Given that I’ve never reported from a war zone or the site of a natural disaster in its immediate aftermath, I suppose it’s unseemly to brag that my three days at Mar-a-Lago were among the coldest of that winter in Florida. Having brought the wrong clothes, when I wasn’t accompanying Trump on the lawn as he drove golf balls into the Intracoastal Waterway, being shown around the spa, watching a pay-per-view junior-welterweight boxing match with him and Marla Maples, or getting a house tour from his butler, I spent as much time as I could in my thousand-dollar-a-night suite, huddled under the bedcovers in fetal position. As we were about to land, Maxwell made a call on her cellphone—still a relatively rare consumer commodity in those days—and Trump joined in on the conversation by shouting from the front of the plane.
Author: Mark Singer
Published at: 2025-11-19 22:00:00
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