[The “Summer Throne Room” at the Trump National Golf Club in Bedminster, New Jersey. It appears to be a large office in the main clubhouse, though not as large as the Throne Room at Mar-a-Lago. This one has masses of sumptuous drapes all along the walls, completely obscuring whatever doors or windows may be there, and, near one wall, a smaller version of the gold-painted throne from Mar-a-Lago, set on a very low velvet-covered riser. A large gold braided cord hangs from the ceiling down to within arm’s reach of the throne. Low lamp light. TRUMP, wearing a fussy purple robe over what appear to be blue silk pajamas and alligator-skin slippers, is seated on the throne, playing with his phone; standing nearby is DIBS, a thin, pale, unsmiling man of about 60 with hairy ears and knuckles and dressed in butler’s livery. Across the room some of the drapes rustle, at first gently, then more frantically.]
VOICE: Hello? Hello? Where am I? Is anyone there? Hey! Can anyone —
[RONNY JACKSON, former White House physician and current Texas Republican Congressman, enters wearing a blue suit with a gold tie and deck shoes. He rearranges his disordered hair.]
JACKSON: Sorry, Mr. President, I got lost.
TRUMP: [Still playing with the phone] That’s okay. We do that on purpose. Someone tries to get in we don’t want, Secret Service has him trapped.
[JACKSON looks around.]
JACKSON: Beautiful office, Mr. President.
TRUMP: If you’re looking for a chair, forget it. Bedminster’s classy but too small, like that dump the White House. Don’t want to clutter it up.
[TRUMP puts away the phone.]
Don’t worry, this’ll be quick. You’re going to CPAC.
JACKSON: Yes sir! Gonna give a little speech about Sleepy Joe and how senile and incompetent he is. Should be a —
TRUMP: Yeah, I meant to tell you, good job putting that around. Really appreciate it.
JACKSON: Thank you, sir. Happy to.
TRUMP: I didn’t think we could get you to do it.
JACKSON: Oh, well, it’s just my duty as a patriotic citizen, sir.
TRUMP: Not what you said when we brought it to you.
JACKSON: Uh, I just needed to see the evidence. Once I had the evidence, it was of course no problem.
TRUMP: We gave you some good evidence, didn’t we?
JACKSON: Yes, sir, very nice, generous, really.
TRUMP: Guess what, we got more. OK, Dibs, give him the folder.
[DIBS reaches behind a drapery and pulls out a black portfolio case, which he brings and hands to a suspicious-looking JACKSON. He then returns to his place.]
JACKSON: More evidence, sir? Well, that’s, that’s great, I guess I can work this into the speech —
TRUMP: No working in. Whole new ballgame, Ronny. Take a look at that stuff.
[JACKSON opens and leafs through the folder.]
This is gonna knock them right on their ass. And that’s just the skim. When you get the encrypted files, that’s high res, you just stick them in a Powerpoint and we got a sensation on our hands.
JACKSON: These aren’t pictures of Joe Biden.
TRUMP: No? I dunno. They look like him to me. [To DIBS] These pictures look like Biden to you, Dibs?
JACKSON: But these — well, I’m sure they’re everything you say, Mr. President, but people will see this and they’ll, some of, a lot of them will say it’s —
TRUMP: A fake? So what? They always say that. But you know better, right?
[TRUMP gets up, walks to JACKSON.]
What’s important is you believe it. Right? You seen the pictures. In your medical opinion this is Joe Biden. And the guy they got in the White House, posing for the cameras? An imposter. Not Joe Biden.
[TRUMP points at the folder.]
This is Joe Biden. Say it with me. This —
JACKSON and TRUMP: This is Joe Biden.
TRUMP: That’s right. And what’s Joe Biden doing?
JACKSON: [Looking in the folder] He’s — he’s trying to take off a diaper.
TRUMP: Right, but he makes a big mess all over the floor, a big sloppy mess, and because why, Ronny? In your medical opinion.
JACKSON: Because he’s suffering from advanced dementia.
TRUMP: [Arms out in “you see?” gesture] Which is where we came in. Now see? We got all the evidence here — and in your bank account, you’re gonna see evidence like you wouldn’t believe. And wait’ll you hear the tapes of this guy! [Minces in place, eyes squeezed] “Ga ga goo goo.” It’s so pathetic, you’ll piss yourself laughing.
JACKSON: That’s great, Mr. President, but this other thing — [points in the folder] this thing with Dr. Fauci —
TRUMP: What about it?
JACKSON: Well, again, maybe you can get people to see the fake Biden, but telling them that Dr. Fauci’s running the whole show like some kind of criminal mastermind — but that’s a hard sell with Dr. Fauci, sir, I mean, Dr. Fauci —
[TRUMP slaps JACKSON.]
TRUMP: It’s Fauci. You don’t say “Doctor.” How do we even know he’s a doctor? You been to his office? You seen the license on his wall? It’s Fauci, like Capone or Lucky Luciano, he’s a kingpin, an old-fashioned greaseball kingpin. And you’re gonna tell people that. You know why? Because we got that variant coming. In fact it’s already here, don’t kid yourself. And we got people all over the country, out in the sticks, they never had a shot, they think it’s voodoo or the mark of the beast or some shit. And we want them to go right on thinking that, you get me? Right on thinking that Biden and Fauci are trying to steal their souls, make ‘em gay, make ‘em trans, whatever, so they never get that shot, and that variant’s gonna roll into their little towns like clouds of poison gas and they’re gonna die by the thousands, by the millions. Then Donald Trump doesn’t look so bad, does he? Now Biden’s the killer — Pants-shitter Biden and his fake doctor guinea hood!
JACKSON: Sir, as a doctor, I can offer medical opinions about Joe Biden. I can do that. But I’m not qualified to say anything about this conspiracy.
[TRUMP nods, walks back to and sits on the throne.]
TRUMP: OK. OK. I tried. Dibs, you explain it to him. [To JACKSON] He can explain it better. I’m a little tired.
[TRUMP takes out his phone and plays with it while DIBS goes to JACKSON, takes the folder out of his hand, sticks the fingers of his other hand under the base of JACKSON’s skull and knees him in the groin, causing JACKSON to weakly scream and fall to the floor. DIBS then pokes his heel into the base of JACKSON’s spine, causing him to emit little peeping shrieks.]
TRUMP: OK, Dibs.
[DIBS drops the folder to the ground and returns to his place. TRUMP puts his phone away. JACKSON is panting, trying to get up.]
TRUMP: You need help getting up, Ronny? You want Dibs to help you?
[JACKSON staggers to his feet.]
JACKSON: I got, I got it.
TRUMP: Good. OK, well, have a nice time at CPAC. Don’t forget your folder.
[JACKSON painfully bends and retrieves his folder. He heads for the drapes but can’t find the exit. Frantically he pats and clutches at the drapes trying to find a way out.]
Ronny. You having trouble, Ronny? I can call some guys to help you out. I just have to pull this cord. You want some help? They’ll be here any minute.
[TRUMP pulls the cord; a distant gong sounds. JACKSON, panicked, finds a gap and hastily exits.]
Bye, Ronny! Have a nice flight. [To DIBS.] When they get here I think I’m gonna get some pizzas. What do you want on yours?