Page 104 - Too Much and Never Enough - Mary L. Trump

When they returned, there was a desultory round of applause. “Good job, Freddy,” Rob said, as if my father had just killed a mosquito.
Donald was becoming a constant presence even when he wasn’t in the House. Every time my father wanted to go to the kitchen or back to his room, he had to pass through the gauntlet of magazine covers and newspaper articles that littered the breakfast room table. Ever since the 1973 lawsuit, Donald had been a staple of the New York tabloids, and my grandfather had collected every single article that mentioned his name.
The Grand Hyatt deal Donald was working on when Dad moved back to the House was merely a more complex version of the 1972 partnership my grandfather had formed with Donald in New Jersey. The Grand Hyatt was initially made possible because of my grandfather’s association with New York City mayor Abe Beame. Fred also contributed generously to both the mayor’s and Governor Hugh Carey’s campaigns. Louise Sunshine, Carey’s fund-raiser, helped pull the deal together. In order to seal it, Beame offered him a $10-million-a-year tax abatement that would remain in place for forty years. When the demolition of the Commodore Hotel began, the New York press, taking Donald at his word, consistently presented the deal as something Donald had accomplished single-handedly.
Perhaps to bridge the gap that had widened between us since he’d moved back to New York, Dad told me he wanted to throw me a Sweet Sixteen party in May 1981. The Grand Hyatt had had its grand opening a few months earlier, and Dad said he’d ask Donald if we could use one of the smaller ballrooms. Donald, who seemed eager for the chance to show off his new project to the family, readily agreed and even offered him a discount.
Dad told my grandfather about the plans for the party a few days later when the three of us were in the breakfast room, the ubiquitous clippings covering the table. “Fred,” he said angrily, “Donald’s busy, he doesn’t need this bullshit.”