Chapter 113

“Donald Trump, dear.”

“The one on TV?”

“The very one,” Mrs. Ledbetter said. “Wears a yellow carpet on his head. Large mouth—when he opens it wide enough, you can see his foot in there. Had him over for dinner once, and the man choked on Lydia’s filet mignon. Made a spectacle of himself. But he loves being the center of attention, so that’s all right.”

“Is Mr. Trump a friend of yours?” Mama asked.

“Heavens no! He was asking for money. Again, mind you. Some luxury hotel he was building—he needed investors. I told him I don’t do business in New York anymore. Money comes and goes so quickly there. They hit the wrong button on a computer and investors are out billions of dollars. No, thank you. And while I’m quite fond of luxury properties, I would never stay in a hotel that had the owner’s name splashed across the marquee. So very gauche.”

“Well, yes,” Mama said, frowning.

“I wish Stephen had lived to see this,” Mrs. Ledbetter said, lowering her eyes to look at her plate.