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Donald and Ivana Trump were seated at opposite ends of their long Sheraton table in Mrs.
They were posed in imperial style, as if they were a king and queen.
They were at the height of their ride, and it was plenty glorious.
Trump was seen on the news shows offering his services to negotiate with the Russians.
There was talk that he might make a run for president.
Ivana had had so much publicity that she now offered interviewers a press kit of flattering clips.
Anything seemed possible, the Trumps had grown to such stature in the golden city of New York.
It was balmy that night in Palm Beach; Ivana wore a strapless dress.
The air was redolent with the fragrance of oleander and bougainvillea, mingled with the slight smell of mildew which clung to the old house.
To his credit, Trump had no interest in mastering the Palm Beach style of navy blazers and linen trousers.
Often he wore a business suit to his table; his only concession to local custom was to wear a pink tie or pale shoes.
To her credit, Ivana still served the dinners her husband preferred, so on that warm night the guests ate beef with potatoes.
As always, it was business with the Trumps, for that was their common purpose, the bond between them.
In recent years, they never seemed to touch each other or exchange intimate remarks in public.
They had become less like man and wife and more like two ambassadors from different countries, here with a separate agenda.
The Trumps had bought Mar-a-Lago only a few months earlier, but already they had become Palm Beach curiosities.
That club called me and asked me if they could have my consent to use part of my beach to expand the space for their cabanas!
Embarrassing their guests by having them make speeches, as if they were at a sales convention!
He is so generous and smart.
We are so lucky to have vf casino beach bar life.
Perhaps he was spoiling for something to excite him, like a fight.
Maybe all the public posturing was beginning to get boring, too.
If that is what makes you happy, get another husband!
She had seen that in the Trump life everything and everybody appeared to come with a price, or a marker for future use.
Why give vf casino beach bar negotiable vf casino beach bar />She had learned the lingua franca in a world where everyone seemed to be using everyone else in a relentless drive for power.
How was she to know that there was another way to live?
Besides, she often told her friends, however cruel Donald could be, she was very much in love with him.
For years, Ivana appeared to have studied the public behavior of the royals.
When she had first come to New York, she wore elaborate helmet hairdos and bouffant satin dresses, very Hollywood; her image of rich American women probably came from the movies she had seen as a child.
Ivana had now spent years passing through the fine rooms of New York, but she had never seemed to learn the real way of the truly rich, the art of understatement.
Instead, she had become regal, filling her houses with the kind of ormolu found in palaces in Eastern Europe.
She had taken to waving to friends with tiny hand motions, as if to conserve her energy.
At her own charity receptions, she insisted that she and Donald form a receiving line, and she would stand in pinpoint heels, never sinking into the deep grass�such was her control.
This spring night, a squad of servants had been outside to click at this page the guests, as if they had arrived at Cliveden between the wars.
Most of the staff, however, were not a permanent part of Mar-a-Lago; they were local caterers and car parks, hired for the evening.
In addition to the dining-room ceiling, Ivana had left Mrs.
The frames did not contain family pictures, but magazine covers.
Each cover featured the face of Donald Trump.
When the Trump plane landed in Palm Beach, two cars were usually waiting, the first a Rolls-Royce for the adults, the second a station wagon for the children, the nannies, and a bodyguard.
Occasionally, state troopers were on hand kerching casino riches speed the Trump motorcade along.
This took a certain amount of planning and coordination, but the effort was crucial for what Ivana was trying to achieve.
This past April, when his empire was in danger of collapse, Trump isolated himself in a small apartment on a lower floor of Trump Tower.
He would lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling, talking into the night on the telephone.
The Trumps had separated.
Ivana remained upstairs in the family triplex with its beige onyx floors and low-ceilinged living room painted with murals in the style of Michelangelo.
The murals had occasioned one of their frequent fights: Ivana wanted cherubs, Donald preferred warriors.
She had been completely humiliated by Donald through his public association with Marla Maples.
She emerged unrecognizable to her friends and perhaps her children, as fresh and innocent of face as Heidi of Edelweiss Farms.
Although she had negotiated four separate marital-property agreements over the last fourteen years, she was suing her husband for half his assets.
Trump was trying to be philosophical.
Ivana had hired a public-relations man to help her in her new role.
The Japanese still took Donald Trump to be the very image of power and money, and seemed to believe, as Trump once had, that this red-marble-and-brass monument was the center of the world.
For days, Trump rarely left his building.
Hamburgers and French fries were sent up to him from the nearby New York Delicatessen.
His body ballooned, his hair curled down his neck.
Like John Connally, the former governor of Texas, Trump had millions of dollars signed away in personal guarantees.
In one astonishing decade, Donald Trump had become the Brazil of Manhattan.
Donald had already cut a swath in this preserve of the New York establishment; we were immediately seated between the columns in the old upstairs room, then decorated with black paneling and red Naugahyde banquettes.
It was the autumn of 1980, a fine season in New York.
Donald was new then, thirty-four years old and very brash, just beginning to make copy and loving it.
He was already fodder for the dailies and the weeklies, but he was desperate for national attention.
Then, as now, he was all cheeks and jaw, with a tendency to look soft in the middle.
He retains the blond hair, youthful swagger, and elastic face that give him the quality of the cartoon tough Baby Huey.
Trump is a head swiveler, always looking around to see who else is in the room.
As a boy, he was equally restless.
It was the place where flight attendants hoped to find bankers, and models looked for dates.
Donald met his model, Ivana Zelnickova, visiting from Montreal.
She liked to tell the story of how she had gone skiing with Donald, pretending to be a learner like him, and then humiliated him by whizzing past him down the slopes.
They were married in New York during Easter of 1977.
Mayor Beame attended the wedding at Marble Collegiate Church.
Donald had already made his alliance with Roy Cohn, who would become his lawyer and mentor.
Two years later, Trump had made his own fortune.
Donald was determined to have a large family.
The Trumps and their baby, Donald junior, lived in a Fifth Avenue apartment decorated with beige velvet sectional sofas and a bone-and-goatskin table from read more Italian furniture store Casa Bella.
They had a collection of Steuben glass animals which they displayed on glass shelves in the front hall.
The shelves were outlined with a string of tiny white lights usually seen on a Christmas tree.
Donald was trying to make time in the world of aesthetes and little black cocktail dresses.
He had just completed the Grand Hyatt, on East Forty-second Street, and was considered a comer.
He had put together the Fifth Avenue parcel that would become Trump Tower and had enraged the city establishment with his demolition of the cherished Art Deco friezes that had decorated the Bonwit Teller building.
Do you think blowing up the sculptures has hurt me?
They would have just put them in their basement.
Do you think, if I failed, these guys in New York would be unhappy?
They would be thrilled!
Because they have never tried anything on the scale that I am trying things in this city.
He had brought the broad style of Brooklyn and Queens into Manhattan, flouting what he considered effete conventions, such as landmark preservation.
His suits were badly cut, with wide cuffs on his trousers; he was a shade away from cigars.
Donald and I were not alone at lunch that day.
He had invited Stanley Friedman to join us.
He was part of the Bronx political machine, and would soon be appointed the Bronx County leader.
Later, Friedman would go to jail for his role in the city parking-meter scandal.
Trump and Friedman spent most of our lunch swapping stories about Roy Cohn.
Bob Tisch, like his brother, was a city booster, a man of goodwill and manners, a benefactor of hospitals and universities.
The phone rang several times.
You would never know anything is wrong.
Whatever their cynical instincts, Trump, the Music Man of real estate, could set off in them the power of imagination, for his real skill has always been his ability to convince others of his possibilities.
The line between a con man and an entrepreneur is often fuzzy.
Who the hell knows what it is worth?
The conversation itself was a negotiation.
Trump attempted to put me on the defensive.
I had written about him ten years before.
Trump had talked about a close friend of his who was the son of a famous New York real-estate developer.
I looked up my old notes.
Just like the Merv Griffin deal.
When I took him to the cleaners, the press wanted me to lose.
I guess I have a perverse personality.
Deals had always been his only art.
He was reportedly getting unbelievable deals now from the contractors he had hired to build his casinos and the fiberglass elephants that decorate the Boardwalk in front vf casino beach bar the Taj Mahal, for they were desperate, unsure that they would ever get paid for months of work.
Trump was famous for his skill at squeezing every last bit out of his transactions.
He was known to be making shocking deals now that he never could have made two months before.
Anything I did worked!
After a while it was too easy.
He has a short attention span.
He even gave the appearance of having grown bored with his wife.
So I had built a building or two, big deal.
They put me on the cover learn more here the Daily News today with wars breaking out!
Malcolm Forbes got thrown out of the Plaza by me!
You know the story about me and Malcolm Forbes, when I kicked him out of the Plaza hotel?
The same writer who wrote about this also wrote that Merv kicked my ass!
The same writer is under investigation.
He did not write that Trump was taken by Merv Griffin.
What is going on at Revlon is what has happened to Donald Trump.
But no one makes Revlon a front-page story.
Trump spoke in a hypnotic, unending torrent of words.
Often he appeared to free-associate.
He reminded me of a carnival barker trying to fill his tent.
The real public has always liked Donald Trump.
The real public feels that Donald Trump is going through Trump-bashing.
When I go out now, forget about it.
Trump is often belligerent, as if to pep things up.
Before the opening of the Taj Mahal, Click at this page Roffman, a financial analyst from Philadelphia, correctly stated that the Taj was in for a rough ride.
For that, Roffman believes, Trump had him fired.
Trump submitted a plan for a convention center to city officials.
He almost got us to check this out the convention center after his father in return for something he never really had to give away.
His partner at the time was the well-respected Pritzker family of Chicago, who owned the Hyatt chain.
Their contract was specific: Trump and Jay Pritzker agreed that if there were any sticking points they would have a ten-day period to arbitrate their differences.
At one point, they had a minor disagreement.
He was on a mountain in Nepal.
I gave you the ten days.
But you were in Nepal.
Pritzker was his partner, not his enemy!
This is how he acted on his first important deal.
It was 50,000 fewer than that.
When Charles Feldman of CNN questioned Trump in March about the collapse of his business empire, Trump stormed off the set.
In the 1940s, Trump and Beame shared a close friend and lawyer, a captain in a Brooklyn political club named Bunny Lindenbaum.
At that time, Beame worked in the city budget office; thirty years later he would become mayor of the city.
Trump, Lindenbaum, and Beame often saw one another at dinner dances and fund-raisers of the Brooklyn political clubs.
It is impossible to overestimate the power of these clubs in the New York of the 1950s; they created Fred Trump and gave him access to his largest acquisition, the seventy-five-acre parcel of city land that would become the 3,800-unit Trump Village.
In 1960, an immense tract of land off Ocean Parkway in Brooklyn became available for development.
The City Planning Commission had approved a generous tax abatement for a nonprofit foundation to build a housing cooperative.
Fred Trump wound up with two-thirds of the property, and within a year he had broken ground on Trump Village.
The following year, Lindenbaum organized a fund-raising lunch for Wagner, who was running for re-election.
The lunch party made the front page of the newspapers, and Lindenbaum, disgraced, was forced off the commission.
But Robert Wagner won the election, and Beame became his comptroller.
It boggles the mind!
His father, who came here from Sweden.
Swedish, and really sort of all over Europe.
Would I come meet with the president?
Kennedy now guards a copy of My New Order in a closet at his office, as if visit web page were a grenade.
I thought he would find it interesting.
Trump is no reader or history buff.
The Fuhrer often described his defeats at Stalingrad and in North Africa as great victories.
Trump continues to endow his diminishing world with significance as well.
The house, however, was in Queens.
Donald would someday envision a larger world.
My father had no interest in that kind of thing at all.
Donald was one of five children, the second son.
As a child, he was so boisterous that his parents sent him away to military school.
He became forceful, and grew even closer to his father.
You have to be hitting back!
As a young man, he announced his intention to be an airplane pilot.
Ivana has always told her close friends that she believed the pressure put on him by his father and his brother hastened his early death.
I had success, and that put pressure on Fred too.
What is this, a psychoanalysis of Donald?
When Donald exploded, Robert packed his boxes and left.
He and Blaine went to her family for Easter.
What is the status of that?
In New York, Trump soon became known for his confrontational style.
link took Donald to meet every city and state power broker and worked on the sale of here Trump Tower apartments.
Real-estate tax is immensely complicated.
Often profit-and-loss accounting does not run parallel with cash flow.
Sometimes a developer https://nycwebdesigner.org/casino/fallsview-casino-busses-from-toronto.html have tremendous cash flow and yet not report taxable earnings; tax laws also permit developers to have less cash flow and greater taxable click the following article />It is up to the developer.
When Donald Trump broke ground on a new apartment building at Sixty-first Street and Third Avenue, Louise Sunshine was given a 5 percent share of the new Trump Plaza, as vf casino beach bar was called.
Sunshine was so stunned by this that she went to her friend billionaire Leonard Stern for help.
And as a result, the details of his duplicitous treatment would not only come to the attention of the public but also to the Casino Control Commission.
Sunshine repaid Leonard Stern.
For several years, Trump and Sunshine had a cool relationship.
But in fine New York style, they are now friends again.
He started to expand out of the familiar world of real estate into casinos, airlines, and hotels.
With Citicorp as his enabler, wwe hampton beach casino ballroom pictures bought the Plaza and the Eastern shuttle.
He managed them both surprisingly well, but he had paid too much for them.
He always had the ready cooperation of the starstruck banks, which would later panic.
We used to have to pick through the financings; the banks could not sign on fast enough to anything Donald conceived.
His fix was spending money.
When Mortimer Zuckerman, the chairman and C.
One image of Ivana and Donald Trump sticks in my memory.
Wintertime, three years ago.
They were at the Wollman Rink.
Donald had just fixed it up for the city.
He had been crowing in the newspapers about what dummies Mayor Koch and the city had been, wasting years and money and coming up with nothing on the skating rink.
Trump had taken over the job and done it well.
If he grabbed more of the credit than he deserved, no one really held it against him; the rink was open at last and filled with happy skaters.
Ivana was wearing a striking lynx coat which showed her blond hair to advantage.
Their arms were around each other.
They looked so very young and rich, living in the moment of their success.
A polite crowd had gathered to congratulate them on the triumph of the rink.
The people near Donald appeared to feel enlivened by his presence, as if he were a hero.
The Trumps were late, and this was not a dinner to be taken lightly.
The hosts had a family name that evoked the very history of New York, yet as if they had recognized another force coming up in the city, they were honoring Donald and Ivana Trump.
Trump entered the room first.
Trump paid little attention to his blonde companion, and no one in the room recognized Ivana until she began to speak.
What has she done to herself?
Her limbs had been resculpted, and her cleavage astonishingly enhanced.
The guests were so confused by her looks that her presence created an odd mood.
All through dinner Donald fidgeted.
He looked at his watch.
He mentioned repeatedly that he was at that moment on the Larry King show, as if he expected the guests to get up from their places.
He had been belligerent to King that night, and he wanted the guests to see him, perhaps to confirm his powers.
They were at the Waldorf-Astoria, at an awards ceremony sponsored by the Fragrance Foundation, and Ivana was a presenter.
The carpet was shabby in the Jade Room; the paparazzi were waiting to pounce.
The most expensive couture dress looked, under the blue-green tint of the lights, cheap.
I was surprised that she appeared.
TRUMP IN A SLUMP!
Ivana smiled, as if she were a presidential candidate.
She wore a full-skirted mint-green satin beaded gown; her hair was swept off her face in a chignon.
Ivana was at the Waldorf by 6:15 P.
She could not afford now to alienate the perfume establishment by canceling, for soon she would be merchandising a fragrance, and she would need their goodwill.
Ivana seemed determined to keep her new stature in the city of alliances, for her financial future depended on her being able to salvage the brand name.
click a woman alone, with a reduced fortune, Ivana was entering a tough world.
She had no Rothkos to hock and no important jewels.
But she did have the name Ivana, and she was making plans to market scarves, perfumes, handbags, and shoes, as once her husband had been able to market the name Trump.
Several feet away from us, the local CBS reporter was doing a stand-up for the evening news.
The reporter was commenting on the unraveling of the Trump empire while Ivana was chatting with Scaasi and Estee Lauder.
It is a cold world out here.
Ivana even allowed the CBS reporter to shove a microphone into her face.
Ivana had become, like Donald, a double agent, able to project innocence and utter confidence.
She had, in fact, almost turned into Donald Trump.
Marla can do any movie she wants to now.
When people give me a punch in the nose, I react by getting even tougher.
Ivana had been given the responsibility of supervising all the decoration; she was hard at it, despite the fact that she was wearing a white wool Thierry Mugler jumpsuit and pale Dior shoes as she picked her way through the sawdust.
Screaming at her employees had become part of her hallmark, perhaps her way of feeling power.
Later, in Atlantic City, she would become known for her obsession with cleanliness.
Ivana is deaf, dumb, and blind when it comes to Donald.
The Trumps hired two nannies and a bodyguard for their children.
She went to work running Trump Castle casino in Atlantic City, often spending two or three days a week there supervising the staff.
Determined to bring glamour to Trump Castle, she became famous for her attention to appearances, once moving a pregnant waitress, desperate for big tips, off the casino floor.
Soon after Trump Tower was completed, the Trumps took possession of their triplex.
Yet the kitchen of her city apartment, which she designed, is tiny, no more than a kitchenette, tiled with gold linoleum.
The Trump living room has a beige onyx floor with holes carved out to fit the carpets.
There is a waterfall cascading down a marble wall, an Italianate fountain, and the famous murals.
Their bedroom had a glass wall filled with arrangements of silk flowers.
After a time, Ivana tired of the decor.
She called in a renowned decorator.
Christmas Eve, three years ago.
Ivana had received another stack of legal documents the size of a telephone book.
Donald pressed her, according to Kennedy.
Trump seemed extraordinarily concerned that she sign the papers, perhaps because an Atlantic City photographer was threatening to blackmail him with photos he had taken of him and Marla Maples.
However efficiently Ivana ran Trump Castle, she seemed terrified of her husband.
Atlantic City was to be their playground.
But by now Marla Maples was in Atlantic City, and it was close to New York.
I will pay her one dollar a year and all the dresses she can buy!
She could have made a fortune in the last six months if she had wanted to!
This past February, Harrisburg pa casino took off for Japan, telling reporters he would be attending the Mike Tyson fight.
As he was flying back, he was radioed on the plane.
The entire sordid history of Marla Maples and Ivana fighting on the Aspen ski slopes was all over the papers.
Ivana had done to Donald what years ago he had done to Jay Pritzker in Nepal.
From the airplane, Trump called Liz Smith.
The Japanese bankers with whom Trump had negotiated a tentative sale suddenly backed off.
Several weeks later, Donald called Ivana.
We could say that we wanted to see who would side with you and who would side with me.
I always liked you.
Who was that for, her new best friend, Jerry Zipkin?
The scandal was seriously affecting the Trump children.
Donny junior was being ridiculed at the Buckley School.
Ivancka had been in tears at Chapin.
When Donald and Marla Maples attended the same Elton John concert, Donny junior cried, for his father had told the children he would give Marla Maples up.
The railroad tracks were rusty, the land was overgrown.
The property stretched on, block after block.
It was cool by the Hudson River that morning, with a pleasant breeze whipping over the water.
The only sign of Trump was a high storm fence topped with elaborate curls of barbed wire to keep out the homeless people who live nearby.
Ivana had left for London to take part in one more public-relations event promoting the Plaza, only this time her friends the Baron and Baroness Ricky di Portanova were rumored to be paying the bill.
Ivana had had her New York media campaign orchestrated by John Scanlon, who had handled public relations for CBS during the Westmoreland libel case.
In London, she was cosseted by Eleanor Lambert, the doyenne of fashion publicists.
Sir Humphry Wakefield assembled a list of titled guests for a dinner, but there was friction between him and Ivana.
When the guests, including the Duchess of Northumberland, arrived, many of them were displeased that they had been lured to a dinner which, to their surprise, was in honor of Ivana Trump.
That Saturday, New York seemed oddly vacant without the Trumps.
Donald had left for his birthday party in Atlantic City.
Hundreds of casino employees had been told to be on the Boardwalk to greet him, since Manhattan boosters jokers wild breakfast in short supply.
Trump arrived very late, flanked by his bodyguards.
His face was hard, his mouth set into a line.
The size of the portrait was unsettling on the Atlantic City Boardwalk: ten feet of the Donald, leaning forward on his elbow, his face frozen in the familiar defiant smirk.
Much of his empire would probably have to be dismantled, but he would retain control.
Trump crowed about the bailout.
The banks would never have asked me for my future inheritance, and I would never have given it.
On a rainy Thursday in July, I went down to federal court, where he was set to testify in a civil case in which he was a defendant.
Along with his contractor, Trump had been accused of hiring scores of illegal Polish aliens to do the demolition work on the Trump Tower site.
The last time I had been in this neighborhood was to hear the verdict in the John Gotti trial.
I had come to know the area well.
The guard inside greeted me by click at this page />I was often here dipping in and out of the courtrooms to observe the notorious figures of the last decade.
I thought of Bess Myerson, Michael Milken, Ivan Boesky, Leona Helmsley, Imelda Marcos, and Adnan Khashoggi, shattered and brought down in the crazy kaleidoscope of the 1980s.
Each one had, at one time in his or her life, been thought to be like Donald Trump, a figure of greatness, anointed with special powers.
In front of the courthouse, the police barricades were up.
So many celebrities passed through these revolving doors that the yellow saw-horses were left routinely on the massive courthouse steps.
I thought about the ten years since I had first met Donald Trump.
It is fashionable now to say that he was a symbol of the crassness of the 1980s, but Trump became more than a vulgarian.
Like Michael Milken, Trump appeared to believe that his money gave him a freedom to set the rules.
No one stopped him.
His exaggerations and baloney were reported, and people laughed.
His bankers showered him with money.
City officials almost allowed him to set public policy by erecting his wall of concrete on the Hudson River.
New Continue reading City, like the bankers from the Chase and Manny Hanny, allowed Trump to exist in a universe where all reality had vanished.
They completely believed me.
And then they went out and wrote vicious things about me, as I am sure you will, too.
When I got to the courtroom, Trump had gone.
His lawyer, the venerable and well-connected Milton Gould, was smiling broadly, for he appeared to believe that he was wiping the floor with this case.
The reporters sounded weary; they had heard it all before.
We bought his bullshit!
He was always a phony, and we filled our papers with him!
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