I was on Trumpís case back in 1994 when one of my Tom Bethany mysteries, Strangle Hold, was published. Unfortunately it was fiction. The excerpt below describes a bit of improvisational theater. For the full literary experience, go here.
ďA sperm bank! Who said that.Ē Ned pointed me out, making sure everyone would know where the idea had come from. ďLet me just say, sir, that you have a genuinely sick mind.Ē Three or four other suggestions came from the audience, and then the players huddled off to one side as if they were discussing which one to build on. Then a frizzy-haired blonde left the huddle with a chair in hand, and sat down facing us. From rehearsals, I knew her name was Audrey Herman. Audrey made as if she were working at an imaginary desk, while the actor named Harvey came through an imaginary door and stood in front of her. It was all going according to the script:
DONOR: This the First National Sperm Bank?
NURSE: You the ten oíclock? (Looking down at schedule) The Donald?
DONOR nods. NURSE drains the last of an imaginary coffee cup and hands it to him.
NURSE: Fill íer up.
DONOR: Right here?
NURSE: Go ahead and whip it out. Iím a nurse.
DONOR starts to do so, when ROBBER bursts in and grabs him around the neck while threatening the NURSE with an imaginary gun.
ROBBER: Hand it over!
NURSE and DONOR obey, although the DONOR is in obvious distress from the strangle hold the ROBBER has on him. As the other two speak, he fights silently for breath and his hands lower slowly to his sides.
NURSE: Are you crazy? This is the First National Sperm Bank!
ROBBER: I donít give a ratís ass what you call it, sister. Hand the dough over in unmarked tens and twenties or this guy gets it. (Presses gun to DONORíS head.)
NURSE: You canít kill that man!
ROBBER: Why not?
NURSE: Heís already dead.
ROBBER notices this is so, and lets DONOR fall to the floor.
ROBBER: Shit, what am I supposed to do for a hostage?
NURSE: You idiot! Youíve killed the most brilliant businessman in America. His sperm was worth a fortune.
ROBBER: Huh? Who is he?
NURSE: Donald Trump. He used to get two million bucks a wad.
ROBBER: Jeez, what kind of broad would pay that kind of money for somebody elseís sperm?
NURSE: Women married to rich morons. Speak of the devil, here comes Mrs. Quayle now.
MARILYN: Hi. Iíve come to pick up my order of Trump sperm. Wait a minute. Isnít that the Donald on the floor?
ROBBER: Heís just resting. (Aside to NURSE) Keep your mouth shut, sister, and Iíll split with you fifty-fifty. (Back to MARILYN) If you could just step into the other room with my nurse for a minute, give Mr. Trump a little privacyó
MARILYN: Of course. (They turn their backs while the ROBBER retrieves the fallen coffee cup from the floor, turns away from the audience, and goes to work.)
ROBBER: Okay, ladies. All set. (They turn around again.)
MARILYN: Sorry to interrupt your nap, Mr. Trump. Mr. Trump?
ROBBER: He went right back to sleep, Iím afraid. It took a lot out of him.
MARILYN: (Looking into the cup the ROBBER has handed her.) Doesnít look like much to me.
NURSE: Hey, you know what they say about the Donald, donít you?
MARILYN: No, what?
NURSE: (Breaking into the old Brylcreem songó) Trumpcreem, a little dabíll do ya. Trumpcreem, a little dabbledoó
ROBBER: Yeah, I know it donít look like much, but thereís millions of them little suckers in there. So if youíll just hand over the doughó
MARILYN: Not so fast. Iíve got to check it first.
ROBBER: (Looking into the cup) Looks okay to me.
MARILYN: (Shoving an imaginary purse protectively under her arm.) Yeah, well, youíre not getting my wad till Iím sure this is the Donaldís wad. Iím taking it to the Cambridge police for a DNA test.
ROBBER: Okay, lady, have it your own way.
(He shoots MARILYN dead and grabs her purse as she crumples, then shoots the NURSE dead, then shakes the purse upside down. Empty. He shoots himself dead.)
And that was the end of our skit. All four players popped back up to their feet, bowed, and exited to applause that did my producerís heart good.