THE MAD HOUSEWIVES OF MAR-A-LAGO

BY: Michael Arkin

January 20th, 2021 was a busy day at the White House. As the plasterers were spackling the hallways, filling in the crevices left by President Trump’s fingernails as the Secret Service dragged him kicking and screaming to the door; crews were restoring the Rose Garden to Jaqueline Kennedy’s original design; the official portraits of former Presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush were brought out of mothballs, and the kitchen staff was anxiously counting the silverware. 

The former President skipped the Inauguration and along with his extended pardoned family was transported by Marine One to the airport where Air Force Two was waiting to take them to their new life at Mar-a-Lago. As the helicopter circled over the National Mall where a record-breaking crowd of celebrants had gathered to witness President Biden’s swearing-in ceremony, former first daughter-in-law turned flight attendant, Lara Trump, who certainly looked the part, lowered the window shades so that the sight of the crowd would not upset the sedated former President.

The next morning, Don Jr. and his girlfriend, Kimberly Guilfoyle hosted a ‘Where Do We Go from Here?’ confab. Joining them around the conference table in the gold-leafed Shangri-Lago banquet room were Ivanka, Jared, Eric, Lana, and the corpulent Cinderella of the Trump family, half-sister, Tiffany.

 

“I don’t get it,” Ivanka said, making small talk as they waited for their father to arrive, “There’s not one family member in Joe Biden’s new administration.” Melania burst in a few minutes later wearing a jacket emblazoned with the words ‘I still don’t care’. She sneered at Ivanka, “You told me this meeting was in the Scheherazade room!”

 

“Did I?” the crown princess responded with her trademarked breathlessness. 

“So, Ivanka, how’s the house-hunting going?” Don Jr. asked.

“It’s difficult. We’re thinking about New Jersey,” she said, brushing a piece of lint from her winter white ensemble.

“New Jersey?” Lara asked incredulously. “Why New Jersey?”

“It worked for The Sopranos,” Tiffany giggled as she dug into a chafing dish full of warm pancakes.

Flouncing her Brazilian blow-out, Ivanka continued, “We were zeroing in on adding 5,000 square feet to our cottage in Bedminster, but then the New York Times wrote about it, and suddenly the building inspectors became a big problem. Can someone please explain why you have to submit the plans before you begin construction? I mean, it’s really a small job, just 25 rooms and a kitchenette. But we may be forced to start looking for a new place. Our real-estate agent keeps suggesting that we take a look at Secaucus.”

 

“I went to Secaucus once, I still can’t get the smell out of my nose,” Eric said.

“Why aren’t you going back to New York?” Melania asked.

“How do you say persona non grata in Slovenian?” Tiffany asked, her mouth full. 

The door swung open and the former President entered. Dressed for the golf course, he had been posing for photos in the lobby where members could take a selfie with him in front of a backdrop of the White House with a banner headline that read “Returning 2024.” 

 

“Eric, I thought your idea would be a total disaster like all your other ones, but that photo-op could be a goldmine. These suckers aren’t only willing to pay the $200,000 membership fee, they’re more than happy to shell out $2500 for a selfie with me. For an extra $500 I’d even throw in an autographed MAGA hat. I mean, why not? We’ve got thousands of them leftover.” He scoured the chafing dishes. “No egg McMuffins?”

Sparked by a rivalry dating back to their 2011 African safari when Eric bagged a leopard but Don Jr. only killed an elephant, Junior was eager to prove his worth and got things going. “I thought we’d get started with a subject that’s near and dear to all of us.” Projecting a PowerPoint presentation onto a screen, the first slide read, ‘MONEY’.  “Dad, we’re all aware that you’re more than $400 million in debt and we want to do what we can to help.” 

 

“Actually, I’ve already raised over $170 million based on false election claims,” the President boasted. Seeing the looks on everyone’s faces, he added, “I know what you’re thinking – that I can’t use that money for my personal debt, but I’m the President and you’re not, so we’ll just have to see what happens, okay?”

Trying to get the meeting back on track, Junior suggested, “Why don’t we go around the room and brainstorm ideas? Who wants to begin?”

Eric raised his hand. “What if we started another charity? Instead of kids with cancer, this time let’s focus on dogs. People love dogs even more than kids.”

“Eric, you’re forgetting that I had to pay $2 million to get out of that last charity mess,” his father said.

Ivanka added, “Not to mention that you, Don Jr. and I had to endure that stupid training on the duties of officers of charities so that we would never try to pull anything like that again.” 

Anxious to rescue her husband from her father-in-law’s wrath, Lara waved her hand like a first-grader. “I have an idea.” Reaching into her bag, she produced a blue envelope. “This is called a Valpack. It’s full of coupons and money-saving offers and is sent out to millions of people. What if we create a Mar-a-Lago membership coupon offer?” We can demographically target people in the top 1% who live in red states.”

Kimberly suggested that Ivanka do more Goya ads. “Me gusto mucho!”

“Me gusto, too,” the President said with a zipped smile. “It could help us with the Hispanic vote. What do you think, baby?” 

Ivanka tilted her head demurely. “I have some other ideas.” 

“Aside from becoming the first woman president?” Tiffany asked.

“That’s probably not until 2028. In the meantime, what if I did my own QVC show? I realize that we’d have to restart production on my clothing line. Given our strained relations with China, I don’t think I could rely upon their sweat shops any longer, but I was thinking about asking Stephen Miller if there was any way we could enlist some of those kids in the detention centers. Give them a needle and thread, and voila!”

“I like it,” her father said, “but I have a better idea. “What if we all live here at Mar-a-Lago and created a new reality show, ‘Presidential Apprentice’? We can get Sarah Huckabee Sanders, Kellyanne Conway, Kayleigh McEnany, Sean Spicer, Betsy DeVos, Scaramucci, Flynn, Bannon, the whole bunch.” 

Shrinking back in his chair, Don Jr. said, “How would that work, Dad? You’re not POTUS anymore.” 

“I am so! I won! Everyone knows that the election was rigged. And those Republican governors treated me like a dog. Worse than a dog.”

“Why not Keeping Up with the Trumps?” Tiffany suggested, going for a second rasher of bacon.

“Hey, that’s not a half-bad idea,” Donald said, “I knew that something good had to rub off eventually. We could syndicate it in red markets. Hey, how do you like that bacon? Isn’t it the best bacon you ever ate?”

 

Seeing Tiffany blossom in the light of her father’s praise, Ivanka cleared her throat to remind everyone of the family pecking order. “Funny, I was thinking about a reality series, too. ‘Ask Ivanka’. I could offer advice to young girls looking to find pathways to success.”

“Well, bring your daughter to work day really did seem to work for you,” Kimberly noted.

Junior didn’t like the idea. “I think we need to concentrate on ideas that are more closely aligned with our brand.” 

Desperate to stay in her father’s good graces Tiffany suggested, “How about a variation on ‘Supermarket Sweep’ where you all have four years to loot the government for as much as possible? We could call it ’White House Wipeout’.” 

“It’s been done,” Melania mumbled.

“Keep trying, Tif,” Donald said, indicating that she had some syrup on her chin that needed wiping away.

“Our American-based luxury hotels have taken a big hit. But what about a line of Trump Motels? We can paint all the toilet bowls gold and steal market share from Motel 6, especially in the fly over states,” Junior suggested. “Think Schitt’s Creek with crystal chandeliers and marble.”

“I’ve got it!” Eric stood up excitedly. “Why don’t we form a megachurch?”

“Would the evangelicals go for that?” Jared wondered aloud.

“They would as long as the Supreme Court continues to chip away at radical left programs like Obamacare and gay marriage. We just need to convince Mitch McConnell to continue to deliver domination of our government.”

When a waiter arrived to check the chafing dishes, Jared asked for the WIFI password.  “I’m afraid the WIFI is down, sir.”

“Damn, I have one last top-secret national security update that I have to send to Avril Haines,” he explained to his father-in-law.

“Don’t worry, you can use my personal hotspot,” Tiffany offered.

“Is it secure?”

“Well Matt Gaetz said it was tight.”

As Jared opened his laptop to fire off the email, Ivanka checked her voicemails. “Geez, Anna Wintour hasn’t returned any of my calls about my tickets to the Met Ball. I thought she liked me.”

“Don’t you get it?”, Jared asked, looking up from his email. “When you have money, it doesn’t matter if people like you. You can buy the friends you need.”

“But we have to save every penny to pay for our legal defense. The Southern District of New York is coming for us,” she argued.

“Don’t worry, I already worked out a deal with Rudy,” the President said. “He wants to start practice sessions for our upcoming depositions as soon as possible.”

Ivanka dismissed the notion with a wave of her manicured hand. “I’ve been questioned by three co-op boards, this’ll be a breeze.” 

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Guilfoyle said, her hands raised like a Baptist preacher, “but a lot of people think that you separated and imprisoned children, sought to undermine democracy, aided and abetted corruption,  used your government positions to better your own financial standing, and actively promoted misinformation.” 

“Should we be worried?” Ivanka asked, “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

 “You could go to jail. If you’re lucky, you’ll just wind up doing community service.”

“What does that entail? What would I have to do?”

“Things like feeding the homeless…cleaning the bedpans at Bellevue.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Ivanka covered her ears. 

“Believe me, the only thing you don’t want to hear is ‘convicted on all counts’,” Guilfoyle warned. 

“Isn’t there someplace we can go to escape prosecution?”

Don Jr., who had been reading up on the subject, replied, “Yeah, there are about 50 countries that don’t have extradition treaties with the US, but most of them are places you wouldn’t want to step foot in.”

“All those shithole countries,” the President added. 

“The best options include Saudi Arabia and Slovenia,” Junior said.

“Slovenia? What do you know? We could make it kind of reverse chain migration, what do you say, Melania?”

“Are you crazy? I didn’t suffer through fifteen years of marriage and four years of Christmas at the White House to go back to Slovenia. I’m staying right here.” 

A bellboy arrived with a bouquet of flowers. “These just arrived for you, Mr. President.”

“You see, people still remember me.” He opened the card, “It’s from Putin! ‘Thanks for all your help. It was fun while it lasted’. Nostrovia to 2024.” Isn’t that nice?” he said smelling the flowers. “They’re lovely, what are they?”

Having produced a TV segment on flower arranging, Lara knew the answer. “I’m pretty sure those are Forget-Me-Nots.”

Copyright 2020 Michael Arkin. All Rights Reserved.