In the fall of 1986 I stood at the door of the Milk Bar with Big Bernard.
The 7th Avenue nightclub was popular with he downtown set, so we were surprised to see a full stretch limo stop on Leroy Street.
A tall blonde man got out of the luxury car.
Bernard whispered, “Donald Trump. You think he tips.”
“We’ll soon find out.” I eyed his bodyguards.
Ex-cops and I said, “Sorry, it’s a private party tonight.”
“You know who this is?” asked the taller ex-cop. He looked 20th Precinct.
“Yeah, some white boy with a shitty wig job,” I said voce sotte.
Donald Trump was shit in my eyes as were all the rich of New York.”
“What’s your name?” demanded Donald.
“Fuck you.” I had no trouble saying this, since he was known as a pedophile for young blondes.
“You ain’t coming in.”
“I could buy this place ten times over.”
“Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight.” I pushed him aside, as three blonde models approached the entrance.
“He’s not coming in, is he?”
Donald smiled with dentist-perfected teeth.
Mine were starting to yellowing and I said, “Not now.”
“Good.” I waved the three models past Bernard.
Donald tried to duke me a c-note.
I chucked the bill on the street.
“LikeI said, not tonight.”
He was man enough to walk away. His bodyguard glared at me. I had fucked a little of their night. The limo disappeared down Leroy Street. Bernard bent over for the $100 bill. I beat him to it.
I went downstairs to change the bill. I offered the three models drinks. They were happy to be here and I was happy to have told Donald to ‘fuck off’.
Especially with his c-note in my pocket.
He was a piece of shit.
And money would never change that.