George Jefferson’s plans for an evening with Donald Trump go sideways.
The Jeffersons’ Penthouse, Upper East Side Manhattan, New York
George Jefferson paced around the living room, excitedly checking his watch.
Louise walked in wearing a lavish gown. Without noticing it, George rushed to her, giddy as a schoolboy. “Weezie, this is gonna be big! Donald Trump’s coming to our penthouse for a Republican fundraiser. Imagine the business connections!”
Louise sighed and put both hands on her hips. “George, I don’t like this. Trump doesn’t care about people like us. And you know how he is with our community.”
“Oh, come on, Weezie. Why do you always have to see the bad in everything? Besides, I’m a businessman, so I know what’s best. End of discussion. Besides, this is about making more money, and Trump’s tax cuts are going to be good for business.”
The Fundraiser
The penthouse is filled with well-dressed guests. Trump and his entourage, including Eric Trump, are mingling. Florence is serving drinks wearing a traditional black and white servant uniform, clearly unimpressed. After Eric Trump took the last glass from her tray, she headed back to the kitchen and prepared the next tray.
Not wanting to feel left out, George interrupted a conversation between Trump and JC Vance and caught Trump’s attention. While they chatted, George turned towards the kitchen.
“Hey, Florence,” he yelled. “Do you mind speeding things up with the hors d’oeuvres? Can’t you see our guests are hungry?”
Florence enters from the kitchen, holding a tray of cocktail shrimp. “Oh yessuh, Mister Jefferson. Ah knows y’all shoooooo is hongry!”
George dropped both arms to his sides. “Will you cut out the shenanigans and do what I pay you to do?”
Florence dropped the act and brought the tray over to George and Trump.
“So, Jefferson, this is your penthouse,” said Trump as he grabbed some shrimp from Flo’s tray and glanced around. “Very nice. With her Black job, I suppose even people like Florence here can have a piece of the American dream.”
“And I suppose even people like you can buy their way out of everything, huh?” snapped Florence, maintaining her smile. “Speaking of money. I suppose if Matt Gaetz was richer than you, you’d be hanging with him and his underage girls like you did with Epstein, wouldn’t you?”
The room went silent as George consciously tried not to let his jaw drop to the floor. He then jumped between Trump and Florence, almost knocking her tray.
“Don’t mind Florence,” Jefferson laughed as he took her tray and grabbed her arm. “She’s had a bit too much to drink. Why don’t you take a break in the kitchen?”
With a shove, George sent Florence stumbling through the flapping kitchen door. He then rested the tray on the counter before he rushed back to Trump, nearly knocking over one of the guests. “Don’t worry. She’s already taking a long nap. That’s what she’s used to doing most days anyways.” George then laughed an overdone, fake laugh, hoping to break the tension.
“Ah, don’t worry, Jefferson,” said Trump. “She’s lucky her job doesn’t require any special skills. I’m sure she feels right at home. Well, not your kind of home, if you know what I mean.” Trump nudged George with his elbow, and they both chuckled.
Louise observed the exchange between Trump, Florence, and her husband. She knew this evening was a mistake and only wished she could’ve stood up to George. But this billionaire bigot just attacked her best friend. Balling up a fist, she marched towards Trump. She then let go of her fist and clasped both hands together as she smiled.
“Excuse me, Mr. Trump.”
Trump turned to her. “Oh, you must be Jefferson’s wife.”
“Yes, nice to meet you,” said Louise. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you just said about Florence.”
“Oh, yeah, the help. She’s a feisty one, but it doesn’t bother me.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” said Louise as she lowered her hands. “Then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind me being blunt.”
George’s head rolled back as he stared at the ceiling. Oooooh boy.
“My husband and I may be well to do,” said Louse. “But in this house, everyone will always be treated equally. Florence doesn’t only help out. She’s my best friend. And this house is as much as hers as it is ours.”
As the room progressively became silent, George knew his plans for the perfect evening with a Presidential candidate were over. He walked over to the couch, collapsed into it, and let his head drop into both hands.
“Speaking of homes,” Louise continued. “Our Black friends were turned down by your company when they wanted to rent an apartment. Fortunately, as I’m sure you’ve already seen our place, you couldn’t do to us as you did to them.”
A chuckle broke the silence. Everyone’s attention shifted to Trump’s son, Eric. “Perhaps if you didn’t come into the country illegally, a real American family would’ve gotten this Penthouse.”
George exploded from the couch and stared at Eric with flaring nostrils. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO MY WIFE?”
“That’s your . . . wife?” said Eric with eyebrows raised.
“You damn right, that’s my wife,” yelled George as Louise gestured with her hands as though to calm him down. “AND NO ONE TALKS TO WEEZIE LIKE THAT! I can see how you project your self-hatred on others because your daddy was never there for you in your childhood. Maybe it’s because he was too busy getting peed on by Russian prostitutes!”
An audible gasp was heard throughout the room.
“I beg your pardon?” said Trump.
“You heard me,” said George as he turned to Trump. “I’d call you Whitey if your face wasn’t looking one of the oranges those Mexicans didn’t want to pick!”
Loud whispers were heard as the guest funnelled their way out of the Penthouse.
“I don’t like your attitude,” said Trump as he made his way to the door with Jefferson close behind. As he stepped into the hallway, he turned around and pointed his index at him. “You’ve made a big mistake, Jefferson.”
“Like hell I did,” said Jefferson as he held the door. “I just got you out of my house faster than your people stormed the Capitol. And one more thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“I ain’t voting for you!”
Trump didn’t get a chance to answer before George slammed the door in his face.
After the Chaos
As George walked back into the living room with both hands in his pockets, Louise ran to him and hugged him tightly. Florence was not too far behind her when Louise gave him an audible kiss on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you, George.”
George rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Weezie.”
After Louise released George, Florence walked towards the kitchen, grabbing a half-empty bottle of Bordeau on the way when she heard George’s familiar yell.
“Hey, Florence! Don’t you see this mess?”
Florence glanced around and then back at George. “I sure do.”
She then nonchalantly walked off to the kitchen, leaving George shaking his head.
“Same old Florence.”
Louise looked back at the flapping door from the kitchen before she turned to her husband. “Yes, she is. And I wouldn’t have her any other way.”
She then hugged and kissed her husband.
