Donald Trump and nudists have a great deal in common. They both think it’s impossible to be overexposed. When I was pitching Madness Under the Royal Palms to the editor in chief and president of Hyperion, they wanted nothing of the Donald. They said he was overexposed. I said you couldn’t write a book about Palm Beach without talking about Donald Trump. But they wanted nothing of the man.
A few days later on Christmas Eve, I was having dinner at Donald’s club in Palm Beach, Mar-a-Lago, when the great man and his daughter walked into the ballroom levitating about two inches off the floor. I went up to Donald and told him what my publisher had said. “But I think they’re wrong Donald,” I told him. “And I’d like to get together with you and work it out so in some unique way so you can be a major character in my book.” Donald looked at me as if I had just told him that I was calling all of his loans. By calling him overexposed, I had insulted him in a manner beyond belief. I tried for months to get him to talk but he wasn’t about to do it.
I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should put a scarlet band on the cover with the words: EXCLUSIVE: THIS BOOK HAS NO INTERVIEW WITH DONALD TRUMP.
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1 comment:
One who tends to follow his own shadow will never get enough of himself!
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