The only time I met Donald Trump told me all I needed to know. It was at an American Red Cross dinner-dance to raise money to fight cancer, held at his opulent Mar-a-Lago Club in Palm Beach a few years ago. It was of course extremely generous of him to lay on the place gratis for the night – there was a synchronized swimming display in the swimming pool, I remember – and the evening did indeed raise over $5 million, but in personally deciding the placement for the dinner he did something so unforgivable that the real man was exposed in all his egotistical vulgarity.
He sat his wife at the same table as a lady – and I must be careful here – who several of his friends present strongly believed to be his mistress. The rest of us at the table were dumbfounded and embarrassed; Trump himself obviously found it amusing as he ruined the evening for both pneumatic and almost identical women. The obscene self-regard of the man was laid bare for us all.
It is something that would not even have been done by the statesman who most closely resembles Donald Trump in history, Benito Mussolini, who at least respected the outward appearances of marriage in his most Catholic of countries. Otherwise, Mussolini – the other master of the ludicrously bombastic speech and the deliberately jutting jaw and the impossible-to-fulfil promises – is clearly Trump’s secret template. And now the Iowa caucus looks like being the first step of the Trumpian equivalent of Mussolini’s infamous March on Rome.
That he’s not a gentleman is obvious. but the idea that a boorish billionaire might have a mistress is not beyond the bounds of possibility, is it?
However, Mussolini is a bit over egging that pudding, don’t you think? Bernie’s rather closer in his economics: you can have everything for free if we just take it off those other guys.