Heaven's Harlots: My Fifteen Years in a Sex Cult (29 page)

“I’m sure you do,” I replied. “I always knew that Monaco had excellent undercover police.”

“I have documents of every hotel you have been in, madam,” he said, ignoring my compliment.

“Well, then. I am sure you also have the names of other girls besides us. Are they being kicked out too?”

“You better not be smart with me,” he responded angrily.

“You told me we are put on the Interpol files and we should leave Monte Carlo and never come back, yet you are not asking us anything about the men we have been with. What’s the real reason?”

“This,” he said, holding up the Mo letters. “We don’t want trash like this in Monaco.”

I understood. They could avert their attention from drugs, and stolen money, and high-class prostitution, but political consciousness was too dangerous to bring into Monte Carlo. They probably knew that we had both Jewish and Arab friends, and if we promoted literature like this, we could start a war here.

However, they did not realize they had nothing to fear. First of all, Sharon, Breeze, and I were much too politically naive to subvert anyone.

Furthermore, the superrich were much too concerned about wealth and power to become involved in international affairs on the basis of idealism. There was no money in it. But I believe the Monte Carlo Police thought they were ridding Monaco of subversive influences.

Back at home, after praying and discussing the matter, we came to the conclusion that all good COG members come to when change happens—it must be the Lord’s Will! We had been ordered to never set foot in Monaco again, and advised to leave France also, since our visas were long expired. We had kept a three-month visitor’s visa for years by crossing the Italian border every few months to receive a stamp. It didn’t fool anyone. But I was worried about what it meant for Thor and me.

Within a few days, our whole team had been invited to join the home in Athens, Greece, where the Family was starting a new music ministry. I wasn’t personally interested in moving there, and I also feared that Cal would never let me take Thor so far away.

I went to visit Cal’s home and explained our situation. He was at a loss as to what to do. Mara and he were very happy in Antibes with the other singing couple. Thor was doing well in school and was already speaking French fluently. What was I going to do?

That night, as I tucked Thor into bed, my heart began breaking a little more. There was no way in the world I could ever leave him again. It seemed like there were only two options open to me, go to Athens, which meant leaving Thor, and was therefore out of the question, or reconcile with my legal husband, Thor’s father. I knocked on Cal and Mara’s door.

“Can I come in and talk to you?” I asked quietly.

Cal opened the door and came out alone.

“Mara’s sleeping already,” he whispered. “What did you want? Can’t it wait till the morning?”

“No,” I said, feeling the tears coming. “I’ll do whatever you want, Cal. But please, let me stay with Thor. ” I burst into uncontrollable sobs, instinctively knowing that all was too late.

“What do you mean by staying with Thor? When you left me, you left Thor too. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes. I know that now,” I said in between sobs. “But I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you. It was wrong of me. I admit it. I should have stayed. I am so evil and selfish.” The thought of not being near Thor was so dreadful that I was ready to live as a second-class wife, not even have a relationship at all with Cal, as long as I could stay here. I was in a bad situation, and all I had ever learned was that it must be my fault.

It was a black-and-white explanation, but it was all I could think at that time.

“I wish you would have realized that earlier,” mumbled Cal under his breath.

“I do, too. I am so—so—sorry,” I cried, with huge heaving sounds now. “What can I do? I will make it up to you. I will do whatever you say from now on. Please let me stay here. I don’t want to go to Greece.”

Cal put his hand on my back as I buried my face in my hands, trying to muffle the sounds of my heart being pummeled into a bleeding pulp.

“I will have to talk to Mara about that. I would agree to you living here, but I have to respect her wishes also.” Cal left me on the couch alone, and I cried a flood of tears, nearly drowning in the depth of despair. Finally, I raised myself from the couch and floated to Thor’s room as if an angel were carrying me. I lay down beside him, holding his six-year-old body close to mine, and hoping I would die before I woke up.

The next morning, I knocked on Cal’s door while Thor ate his cereal.

“Come in,” he called.

He was sitting at the desk already with a cup of coffee, obviously with something heavy on his mind.

“Mara doesn’t think that would be a good idea,” he said sadly.

“What can I do then?” I asked, dumbfounded but having expected this in the back of my mind.

“You can stay here temporarily, if you need to. But eventually you will have to find another home.” Cal seemed truly empathetic. He assured me that I still had visitation rights. Now all I needed was to find another home nearby.

I walked back into the kitchen as if nothing had happened, took my coffee, and asked Thor if he wanted to go to the park. Obviously, reconciliation with my legal husband was not a viable option.

Overpowered by my desire to be near my son, I had to come up with another plan.

Later that day, I returned to our Beausoleil home and had an unexpected visit from my friend Paolo, a handsome Italian who had picked us up hitchhiking one night. He lived right across the Italian border, and I had been to his house a few times. Paolo, who was far from being rich, lived by himself, and he seemed terribly lonely. Since I first met him, I thought he might become friends of the Family, or even join one day, although neither Timothy nor Breeze thought he was “sheepy.” I had felt that there was something special about Paolo when I first witnessed to him, despite the dreariness that he carried around and threw into the atmosphere like the Sandman sprinkled sleep. Breeze told me he satisfied the aspects that she thought were necessary for my ideal type of man, shoulder-length brown curly hair, expressive eyes, and a huge chip on the shoulder. I laughed off this assessment, but the fact that he was here at my house waiting, just when I was desperately trying to decide what I would do in the immediate future, seemed more than a coincidence to me. I thought that perhaps he was sent to help me during this difficult time. He was thirty-three years old, just the age of Jesus when he was crucified. Perhaps Paolo was ready to die to himself and start a new spiritual life. In my confused state of mind, I confided my situation to Paolo that night.

“I don’t want to go. I want to stay here to be near my son,” I told him at last.

“Oh!” he said, a man of few words. I thought he might appreciate it if I got right to the point.

“Can I live with you?” He looked at me with what I thought was fear in his eyes.

“That might be difficult!” he said.

“Why? Do you have a girlfriend in Italy?” Whenever I was at his small apartment, I saw no signs of another woman’s presence.

“No!”

“Well, what’s the matter? I won’t stay long, if you don’t want me to.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said and left.

Paolo said he would come by the next evening, but he never showed up.

Nervous and frustrated, and not knowing where to turn except for the Family, I was at the end of my rope. I had to call him.

“Why didn’t you come?” I demanded, secretly fearing that he was my last hope to stay near my son.

“I don’t feel good,” he replied.

“Do you have a fever?” I asked.

“No,” he said and was silent.

“What’s wrong?” I asked again, pressing for a response.

“I can’t drive.”

“What do you mean you can’t drive? You drive here all the time. Is your car broken?”

“No!”

“What is it, Paolo? You can trust me.” I sensed fear in his voice— great fear.

“I am here to help you,” I continued. “God loves you, Paolo, and He sent me to help you.”

“I can’t drive when I feel like this.”

“Feel like what?”

“Feel like I am going to die.” His voice sounded distant—worlds away. I knew he was in deep trouble.

I had heard about depression before, but we had never acknowledged any medical basis for this disease. I was sure he needed the Lord.

“I’ll be right over,” I said. “I’ll take the next train.” Realizing that I could actually be helping Paolo by him helping me better supported my crazy idea to live at his house. With absolutely no doubt that I was needed, I had no fear for personal safety, even though I had known Paolo for only a month.

I packed my bags and made the half-hour train trip and ten-minute bus ride to his home. It was late at night, but I felt safe in the small, sleepy Italian village nestled at the foot of the Piedmont mountains.

Paolo, I found out, had been taking tranquilizers for years. He was now up to five or six a day, but even so, he sometimes was afraid to get out of bed. I couldn’t understand this fear, but I knew that God could help him. I stayed with Paolo that night and the next day, witnessing to him about God’s love and power, and reading the Bible with him. He agreed to try to stop using tranquilizers. He also agreed to my coming to live with him.

When I told Timothy my plans, he was not happy.

“What are you going to do in some godforsaken Italian village? You will be so bored there, not to mention the waste of God’s time and talent.”

“What talent do I have? I can’t sing or play an instrument very well. All they want me for in Athens is to have an extra available girl. “

Timothy looked hurt. Perhaps he wasn’t sure what he would be doing in Athens either.

“I think she would like to stay near her son,” interrupted Sharon. “I believe that is a good reason. If she can win Paolo, well, praise the Lord!”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life following Cal and Thor around,” said Timothy. “Besides, I’m sure God will give Thor back once you forsake him in your heart.” I flinched at his words, and Sharon nudged Tim with her elbow.

“I think you’re making a good decision,” she said. “And we will always have a place for you in our home.” Breeze couldn’t imagine my staying with a nobody like Paolo, who owned a pet store. Breeze might have understood me emotionally, but she didn’t know the diehard idealism that flourished where love should have been.

Besides my desire to be near Thor, I thought that Paolo needed the Family at this time of his life, and I would rather take care of a sheep than be around bossy shepherds.

I told Cal the news about moving in with Paolo. Since I would not have much to do all day, or so I thought, I could come and stay with Thor as much as I wanted. Cal expressed concern about my future, but I assured him that I really “loved” Paolo, and I thought I could bring him into the Family. The more I told people about Paolo becoming a Child of God, the more I convinced myself. Before I moved in with him, I had told myself that bringing in a disciple would be the masterwork of the Monte Carlo days. After all the money we had made, the parties we had attended, the men who had asked Jesus into their hearts while lying naked in bed with us, this was the coveted crown—winning an eternal soul and body into God’s Kingdom. It was a dreadful reasoning!

Crossroads

It was a cold January evening in 1980, my first night as a resident in Paulo’s small apartment, located on a cobblestone road in a tiny Italian village. I was completely isolated from anything or anyone familiar. The apartment had a small living room, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bath, and was more than five hundred years old. Paolo had remodeled every room and installed central heating, a luxury in this small town. I had been in so many homes that were not mine, I did not find my new predicament unusual. Cognizant of the reality in my life that nothing lasts very long, I was enjoying my new independence.

Except for being physically dependent on Paolo, emotionally dependent on access to Thor, and spiritually guided by the Mo letters, I could pretty much do as I pleased.

The first thing I took advantage of was listening to Paolo’s music collection of early rock and roll, hard rock, and many of the bands I had missed during the 1970s and 1980s. When Paolo came home that first day, I turned the music off, conditioned to feel guilty about doing what I liked to do. However, since Bob Dylan had recently been saved, the whole Family was listening to his Christian songs now, and Paolo bought Dylan’s Bible-based records for me. They were the first worldly recordings I had owned in ten years.

I had just turned off the stereo, and Paolo was now pacing back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom, where his tranquilizers were sitting abandoned in the medicine cabinet. He had agreed not to take any more tranquilizers once I moved in, and I had spent most of the evening praying for him every time he wanted to go to the medicine cabinet. It was late at night, the neighbors had all already turned off their lights, but Paolo could not get to sleep. Trying to substitute Jesus for tranquilizers, I spent hours reading the Bible aloud to him and praying.

But he still could not sleep. I followed him out to the living room and sat down on the couch in the dark. The only light came from a lamp in the bedroom that shone through the open door.

“Paolo, come here and sit beside me,” I called to him as he paced past the bathroom door.

“I don’t want to,” he snapped.

“I think you should pray this time, Paolo. I always pray for you. but if you pray for yourself, it will have more power.”

Paolo looked at me with what seemed like hatred. Normally, he appeared slightly disturbed in a gentle way, but he now wore an aggressive glare.

I was apprehensive, but I returned his glare without breaking contact.

I saw more fear in his eyes than I felt in my own heart. I told myself that I was safe.

“I want you to pray, Paolo,” I repeated with a firm voice.

He turned around and stalked into the kitchen at the end of the hall.

As he lingered there in the dark, for about twenty minutes, I quickly went over in my mind the various scenarios that could take place here in this isolated apartment in this deserted town where no one knew me and I couldn’t even speak Italian. I said my own prayers silently, knowing that faith could overcome any obstacle.