People get ready

The Leader prepares for a new phase

[The Oval Office. TRUMP is wearing his traditional suit, with the previously-noted addition of medals — about 30 of them on either side of his jacket — and gold-braid epaulets on his shoulders. But his bill cap has been swapped out for a steeply-peaked, Chinese-style military cap, red with a giant gold “T” on the front. He carries a swagger stick which he doesn’t seem to know what to do with. Chief of Staff MARK MEADOWS is wearing what looks like a Halloween-store costume version of military fatigues and a WWII-vintage M1 green helmet. He stands at a sloppy approximation of attention, with an abused-child look on his face. TRUMP paces around.]

TRUMP: It’s not just you, we got everybody suited up. The Marines, I don’t know —maybe they stick, maybe not, but you probably saw we got a lot of people. Lotta kids from the, the schools, places where they, they got think tanks. They gotta lotta energy, and we're gonna drill ‘em, gonna get Flynn in here to smack ‘em around.

[TRUMP looks at his swagger stick.]

What the fuck do I do with this?

[Suddenly he starts thrashing MEADOWS with the swagger stick; MEADOWS screams, cowers, hides behind a couch. TRUMP stops, holds his arms out.]

Mark, you’re never gonna make a soldier like that. When they come, these Antifa guys, they look like fags but they can be nasty. So you gotta stand up to ‘em. Come on, hey, get out from behind the couch, come on.

[MEADOWS very timidly crawls out from behind the couch.]

There ya go! OK, heads up.

[TRUMP kicks MEADOWS in the head. MEADOWS falls and hurriedly crawls across the room, crying.]

That’s it! I saw that in a movie. That’s good. You’re goin’ under the wire! We’ll make a man of you yet, Meadows!

[MEADOWS gets the door, gets up and runs out.]

Hey! Where ya goin’! Come back here! Come back! [To himself] Fuckin’ washout. These fuckin’ people, they wouldn’t last a minute at military school.

[DONALD JR. comes in, wearing his usual ugly, expensive running suit ensemble and carrying an unlit cigar.]

JUNIOR: Hey, Pop, what’s with Meadows? He’s out there crying to a Marine.

TRUMP: He’s yellow. Hey, we’re getting ready for the big day. Finally gonna make me king of this stupid country. You ready?

JUNIOR: Hey, sure I am, Pop. Just tell me what you want me to do.

TRUMP: It’s like we talked about. I give the hi-sign, you go up to the roof and we’ll have stuff for you to throw down in case any of those nig-nogs gets past the perimeter.

JUNIOR: Beautiful, Pop! You can count on me! And Pop, listen: [Suddenly shy, pleading] Pop, do you have a hat like you’ve got on for me to wear, too? I am your first-born son and, well, I think, you know, it’s like, it’s like Bonnie Prince Charlie, or Michael Corleone, I mean — people ought to know, they have to know who, who — well — who the son is.

TRUMP: [Points to the cigar] Get rid of that thing. You look like a crumb bum.

JUNIOR: Anything, Pop! [Throws it in the trash] You name it.

TRUMP: OK, you gotta understand: If you’re the son you gotta be ready to go all the way with it.

JUNIOR: Whatever you say.

[TRUMP takes a small, pearl-handled revolver out of his jacket pocket.]

TRUMP: Okay. We’re gonna win but, things get hairy, you’re gonna take this and, first shot —

[TRUMP puts the pistol to JUNIOR’s head; JUNIOR looks frightened but does not pull away.]

— you blow Kim’s brains out, ‘cause if the boons get in here it won’t be pretty, they’ll fuck her to death, they got an instinct for girls who can take a big dick.

[TRUMP pulls the trigger: Click. JUNIOR looks like he’s about to shit himself. TRUMP takes the gun away from his head.]

You got that?

JUNIOR: [Bravely] Absolutely, sir. I got it.

TRUMP: And when you’re done with her, you gotta do it to yourself, because that’s the honorable thing. Understand?

[TRUMP takes JUNIOR’s hand and puts the pistol in it. JUNIOR looks at his father, then puts the gun to his own temple.]

Okay, now pull the trigger.

JUNIOR: Pull the trigger?

TRUMP: Yeah.

JUNIOR: The gun’s not loaded?

TRUMP: Not loaded.

JUNIOR: It feels loaded.

TRUMP: You want the job or not?

[JUNIOR pulls the trigger: Click. He lets his arm drop, looks dizzy.]

Do it one more time, I wanna see how it looks from the other side.

JUNIOR: Hey, Pop, look, I gotta run to HUD and see Ben, we’re supposed to have lunch.

[JUNIOR hands TRUMP the pistol.]

I’ll talk to you about this later, okay?

TRUMP: [Walking to the breakfront] Say hi to Ben.

JUNIOR: Okay, bye, Pop. [Beat] Love you.

[No answer. JUNIOR leaves. From the breakfront TRUMP gets his box of formula and, with the box in one hand and the pistol in the other, walks to the Resolute Desk. He puts the box on the desk, then points the pistol at the wall and pulls the trigger. A shot rings out and a painting falls off the wall. Almost instantaneously four SECRET SERVICE AGENTS run in and surround TRUMP.]

TRUMP: Okay, scram.

[The AGENTS leave. TRUMP sits, pulls a mirror and a razor out of a drawer, and pours out formula as the CURTAIN falls.].