After the “you’ll never be president” episode, he’s jogged between berating me and buttering me up. My “six-week assignment” is now six months of everdeepening weirdness between Trump and me. You can’t speak like that to a presidential candidate. Hope Hicks interjects: “He’s a presidential candidate. Thankfully, I bite my tongue before the words are out. He looks me straight in the eye and lands what he must think is the harshest insult of all: “You’ll never be president!” How would he get the audio of the interview, for one thing, and where are the cameras? I look up and I don’t see any, unless he means the security footage.
#Katie tur 2016 full#
“If you don’t,” he says, “we have cameras in here we’ll release the full footage!” “It’s not up to me how much of the interview gets used,” I say, “but I know that we won’t deceivingly edit you.” What is he talking about? Didn’t we just shake hands? Did I do something wrong? “You better air that interview in full!” he says. But I think I’ve got plenty for the producers to work with, so after he’s finished answering my last question I say, “Thank you.”
Does he really want to keep talking? I can’t tell. Twenty-nine minutes later, I’ve asked all my prepared questions, and I’m surprised he hasn’t stopped me yet. Is that a tomato or a radish?Īfter my top five questions are in, I ask five more, and then five more.ĭonald Trump speaks to NBC news correspondent Katy Tur on the golf course at his Trump International Golf Links in Aberdeen, Scotland. I’m going to, this weekend I’ll be with Clint Eastwood in California, tremendous group of people …”Īs a journalist, my job is to listen and probe, listen and probe.Īs a human being, I’m struggling to identify every ingredient in his word salad. I was in South Carolina recently and we’re all over. Nobody gets as many standing ovations, and I spent a lot of time out. “I’ve been to New Hampshire many, many times. “Oh, I’ve been to Iowa many times,” he says. “Why are we here in New York? Why aren’t we out on the campaign trail?” “You know my whole life has been a win, you understand that,” he says. He scrutinizes his face on the screen and decides it’s OK. Keith says his boss looks good, but Trump wants to check for himself. Thin pieces of gold-tinted plastic placed over the lights that she said would give him a rich glow. In another, that same makeup artist always told him to request “gold gels” from the camera crew.
#Katie tur 2016 tv#
In one version of the story, he hired a makeup artist away from a TV network because she was wearing gloves as she worked. I had heard a rumor that Trump was finicky about his appearance. “He’s my stylist slash beauty consultant,” he jokes. Keith is looking into the monitor checking Trump’s shot. “Does that look good, Keith?” he says to his bodyguard, the man in the dark suit with the white hair. They’re almost ready when Trump calls for a time-out. The camera crew is lining up the shot and double-checking the lighting. The shutter clicks and captures my bewildered grin. Or maybe he just figures he’s a bigshot celebrity and pre-interview photos are routine. Maybe Trump is trying to charm me, knock me off balance, confuse the point of this interview. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell him no but at the same time … why in the world would he think I want a photo? I’m not a fan. I know that our every move is beaming live into 30 Rockefeller Center, NBC News headquarters, and that my bosses, watching in real time, will cringe to see me smiling like a fan girl next to my interview subject. “Don’t you want a picture?” he asks me, as if he doesn’t know why I haven’t suggested it yet. We shake hands – and I go to take my seat. He smiles and squints, and the sound seems to slip out the side of his face. He doesn’t say hello, exactly, but sort of sings it. At 10am, right on time, he emerges into the lobby alongside a tall, white-haired man in a black suit. He lives and works upstairs, so I imagine he must have the timing of his golden elevator worked out to the second. Hope Hicks appears, smiles, and gives us a two-minute warning. The main entrance is campy, with an old-fashioned clock and white-gloved doormen in tails and gold-trimmed hats.
Trump Tower is a black, mirrored skyscraper that takes up half a block. But right now I need to wash my hair, throw on a dress, and paint my face. I really need to start waking up earlier. “Motherfucking fuck,” I yell, jumping out of bed. This is a four-hour adjustment, a swing from 2pm to 10am. She’s pushing up our interview, and not just a smidge. I scroll through my emails to see what’s happened overnight. I should get some coffee and read the papers before I go in. I reach for the snooze button just as reality hits: my Trump interview is this afternoon.
0 kommentar(er)
