“Well, what was that like?” people often ask me, at a cocktail or dinner party, if it somehow comes up that I was once a ghostwriter for Donald Trump. The question puts me in a tight spot. If my first word back isn’t extravagantly negative, I fear they’ll take me for a Trumpster, turn on their heel, and leave me conversing with my canapé.
But the truth is that the year or so I spent in his pre-carroty-orange presence circa 1990, writing a sequel to The Art of the Deal, was at times a hoot and often highly educational.
