Future Ex-President Donald J. Trump reeled from a double blow yesterday. Paul Manafort, his bargain-basement campaign manager, was convicted of eight counts of fraud. At almost the same time, Michael Cohen, his fixer, pled guilty to tax fraud and making illegal campaign contributions — to Stormy Daniels, a five-tool player in the porn industry, and Kathy McDougal, a Playboy veteran. Both women were paid by Cohen not to reveal their hook-ups with FEPOTUS. Even worse, Cohen testified that a candidate for federal office had directed him to do it.
Trump was livid. Now he’d never get his cut of Manafort’s loan proceeds or the lobbying money collected by Cohen. Nothing makes him madder than his Capos making money without paying him his cut. He spent the flight time on Air Force drafting a doctor’s note for DonaldJr and plotting his revenge.
Consigliere Rudy Giuliani explained again that he couldn’t grant a pardon conditioned on Manafort or Cohen paying him. FEPOTUS thought the payments could be treated as contributions to the 2020 re-election campaign. A bead of sweat ran along the Consigliere’s temple and down along his jaw line. He was planning to discuss 2020 another day.
“Yes, Mr. President, campaign contributions.” But his client was no longer listening. He was on the phone with Sean Hannity. Giuliani backed out of the cabin.
“Not my emails, Sean! Hillary’s e-mails. Why are they ignoring them? That’s where the crime is. Sean, say it again and again. Keep saying it till everyone believes you. And no collusion! This has nothing to do with Russia,” he said and dropped the call.
He mashed the IM to his private secretary. “Get Melania back from whatever shithole country she’s in. I need her here to step up her cyber-bullying (sic) campaign.”
The phones were quiet now. An uneaten taco bowl and Diet Coke lay on the table. Don’t believe anything from the fake news, he thought, prepping for the West Virginia rally soon to start. Good chance they didn’t know about the verdict or the plea. No reason to tell them.
There was a knock on the cabin door. “Daddy?” Ivanka opened it and stepped in. “I have today’s report. Is this a good time?” He motioned her to take a seat.
“We’ve had a few cancellations at the DC hotel. The Saudis asked for a rain check on the State Visit,” FEPOTUS nodded, “and the foreign minister said that you could drop the interest payment off next week. He knows you’re busy.”
Ivanka continued. “Miss Slovenia and her freeloader parents won’t be back for at least a week.” CNN just aired that she would be gone for an indefinite period of time. Trump, watery-eyed, looked up. “She didn’t book a return flight,” said Ivanka.
“There’s a great turn-out expected tonight,” she continued. “CBS Charleston is running a segment about the EPA being disbanded.”
“How’d you make out on moving the Ivanka inventory?” he asked.
“Indonesia didn’t want it, even below cost. I have a call in to Big Lots.” FEPOTUS nodded, lost in thought.
Ivanka lingered, staring awkwardly at her father. He hadn’t touched his dinner and wasn’t watching Fox News, which always relaxed him. He’d even canceled his tanning session. She noticed that grey roots were poking through his orange bouffant.
“Daddy, if it’s ok with you, Jared and I are taking the kids to Six Flags on Friday. We won’t be in Bedminster this weekend.” He shrugged, his big suit bobbing up and down.
“I thought you had my back,” he said to Ivanka, who avoided eye contact.
“You do, Daddy. It’s just that Jared’s been waiting to hear back from Six Flags, and it looks like they may have something for him in sales.”
“So, it’s not for the kids,” he said.
“Not entirely,” she admitted. The intercom beeped.
“Senior adviser for you, Mr. President.” Ivanka leaned over and kissed her father on his mottled cheek, then left the room.
“Hello, Mr. President,” said the adviser.
“Hello, Mr. President,” Trump said. “I know it’s been a tough day.” There was a long silence. “Isn’t it sad what they did to Paulie?”
“Manafort was stupid,” said Putin. “He was desperate and did not eliminate his weaknesses.”
“You know, he has another trial coming up,” offered Trump.
“I’ve been in touch with my liaison to the prosecutor. They are going to try to make a deal now. The point has been made.”
“How did you hear that before me?”
“I have a friend at Justice,” responded Putin. “Donald, the reason I called is that I think we need to make a change.”
“You’re firing me?”
“No, but I believe it is better for you to resign and leave the party apparatchiks in place. It is getting so bad that they may have to impeach you to save themselves.”
“This is some covfefe,” said Trump.
“That’s not a word!” said Putin.
“But you used it.”
“No, Donald. I said kerfuffle. But back to square one. We will need to call in the loans because it does not appear that you will fulfill your term.”
“Vlad, you know I can’t pay it. Revenues are down in all of our locations. Today, the Saudis canceled a huge booking at the DC Hotel. I need time.”
“You don’t have time, Donald. We have to exercise the Helsinki Accord.”
That’s impossible right now. I don’t have Congress behind me. It won’t go through.”
We will take care of Congress. Just sign over Alaska and Hawaii, and we’ll call it even.”
“I never said Hawaii. I can’t throw in Hawaii. That’s our Pacific command. Even you can’t get the caucus behind it. Besides, I’ve optioned some property in that old leper colony – which island is that?”
“Molokai.”
“Molokai…funny, I mix it up with Guam. What I can do, instead of Hawaii, I can release Puerto Rico. You’ll have to bid with the Chinese over it, but think of what wonderful dachas you could build there. It’s a perfect escape from the Russian winters.” Trump paused. “Puerto Rico is the hidden jewel in the crown. Fantastic beaches. A great rain forest for secret ops training. The people are terrific. They love me. ”
“Puerto Rico is too messy, too much to do. How about Oregon?”
“I told you the lower forty-eight were off limits. Besides, the West Coast is too socialist for Russian tastes.”
“Alright, Donald. We will accept Alaska and Puerto Rico. We will need to close the deal quickly.”
“I’ll get Miller started on the papers.”
Evan Sarzin is the author of Hard Bop Piano and Bud Powell published by Gerard & Sarzin Music Publishing. He writes and publishes Revolted Colonies (http://revoltedcolonies.com).