THE WORLD ACCORDING TO TRUMP

The fact that Trump has become the most sympathetic person on "The Apprentice" is no small part of its charm. In a world where CEOs seem about as honest as politicians, Trump is at least reliably boastful. You know where he's coming from--play hard, make as much as you can and work all the angles--without any of the typical corporate double-speak. He may say pompous things like "I thought I was the biggest star before 'The Apprentice,' but now I'm bigger," but in a strange way, he's down to earth, the kind of guy who buys a $350,000 Maybach by Mercedes but insists on driving it himself. On a tour of the Trump International Golf Club in Palm Beach, Fla., he happily boasts about the 1,000 royal palm trees that rim the property, then tells you how he got $3 million worth of trees for only $300,000 by agreeing to appear on the cover of the tree farmer's brochure. "There's only one crooked tree in the whole f---ing bunch, and you're looking at it right there," he roars. "That drives me crazy. I'm going to straighten that out." You half expect him to jump out of the car and dig it up himself.

For a guy who was once the bread and butter of New York's gossip columnists, Trump would actually prefer to spend his days like this: on a golf course or in some other quiet setting. He's pretty antisocial. "My life is much less glamorous than people think," he says. Part of that comes from being a germophobe who doesn't even like to shake hands. "It's barbaric. Studies have shown that if you shake hands, you catch colds." He clearly prefers smaller forums to crowds. When he was asked to buy a $50,000 table for a big charity gala recently, he made a Trumpian counteroffer. "I said, 'Look. I'll give you $100,000 if I don't have to go'," he says. Maybe that's because he can dominate the room better that way. Or maybe he's just a homey person by nature. One of the most pleasant surprises of Trump's renaissance is that we've been introduced to his three grown children--Donald Jr., 26, Ivanka, 22, and Eric, 20--and they all seem remarkably grounded. Perhaps that explains why, on the show, Trump often comes across as paternal as he is stern. "I was pleasantly surprised by how humorous and charming and creative he is," says Kristi Franks, the first woman fired. "He goes out of his way to make people around him comfortable. He's a very, very charming man. I didn't expect that."

And with his reality-TV success, he's willing to share a bit more of himself with his public. Last week Trump watched the show from the wood-paneled bar at his extravagant Palm Beach resort, Mar-a-Lago. While the two teams were working through the week's challenge of renovating an apartment--in other words, the part of the show that does not feature him--Trump chatted with the crowd and provided running commentary. But when the climactic boardroom scene came on, he grabbed the remote control and cranked the volume up so loud that no one else could talk. "Who do you think gets fired?" he barked along with his televised self. "It's Tammy!" "It's Katrina!" people shouted back. Trump smiled and leaned over to kiss Melania's hand. Finally, Trump (on screen) delivered his verdict: "You're so obnoxious in this case, Tammy, you're fired." Trump (in person): "That was a tough firing." The room applauded as if he'd just returned home from a war.

In a way, he has. After narrowly avoiding personal bankruptcy in the early '90s (he says he was $900 million in the hole at one point), Trump's Midas touch returned when Manhattan real estate boomed. New York property pros speak in awe of the "Trump Factor"--a 15 percent to 50 percent rent premium that any building gets if Trump slaps his name on it. Consider the Trump Building on Wall Street, which he bought for $1 million during the New York real-estate doldrums in the '90s. Today that building is worth a half billion. Even when he was unloading his toys to get out of debt, he sold at a premium. His yacht, the Trump Princess, went for 40 percent above the going rate of $20 million, boat dealers say. His Achilles' heel, though, is his casinos, which are drowning in $1.8 billion of debt and barely breaking even. Stock in his casino company goes for about $2.50, down from a peak of $34 in 1996. He just refinanced, giving up half his ownership stake in return for a $400 million cash infusion from the bank. Still, Trump says he's never been richer, pegging his net worth at more than $5 billion. That's twice what Forbes figures he's worth, but, not surprisingly, Trump hints that the magazine might be reworking its math. Even his old nemesis Koch now pays him grudging respect. "He's a braggart," says Koch, "but he is a very good developer."

And what's wrong with a little bragging? It's hardly a secret that, in addition to being a reality-TV show, "The Apprentice" is also a 15-episode infomercial for Trump himself. What's the reward for winning each week? A visit to Trump's golf course ("The finest course in New York state!"), his country home ("The most beautiful house in New York state!") and, the piece de resistance, his Trump Tower apartment, complete with a marble fountain the size of a minivan in the living room. Is it cheesy? Of course, but that's part of the fun. A few years ago we would have loathed the self-promotion. But, once again, Trump's timing is perfect. Product placement is practically mandatory on television now, and when it's done as artfully (and shamelessly) as on "The Apprentice," you can't help admiring the deft salesmanship. " 'Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous' worked for a reason," says Burnett. "It's the idea that, if you hang around him, amazing things will come your way."

Besides, Trump was made for TV. Beneath all that unsmiling, unhandshaking posturing, you can see he's playing a role, having a little laugh at his own expense. He recently visited the ladies of "The View" to discuss the whole hair thing. (Since we know you're wondering, let the record show that every weirdly combed follicle you see is his. Trump swoops up his bangs to prove it. "I don't say my hair is my greatest strength in the world, but it's not terrible," he says, though perhaps it would look better if someone other than his girlfriend cut it.) He loves that David Letterman mocks him constantly and is dying to go on his show. "NBC doesn't want me to do it because they don't want him to get ratings," says Trump. Ask him if he's ever had any plastic surgery, and the hair--who knew it could actually move this much?--gets swooped up again. "I've never had a face-lift," he says. "You can see. Check. There's no scars." Even more amazing is that, while he's still close to his '80s fighting weight, Trump limits his exercise to tennis and golf, which he plays with a 2 or 3 handicap. He never works out, he says, because that might "wear out my bones." Once "The Apprentice" runs its course, wouldn't you just love to see Trump in his own version of "The Simple Life"?