After the White House— a short story about Donald Trump’s new life
Donald and Melania Trump arrived at Mar-a-Largo in a motorcade. They were greeted by a small crowd, cheering, clapping, and shouting ‘we love you.’
Trump stopped to give the thumbs up, but he looked tired. Melania walked straight into the building, leaving her husband outside to savour his fans.
Once inside, the couple went to their separate suites. Melania kicked off her heels, put her sunglasses on the table, and poured herself a vodka. She sat down in the big chair by the window and stared into the room. She drank a sip, and slumped back into the chair, her feet up on the crystal glass coffee table. She exhaled a long, slow breath, as if she was breathing out fully for the first time in four years. She reached for a cigarette from the marble and gold box by her chair, lit it, sucked in the smoke to the very bottom of her lungs, held it there, then slowly let it drift out. Her head spun a little, but her expression did not change.
Meanwhile, down the corridor, her husband, the now former president, was escorted into his room by a Secret Service detail and the few remaining members of his team. Despite his suddenly diminished status, he required the same treatment he had enjoyed this last 4 years — those around him remained obsequious, calling him Sir with the same gravitas the title had when attached to the person of the president. He gave his coat and gloves to a valet, paused, and looked out of the window, his chin jutting out slightly in a style reminiscent of Mussolini in mid-flow, on a balcony in Rome.
Sir, his aide said nervously, the inauguration is starting soon. Trump turned and looked at him, silently, and walked into the dressing room, pulling at his tie. He slammed the door, leaving the aides standing awkwardly on the other side. Finally alone, Trump looked at himself in the mirror. He stared. He wanted to see the president, to find and keep that reflection. He wanted to check it wasn’t washing away, that the façade was not slipping to reveal the tired, sad man he had been hiding from these last weeks. This was already too long — he needed an audience to play to. He dressed for golf, and strode out into the lounge, past his guards and security detail. Get my clubs, he barked at a boy in uniform.
