So you wanna have a star...

DONALD TRUMP, who as far as I know is a lovely man and a gentle soul, is getting a star on Hollywood Boulevard's Walk of Fame. I'm not sure exactly where -- maybe in front of the Frolic Room? Gracing the Nails by Yuki? Marking the entrance to a "Free Personality Test"? But one thing is certain: He paid top dollar for it, wherever it is.

Trump does not do things halfway. I'm not exactly sure how these things are negotiated, but it's fair to assume that Trump did not hesitate to lay out for the most luxurious, most exclusive star on the Boulevard in the best location -- is there a better, more tenacious negotiator alive? Not for him the shabby, scuffed five points of a Mae Busch or a Cantinflas. Jamie Farr and Stu Erwin, say, may be the type to shrug and mumble, "In front of an adult novelty shop? Sure. Whatever. No biggie." But the name Trump is synonymous with a certain style and pizazz.

I can hear him saying, as the deal points were being hammered out, "Do not approach me or the Trump Organization with any location less than 1,000% superb." And you know what? I'll bet they didn't. With Trump's purchase of a star of his own, he has taken it to, in his words, a whole 'nother level.

Stars on Hollywood Boulevard are bought. You knew that, right? Oh, maybe a few years ago, back when Dorothy Kirsten and Otto Kruger were touched by the grace of The Walk, it was a strictly "Let's honor so-and-so for their contribution to blah-blah-blah." But these days, with the pavement cluttered and choked with stars for, among others, Heinie Conklin, Iron Eyes Cody, Godzilla and Rick Dees, it's become a "how much you got?" type deal.

Luckily, the answer to that question is "lots." And luckier still, Trump's expenditure coincides with the sixth season of his hit TV show, "The Apprentice," which just happens to be based in Los Angeles this time. Though the show is not quite the ratings juggernaut of a few years ago, it is still popular enough to merit his place on Hollywood Boulevard, among your Sigmund Lubins and your KC and the Sunshine Bands.

What Trump understands, of course, is real estate. And in real estate, the rule is, location, location, location. (For me, the rule is, "Do I qualify for the interest-only 40-year balloon?" But that's what makes Trump Trump and me me.) And his new, permanent location, nestled in concrete, drenched in the glamour of Hollywood Boulevard somewhere between La Brea and Gower, keeping company with Helen Traubel, Mark and Brian and Creighton Hale, is a thing beyond real estate, beyond reality television, beyond the concept of luxurious hotel-style apartment living itself. All for $15,000, I think, to the Hollywood Historic Trust, and a promise to show up for the ceremony.