I’ve been covering Trump since 1985, when I worked for The New York Times’ women’s pages. He endorsed one of my books, about real estate, and was a character in two more of them. He talked to me about sex and substances and the substance of the arena in which he made his name, real estate. I published all of it. In 1999, he told me that in 1995 he’d been worth about negative $900 million. I didn’t have the chops to think to ask for his tax returns.
I also wrote a book about the modeling industry and heard stories about Trump but didn’t write them because he wasn’t important in it, just another rich guy buying a date farm, perhaps for his friends, perhaps for himself. This wasn’t pejorative, just how things were. (Leonardo DiCaprio, at the height of his “Pussy Posse” fame, thanked Trump for offering “one-stop date-shopping.”)
Now, those stories seem to matter more, and so I spoke in recent days with two Trump pals, both reluctant to talk about the man they once partied hard with who’s now the Republican nominee to be president of the United States. In that capacity, Trump has vowed to sue people who have come forward in recent weeks with allegations about his bad behavior.
One of the two men I spoke with, a fashion photographer, requested anonymity because he has fathered several children since his Trump days and doesn’t want his past dredged up. “There’s no upside for me,” he says.
The other man… well, you’ll read his words. Both confirmed that Trump, as I’ve reported, used to host parties in suites at the Plaza Hotel when he owned it, where young women and girls were introduced to older, richer men. This is hardly aberrant behavior in the modeling business. Indeed, it is standard operating procedure.
But both men also put Donald Trump in the room with cocaine, very young women and underage girls, and rich, old men there to—pardon my language, but if the Times can say pussy on its front page, I can say this—fuck them.