping his
whisky.
#Post#: 27205--------------------------------------------------
Re: An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:50 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The stewards quietly set the dinner plates before the guests of
the Presidential party. Mack could see that Trump received his
blackened, well-done New York strip steak and small bottle of
ketchup. Undoubtedly, Mack thought, The Donald was miffed that
he couldn’t get his beloved steak fries and had to settle for
the garlic mashed potatoes. As the plate was being set down by
the steward, Mack noted that the President’s steak seemed to
slide along part of the plate. That meant that the steak was
charred dry enough for The Donald with most of its juices having
been cooked out of it. Mack noticed Trump looking dubiously at
the dinner’s vegetable medley which included steamed sweet
onions, cauliflower and squash. No doubt Trump would, after
only a few bites, not eat any more of it. Children and adult
children do not like their vegetables.
Vice President Pence received his medium-rare Filet Mignon steak
with garlic mashed potatoes and an asparagus side dish. His
face reflected his pleasure at the sight and smell of his fine
meal, a specialty of this restaurant. Mack never had steaks in
New York City. Better steaks were to be found in Montana. The
ladies, Melania Trump and Karen Pence, received their large,
peeled crab-stuffed avocados served on a thin bed of Savoy, red,
and Napa cabbage, with raspberry vinaigrette on the side to
drizzle on the cabbage, if they so wished to eat the cabbage
medley. They also received a small side dish of fried calamari
with a garlic lemon dipping sauce. Mack approved of their
entrees. In past years, when he was in Manhattan during the
summer, he sometimes ordered this dish when he came to
Restaurante Courbet. The salad, highly popular with many, was
surprisingly rich and filling. He was pleased that one of the
stewards thoughtfully freshened up the ladies’ glasses with more
wine.
Mack watched as Rudy Giuliani received his large corn-meal fried
oysters with beans and rice with its mild mustard sauce on the
side. He also received his side dish of a sweet dill pickled
cucumber onion salad, a dish that Mack highly favored. Looking
at Mr. Giuliani’s dish, Mack observed, with satisfaction, the
large size of the oysters, and ruefully thought that oysters
that size are never found in Montana. Rudy Giuliani, his face
had the jab of whisky affecting him, seemed to lack any
appreciation for the food that had been set before him. He had
finished the second tall glass of his Ballantine blended scotch
and seemed more intent on drinking his third glass.
To Mack’s pleasure, the stewards finally set the large dish of
smoked deboned duck with caramelized apricots, with a side dish
of brown rice and shallots over asparagus before him. Mack
could see, with great satisfaction, the deboned smoked duck meat
was setting upon its delicately seasoned skin, the small boned
wings and drumsticks along its sides with the caramelized
apricots. In a separate dish a honey habanero apricot barbeque
sauce for dipping or pouring onto the meat was present. Mack
would gently pour it over the meat as the meal continued. Also
given to him, to his surprise were several thick slices of
buttered garlic toast. It came with the side dish of brown rice
and shallots over asparagus. This had not been listed on the
menu description.
Mack looked up. He could see that President Trump and Vice
President Pence were already eating, occupied with their food.
The ladies hadn’t touched their salads and calamari. They had
politely waited for Mack and Rudy Giuliani to receive their
food. Mack smiled at them for this, and soon they, and Mr.
Giuliani, were eating.
To Trump, Mack said, “Thank you, Mr. President, for this
dinner.”
Trump looked up briefly from his food, “You’re welcome, Mr.
Stemple,” and returned to his steak, cutting chunks of meat to
dip into his ketchup before quickly putting it into his mouth.
Mack noted that the President had poured his ketchup into a
small blob next to his steak instead of pouring it directly onto
his steak as some did with their liver and onions. It was many
years ago at a former Manhattan dinner, in which Trump was
present, when Mack was dining with his wealthy Manhattan friend,
Preston Callendar, Mack had discovered that The Donald was
squeamish about eating rare meat. Children and adult children
do not like rare meat as well as vegetables. Interestingly, for
this meal, Mack observed that Vice President Pence never
attempted to say grace before this meal. It was simply never
done in the presence of a sitting President whose actions
clearly showed that he didn’t believe in God.
Mack turned his attention again to his plate. He lifted up one
of his small duck wings and, using his mouth and tongue, lifted
the delicately moist smoked meat and skin off the bones and into
its mouth. It tasted delicious. He ate the other wing and then
the two drumsticks, savoring the flavor of the meat and skin.
Wiping his fingers on the cloth napkin, using one of his spoons,
he put some of the honey habanero apricot barbeque sauce on the
meat and started eating the meat and slices of caramelized
apricots with his fork. Shortly after that, he tried the brown
rice and shallots with the asparagus. All of it was delicious,
very satisfying.
The flavor of the duck reminded him of a small restaurant that
served various excellent game dishes that he favored which was
located on the Oregon coast. At that restaurant, during the
winter, he would eat and watch the rain and wind as it blew in
from the Pacific, the wind causing the pines on the ridge behind
the restaurant to sway and roar, adding a kind of music to the
dining experience.
As Mack ate and occasionally sipped the diet coke or whisky, he
recalled the disapproval that his meal would cause among the
truly educated palates of discriminating Manhattan gourmets.
Coke and whisky are monstrous subversions of taste which
negatively affected a discriminating gourmet palate trained for
the sensitive tasting of a medley of flavors. Of course, a true
gourmet would not be eating from Restaurante Courbet’s executive
menu on the plainer fare days, but only on those days when it
offered its highly coveted premium menu entrees.
Mack and the others of the Presidential party ate largely
quietly. Little noise was heard except the clash of cutlery.
The only exception was Trump who was eating more noisily in his
usual fashion, but this was what people expected of Trump. The
President always wanted to draw attention to himself in subtle
and unsubtle ways, even while dining.
Everyone ate at a leisurely pace and Mack sensed that the
Presidential party was very happy that Trump was silent, not
talking about himself or about politics and other matters. Mack
reckoned that the reprieve would be short. When the food was
good, the eating of most entrees was usually done quickly.
Trump would be eating faster than most. Trump would remain
hungry despite the food, ever hungry to feed his ego.
When Rudy Giuliani had finished his third tall glass of the
Ballantine whisky and signaled the bartender for a fourth tall
glass, Mack decided that he’d have another as well, and ordered
his third tall glass of the expensive whisky. The men were
happy about Trump’s deep financial pockets, happy for having
Trump pay for his Presidential ego. After his tall glass had
been served, Mack returned to his food with relish, enjoying the
medley of the smoky taste of the meat and whisky.
As the Presidential party was largely finishing their dinners,
Mack smiled at the thought that this was not a set of diners who
would be taking food back to the family dog or cat. The only
exceptions were the President, who didn’t finish his vegetable
medley, and Melania Trump, who declined eating the thin cabbage
medley that the crabmeat stuffed avocados rested upon.
Trump finishing his glass of hard seltzer, his eyes more relaxed
because of the food and drink, still had glint of amusement.
Turning to the Vice President, he asked Pence, “You said earlier
that marriage was between one man and one woman, and you didn’t
like men playing the field outside marriage.”
Pence looked up from his bottle of O’Douls. “I didn’t say
that,” he replied.
“But that’s what you believe in.”
“I do.” The Vice President sounded defensive.
Trump smiled, “Then why did Solomon, that wise man, have
multiple wives? He was supposedly a great man. He, undoubtedly
was a great man with large appetites. This teaching among
church people about Jesus supposedly saying that marriage is
only between one man and one woman seems far-fetched.”
“It was because of the hardness of men’s hearts that polygamy
and divorce was permitted.”
“So you’re saying, Mike, that God recognized that Jewish men
needed to have their fornication within marriage rather than
outside it, and so permitted it?”
“I wouldn’t call polygamy fornication.”
“But if marriage is only between one man and one woman, what
would you call it if it isn’t fornication?”
Pence didn’t answer.
Trump continued, “It seems to me that fidelity and truth in
marriage is an illusion. Fidelity is for fools and monogamy is
monotony. Powerful men reach out and take what they want.
That’s the way it is. That’s the way it’s always been.
Certainly that was the case with wise Solomon.”
Pence looked at Trump with eyes that seemed to say, ‘why are you
doing this?’ Pence opened his mouth to say something but then
closed it. He didn’t answer.
“I know, Mike, that you’re against sodomy, and you know that I’m
also squeamish about it, but that’s the way of the world. If
powerful men want boys as well as women, even women on the
younger side, shouldn’t they gratify their desires? That’s what
appetites are for. Didn’t we all eat different dinners? Isn’t
sex just having another varied menu of items? Powerful men must
have what they want and that’s the natural order of things.”
Pence didn’t respond. He struggled to look impassive but his
sharp eyes reflected his anger.
Trump was grinning, happy at teasing his Vice President.
“That’s part of the idiocy of law and order,” Trump continued.
“And speaking about divorce, I’ve had three wives over the
years. This should be something that should be expected of rich
men and women. ‘The rich are different’ as the saying goes and
most Christians recognize this.” Trump turned his eyes to Rudy
Giuliani. “What do you say, Rudy”
“Marriage is overrated,” said Giuliani. “I’ve never had a happy
marriage anything like the Pences.” Rudy smiled sadly, “All
I’ve ever met were demanding women. Women who want a man to toe
their line and not even look at another woman. Now what kind of
relationship is that?” He took another sip of his whisky.
“Monogamy is monotony,” intoned Trump. “What I don’t understand
is why women fail to understand that powerful men need an open
marriage.”
#Post#: 27206--------------------------------------------------
Re: An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:51 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The Pences still didn’t respond.
Mack smiled and decided he might tease Trump. He said, “I see
from the news that you were sexually enjoying a p*** star while
your wife was nursing your youngest new-born son, Baron, back in
2006.”
Trump looked at Mack and smiled. “It’s like I said. Great men
have large appetites.” He smiled at Melania who refused to look
back at him, but instead, looked down at her dinner plate, her
face remaining neutral.
Mack pressed on, “You wealthy, open-marriage men seem to like
women having large breasts.”
“Stormy did have large breasts,” Giuliani agreed.
“She did at that,” agreed Trump. “She would’ve been a worthy
addition to Solomon’s harem. Perhaps wise old Solomon had a few
boys around for his pleasure as well.” Turning to the Vice
President, he said, "I'm glad that Christians are so truthful in
their undivided support for me. Isn't that right, Mr. Pence?"
"Yes, Mr. President.” Pence smiled unctuously. “We're very
glad that you're our President and look forward to the many
happy things coming for America in the future."
Giuliani, grinning at Pence, laughed and said, "That air kiss
you received from the President at the Convention was
undoubtedly from the heart."
Trump laughed as well, "What do you think of that, Mrs. Pence?"
Karen Pence glared at the President. Her husband quickly nudges
her and she quickly looked away, her eyes still flashing anger.
Trump and Giuliani laugh. Mike Pence smiled weakly.
Mack, after sipping some whisky, said, "Leave her alone. This
doesn't add anything to the meal."
Giuliani, still smiling, said to Mack, "It does add spice to it,
doesn't it?"
Mack looked at the Pences. No doubt, they were very annoyed
about inviting the President for dinner. Maybe Mack could add
to the annoyance. He asked the Vice President, “Mr. Pence, what
do say to those Christians who believe that you and other
supporters of the President have fundamentally betrayed the
Christian faith?”
The Vice President glared at Mack. This was one aggravation too
many. “I would say that that’s false, a lie coming from the pit
of hell,” Pence snapped, his sharp eyes looking frostily at
Mack.
Mack met his gaze and asked, “What is being truthful about
supporting the President, Mr. Pence? Hasn’t the President
declared in this company, and by his own actions in his
Presidency, that the great man says the truth is only what the
great man says it is, and that this supposed great man’s truth
has nothing to do with facts or justice? Doesn’t the truth
matter when Christians are supposed to worship God in Spirit and
in truth?”
Pence snapped back, “Christians need to do what must be done to
preserve power. We need to have the courts controlled by
conservative justices and we need to put an end to abortion and
to gay marriage.”
“So we must give up the Christian faith in the name of ending
abortion and gay marriage?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying that abortion and gay marriage
and the social toleration of gays must end.”
Mack remained unconvinced. “This all sounds like situation
ethics where the ends justify the means,” he said.
The Vice President snapped back, “The culture war must end with
Christians being victorious. Good Christian folk are tired of
turning the other cheek and calling people to repentance.”
“So repentance and turning the other cheek are no longer
important? Why must this be done at the expense of the
Christian faith?”
Pence glared at Mack and for a moment trembled in anger. Then
he remembered where he was and calmed down. “I don’t see it
that way,” Pence said quietly. “I think that all good
Christians should unite around Trump.”
“If the truth is just another lie, how can Christians witness
for their faith and call upon others to repentance? How can any
non-Christian take a Christian seriously? It seems to me that
all followers of Trump have already lost their Christian faith.”
“I can see how that happened,” interjected Giuliani. “It goes
back to the past. The fools that rejected evolution had to
deceive themselves with their elaborate deceits. Later, when
confronted about whether sexual orientation was voluntary or
not, they went into their further deceits. Then, in the culture
and political wars, they decided upon even more deceits,
becoming in the end deluded hypocrites. In the end it was all
nonsense.”
“It was all nonsense and it ended in nonsense, but the nonsense
is useful to us,” said Trump. “Politics is the art of the lie
as much as it is of the deal. The great men, the men of power
know and utilize deceit as a tool. The deceits make them wolves
and their followers wolves. Christians can’t be sheep anymore.”
Giuliani paused, and sipped his whisky. Mack figured not too
long from now, he’d be getting drunk. “I agree, Mr. President,
he said. “The herd of men and women are fools, merely sheep
addicted to the deceits. And they hate. What can I say about
this hypocrisy? Actually, conservative Christians have little
use for worshipping God in Spirit and truth. They’ve gotten
over that nonsense.”
“If the truth be told, conservatives are not Christian,”
declared Trump. “They're just like everybody else.”
Mack watched as Karen Pence looked at her husband with sadness,
both for him and, doubtlessly, for herself. They were both
paying the price for their bargain with the devil, just as much
as Trump was. Selling one’s soul to the devil can rarely be
bought back cheaply.
“You know, Mother, that we have to be patient in our dealings
with the world.” Pence said pensively. “We have to do those
things that will further God’s Kingdom.”
“You call your wife, Mother?” said Giuliani, grinning. “Isn’t
that rather strange?”
Pence didn’t respond.
“I wonder what would happen if you had your wife and mother with
you at the same time,” said Giuliani, gleefully. “I suppose
that would lead to some confusion.”
Trump snickered.
Mack felt a rising irritation. To take the conversational heat
off the Pences, he asked Karen Pence, “Didn’t you and Mr. Pence
have trouble having children?”
“Yes, Mr. Stemple,” she answered. “It took three years before
we had our first child. We’ve had some medical issues.”
“Why does your husband call you ‘mother’?” asked Mack.
“Mike calls me that since he wants to honor me as a mother and
to honor motherhood among women.”
“He’s rather old-fashioned, isn’t he?”
“He is,” said Karen. “He’s longed for children for a very long
time.”
Trump smiled, “Despite its quirks, the Pences have a fine
marriage, don’t they?”
The Vice-President looked frostily at the President.
“We’re only kidding around here,” said Trump.
Mack looked at Mike Pence. “I disagree with something you
implied, Mr. Vice President,” he said.
“What’s that?” Pence looked at Mack with annoyance.
“God’s Kingdom is not of this world, in contradiction to what
your words seem to imply. And God’s Kingdom is not furthered
with deceit or with any form of situation ethics.”
The conversation abruptly ended as the stewards came in to
remove the dishes from the dinner table. After the dishes had
been cleared from the table, the stewards handed out the dessert
menus, and quietly departed.
After the Presidential party looked at the dessert menu, when
the head steward returned, the President and Vice President both
selected Sachertorte cake slices with a rich dark chocolate
frosting, Mrs. Pence and Mack selected bread pudding with
raisins and cinnamon. Melania Trump and Rudy Giuliani declined
having any dessert. Rudy Giuliani concentrated his attention on
his whisky and had ordered another tall glass of the Ballantine
scotch. It was easy for Mack to see that Giuliani would not be
going home with the Trumps and would linger at Restaurante
Courbet’s small bar for the evening.
Soon the stewards returned and set the desserts in front of the
members of the Presidential party. The head steward asked the
President and the Presidential party if anything else was
requested. There was only silence or he was told no. Mack
complimented the head steward how well his staff had helped with
this dinner, which pleased the steward, a meticulous man in his
forties. The steward then departed.
#Post#: 27207--------------------------------------------------
Re: An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:54 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Mack watched as President Trump and Vice President Pence began
eating their Sachertorte cake slices, which were dense chocolate
cake slices with a thin layer of apricot jam on top, coated in
dark chocolate icing on the tops and sides. This was a
traditional High German dessert and would be an expected choice
of a President who loved his sweets. What surprised Mack was
that Vice President Pence had chosen a torte rather than an
éclair, especially the restaurant’s premier vanilla cream cheese
éclair in puff pastry, a light, pleasant dessert that was not
overly rich and sweet. Perhaps his food choices were dictated
by the President’s food choices. Sycophants do attempt to
mirror their masters in many ways.
Karen Pence and Mack had been served their bread pudding. Mack
could smell the cinnamon and see the large, plump raisins that
went through the large serving portion. Restaurante Courbet had
also put rum, nutmeg and brown sugar into this dish, their
premier bread pudding. It was delicious and Mack savored the
taste. It was a dessert that went well with the smoked duck and
whisky he had eaten earlier. Mack paused and wondered.
Perhaps, he also should have had one of the éclairs instead. He
always enjoyed the variety of eclairs here.
Trump soon began to speak again while everyone was finishing
their desserts. To Mack, he said, “I reject your idea that the
great man is the virtuous man.”
“Love is very powerful, Mr. President,” was Mack’s reply.
Donald Trump set back in his chair. His eyes had the aura of
triumph about them. “Power is not in morality,” He said. “It
is far from it. The great man is above morality, above truth.
He is beyond good and evil.” Trump paused to let those words
sink into the ears of his dinner guests. “Love is like
everything else, something bought and sold.”
“We’ve had this conversation before.” Mack replied. “The same
had been said by the likes of men such as Nietzsche and Hitler.”
“They were right about that however much they’ve been maligned
in the past,” snapped Trump. “And that’s the way the world
works! There are the predators and the prey, the winners and
the losers. That’s the way it is. That’s the way it’s always
been.”
Mack frowned. “I find that Nietzsche and Hitler didn’t have or
receive much love in the end,” he said. “Their lives were
emotionally squalid even though they were surrounded for many
years by their privileges of wealth and power. Living without
love, I think, is a dire sort of poverty.”
“That’s something easily solved,” interjected Giuliani, in an
unsteady voice, as he was sinking into drunkenness. “There are
always the Manhattan call girls and the Times Square hookers.
Now that’s the answer to a bad marriage!” Giuliani’s head
weaved. He looked as if he was a man ready to rest his head
onto the table and go to sleep.
Trump continued. Turning to the Vice President, he asked, “What
do you say about this, Mike?” When Pence did not respond but
only made a face, the President laughed.
Mack interrupted the President, “Nietzsche, though considered by
many to be very wise, did, in the end, die from syphilitic
insanity. He’d had one hooker too many.”
“A great man can take precautions in these matters,” answered
Trump. “I’ve had many women over the years. It’s like buying
any other product. One learns the markets and which providers
have the better products. In this case, the better stables of
women and boys. One goes to the good markets and avoids those
markets that don’t practice quality control.” Trump looked at
Karen Pence. “What do you think about that, Mrs. Pence?” She
grimaced at that and turned her head away from him. Trump
laughed. He, then taunted her, “What’s the matter, Mrs. Pence?
Don’t tell me that you’re anti-business?”
“Leave her alone,” said Mack.
Trump laughed again. To Mack, he said, “What do you say about
this, Mr. Stemple?”
“We’ve spoken about this before,” said Mack.
Trump looked at all his guests in triumph and, focusing his eyes
on Mack, continued, “It’s like I’ve said before, Mr. Stemple in
our conversations. Religion is simply another means to serve
the masters in society, to further their power. Mike and Karen
Pence know this. And if the truth be told, religious ideas of
virtue are nonsense and often get into the way of business.”
Trump surveyed his fellow diners, his eyes seemingly challenging
his listeners to disagree with him.
Mack didn’t respond to Trump’s statement. Instead, looking
towards the Vice President, he asked, “Do you agree with him on
this, Mr. Vice President?”
Pence, frowning at Mack, didn’t respond. In no way did he want
to be drawn into this discussion.
“Well?” asked Mack.
Then Pence responded, quoting scripture, which surprised Mack.
Pence said, “I have to agree with the President on this,” the
Vice President declared. “In Romans 13:1-7, the Apostle Paul
states: ‘Let every person be subject to the governing
authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and
those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore
whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed,
and those who resist will incur judgment. For rulers are not a
terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear of
the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will
receive his approval, for he is God's servant for your good.
But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword
in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries
out God's wrath on the wrongdoer. Therefore one must be in
subjection, not only to avoid God's wrath but also for the sake
of conscience. For because of this you also pay taxes, for the
authorities are ministers of God, attending to this very thing.
Pay to all what is owed to them: taxes to whom taxes are owed,
revenue to whom revenue is owed, respect to whom respect is
owed, honor to whom honor is owed.’ Because of this, it is a
sin to contradict and disobey, in any manner, the President whom
God has put over us.”’
Mack heard a laugh to his right, it was from Giuliani.
“Hey, he knows his Bible,” said Giuliani with his eyes mocking
the Vice President.
Mack looked back at the Vice President who met his eyes with a
frown. No doubt Pence had memorized and used scriptural proof
texts for years to justify his place in government, and for his
support of gravely immoral politicians such as Donald Trump.
But it wasn’t good enough for Mack, who replied, saying, “That
kind of scriptural proof doesn’t sound plausible to me.”
“It’s God’s Word,” said Pence adamantly.
“Hold on, Mike,” said Giuliani, grinning. “Mack’s got a
powerful memory.”
Mack considered the Vice President, noted his sharp, annoyed
eyes and proceeded with the usual response. “You’re
misinterpreting the passage,” he said. “In Romans 13:8-12, the
Apostle Paul continues, ‘Owe no one anything, except to love
each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.
For the commandments, “You shall not commit adultery, You
shall not murder, You shall not steal, You shall not covet,” and
any other commandment, are summed up in this word: “You shall
love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no wrong to a
neighbor; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law. Besides
this you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake
from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first
believed. The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then
let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of
light.’ We are to love our neighbor as ourselves, to do no wrong
to a neighbor, to wake from sleep. As a woke people we can only
do those things that further the love that God has loved us.
Because of this, our obedience to government is conditioned by
our love and forbearance with others. Sharp business practices
that damage society cannot be accepted by Christians, and we are
to worship the Lord in spirit and in truth.”
“I’ve always admired your photographic memory, Mack,” said
Giuliani. “No wonder that you can remember menus from the 1980s
and that the FBI wanted to hire you for the Mafia
investigations.”
“It is one of my talents,” said Mack. Actually, Mack did have
the usual morphic memory that ‘norms’ had. The eidetic memory
was also available to him only with deeper concentration.
“So you’re a Woke Christian,” said Pence.
“I am,” said Mack, “which is clearly in keeping with Romans 13.”
“I never knew you as a social justice warrior, Mack,” said
Giuliani.
“I believe in justice for everyone,” said Mack turning his head
to Giuliani. He smiled at the former federal prosecutor, and
then at Trump and Pence.
Giuliani persisted, “Don’t you think, Mack, that the teachings
of Jesus are extreme? You’ve seen a lot about human nature and
you know that people are no good. I know you have,” he said.
“Do you really believe in turning the other cheek?”
Mack turned to Pence. “What do you say about this, Mr. Vice
President?” Mack was amused that Pence was showing his
discomfort. For years he and his fellow, supposed Christians
were supporting Trump despite all of the manifest sins of the
President and of the President’s many followers.
Pence responded in a way that was expected by Mack. “I would
say that ‘turning the other cheek’ is extreme to me. Didn’t you
hear what Tony Perkins said about the issue, “You know, you only
have two cheeks . . . Look, Christianity is not all about being
a welcome mat which people can just stomp their feet on.” He
said that to Politico in an interview back in January 2018.”
“Then are you saying, Mr. Pence, that governments should be
permitted to stomp on some people, but not on some others?”
“No, but some people are deserving of better treatment than
others. Some people aren’t worth giving the time and day to
them. They aren’t deserving of any help.”
“But isn’t it the sign of love that compassion is for all the
suffering? Why shouldn’t we practice justice and forbearance
with all people?”
Pence didn’t respond but turned his eyes back to his food. He
returned to eating his Sachertorte cake.
Mack looked down at his unfinished bread pudding and resumed
eating as well allowing silence to descend onto the Presidential
party. Looking briefly at the President, Mack could see the
President was also finishing his Sachertorte cake. When Mack
was finished, he looked at the clock on the wall. It was 6:45
pm. It was getting close to the time for him to go.
#Post#: 27208--------------------------------------------------
Re: An October 2019 Dinner With Trump
By: HOLLAND Date: January 28, 2021, 2:56 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Trump then resumed his conversation. “I think that the great
man is the powerful, wealthy man, the man who rules absolutely.
Anything other than that is simply nonsense. Power should
belong to the rich and power should follow property. We should
follow the one golden rule, he that has the gold rules.” He
grinned in triumph looking around the table. Trump continued,
“The idea of one man, one vote is nonsense, something believed
in by fools.”
“I disagree,” said Mack.
Trump ignored him. “Political parties are nonsense as well.
They frustrate wealth and power from obtaining its ultimate true
ends, the further increase of that wealth and power.”
“We’ve had this conversation before at Mar a Lago,” said Mack.
“The supposedly great men who seek such power are only hiding a
great inner emptiness.”
“That’s just nonsense, the spouting of lesser men, the
lightweights envying great men.”
“So if I understand you correctly, Mr. President, you’re
expressing your annoyance of any check upon your power by
others?”
“I am, Mr. Stemple,” Trump replied. “I think that a President
should be above the law. Certainly my Attorney General, Bill
Barr, seems to think so.”
“That’s something that could be challenged.” Mack remained
calm. It was important to remain serenely unconvinced, and show
that in front of the President. Trump was annoyed by a serene
confidence that he didn’t share.
Trump was not put off by Mack’s pose, but looked at Mack with
mocking eyes. “Do you know why I’ve wanted you to come here?”
The President asked triumphantly.
Mack smiled, “I suppose it is to carry on with our disputes in
our prior conversations at Mar a Lago and in the White House.”
“I’m going to show you how wrong you are, how wrong you are to
question me. Great men and their supreme offices, such as the
President, should not be questioned in any way by their
inferiors.”
“That seems to be happening right now. There are the
impeachment investigations being conducted in the House of
Representatives.”
“The impeachment will fail, Mr. Stemple. They will fail when
the Impeachment articles get to the Senate. I’ll never be
convicted for anything that happened in Ukraine. I’ll be
exonerated by the Senate and knowing people will laugh at the
idea that I could be found guilty of anything.” Trump paused.
“Or do you disagree?”
“I disagree.”
The President looked at Mack triumphantly. “Don’t you see it?”
He said, “I’m above the law already. I can’t be touched by the
law, by anyone. It’s like I said years ago, ‘I can go and shoot
someone on Fifth Avenue and nobody would convict me.’ Nobody
can convict me of anything. I can’t be subpoenaed,
investigated, charged or convicted by anyone. I can now make
the Presidency into what it really should be. Instead of it
being the office of the people, it should really become what it
should be, the office of, by and for great men. And this office
should further the wealth and power of those great men.
“And if I support white supremacy in this country to maintain my
power and authority, I shall do so. I’m tired of all political
correctness. It’s like I always have said in the past, it’s
time to call a spade a spade, a fag a fag, and a yid a yid.”
Mack, after looking at the President’s triumphant gaze, looked
at the other people around the table. Melania Trump was looking
down at her dessert plate, not looking at Mack.
Pence sat looking at the President. His sharp eyes did not
indicate a hint of disapproval with what the President was
saying. The Vice President’s wife, Karen Pence, was looking at
her husband, trying to look composed, but her eyes indicated
otherwise.
Looking to his right, Mack could see Rudy Giuliani, drinking
another gulp from his whisky. The former Mayor of New York City
seemed highly amused with the conversation. The former mayor’s
eyes had the tired look of drunkenness.
The President looked triumphantly at Mack. “Things are going to
change, Mr. Stemple. After I get my exoneration from the Senate
next year after the Impeachment, nothing will be able to touch
me. I’ll be finally come into the power that’s rightfully mine.
And I’ll have all the power and authority of government
centered on me.
“I’ll be able to finally deal with the swamp in Washington DC,
all the people who oppose me. I’ll have the Clintons, the
Obamas, and the Bidens arrested for their treasons against our
country. I’ll go after the press, the courts, and anyone who
would be foolish enough to resist my authority. I’ll end this
nonsense of political parties and democratic elections.” The
President paused, “I’ll reign supreme, and no one or anything
will be able to stop me.”
“God could stop you if he so chooses.”
“No, Mr. Stemple, God does not exist. I’ve lived all my life as
if he never existed. Do you expect me to change my opinion
about God now in this? Look at how far I’ve come without any
God propping me up? Surely I’m one of the unmistakable signs
that God doesn’t exist.”
Mack smiled faintly at that. “God might want you to be fattened
up like a stockyard steer before your final slaughter. Pride
comes before a fall, not to mention many court cases.”
The President was unmoved. “That won’t happen, Stemple. When
I’ve obtained absolute power, I won’t have to worry about court
cases. I’ll win all my court cases or I’ll shut the courts down.
I’ll be President for life.”
Mack smiled. “I doubt that’ll happen,” he said.
“It will happen, Stemple. It will.” Trump slapped his hand to
the table like a judge gaveling his court. “Religion is meant
for the masters controlling their people, for controlling their
servants, or should I say, slaves,” he said triumphantly. “The
Saudi family has it right in this. There shouldn’t be any
disobedience towards those exercising their authority. Those
that are so foolish to disobey their rightful masters should be
punished for it.” Trump paused. “The Saudis have it right. So
much so, in this matter of religion and authority, they call
their country Saudi Arabia. Perhaps America shouldn’t be called
the United States of America. Perhaps it should be called Trump
America, to reflect the political reality coming in 2020 that
will give Trump and his children absolute political authority.”
Mack remained unconvinced. “That sounds far-fetched.”
Trump laughed. “Don’t you see, Stemple that I’ve won? He asked.
“I’ve won in our previous disputes at our conversations at the
White House and at Mar a Lago. I’ve won at this very moment.
Certainly you have to acknowledge that the world is full of some
winners and many losers. I’ve won our disputes and you’ve lost
them, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” The President
laughed again. “The coming election year, 2020, is going to be
the year Trump shall obtain absolute power. This will
eventually happen after the Senate exonerates me from whatever
Impeachment charges that are brought before it. I know that
this will happen. I know that –“
The President was interrupted. The stewards had entered the
room, coming to pick up the plates. Their presence annoyed
Trump who had to remain silent as the stewards circumambulated
the dinner table, quickly removing the dishes from the table.
As Mack viewed the dinner party, he was under the impression
that most of them were silently relieved that Trump’s speech was
over. One thing for sure was that this conversation would have
to be reported to the Prefecture of the Star People. They would
have to, in turn, notify the American Archons. The year 2020
was going to be a dangerous year for America and, also, for the
rest of the world. As he looked at Trump and their eyes met.
Trump said, “I reign supreme.” His dinner party was silent
before him.
*****************************************************
DIR Next Page