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HEAVEN'S HARLOTS:  MY FIFTEEN YEARS AS A SACRED PROSTITUTE IN THE CHILDREN OF GOD CULT

8. Sacred Prostitution

By the summer of 1979, we had moved to Beausoleil, the French village that is literally attached to Monaco. In our new home we had more room, a benefit since Peter and Sheila had been sending us sisters to tryout as sacred prostitutes in Monte Carlo. One of them was Sheba, an icy beauty who had recently discovered her husband's homosexuality. To everyone's shock, Mo was tentatively condoning homosexual relationships now. Mo had always encouraged lesbian relationships, but he preferred men to be with women. A close relationship with a young man in his own home seemed to have sparked Mo's enlightenment, which he detailed in a letter. Although it was not clear if Mo actually engaged in homosexuality himself, he expanded his doctrine to state that anything done in love is not sin, which left the door open for homosexuals in our group to come out of the closet. Many of them were already married with children, as was the case with Sheba, who was surprised to discover that her husband loved men more than just spiritually.

Sheba was breathtakingly beautiful, but she was aloof and uncommunicative. She soon was transferred to another home, as the leaders decided we had a good team as it was -- small, together, potent, and led by our faith that what we were doing was for love. In biblical terms, Breeze represented a Delilah-type seductress, hunting rich and powerful men to use for her own amusement and personal aggrandizement. Sharon exemplified the ever-suffering Mother Mary, ready to sacrifice when chosen. I was the Mary Magdalene, symbolizing the tortured integration of rational thinking and irrational actions. I dissociated my mind and soul from my body as I performed earthly missions of providing sexual pleasures.

In our new home, I requested that the small study be turned into a room for Thor. In anticipation of entering school in the fall, Thor had come to live with me while Cal and Mara hunted for houses. I taught Thor schoolwork almost daily. He was well advanced in math and reading, but I wanted him to learn French. In all the Family homes at that time only English was spoken, and although Thor had lived in France since he was less than a year old, he still spoke almost no French. I had Thor tested at a local Catholic school, and he placed in the second grade, at only five years of age. When Cal had still not found a home by the time school started, I enrolled Thor in the Catholic school. This was not the norm in the Family, but there were no COG schools nearby.

Unfortunately, no one took into account that Thor could not speak French when they put him in second grade. Although he excelled in math class, he didn't tell anyone that he couldn't understand much else. There were no French nationals in our home either, so when Cal and Mara found a home in Antibes, and they wanted Thor back, I complied. I reasoned that most of the children in wealthy families were sent away to boarding schools by their parents, and Thor would not be far away. I could visit him during the week and take him with me on weekends again. If he was going to go to school in France, he needed someone like Mara who could help him with his homework in the national language.

Surprisingly, for having lived in the Family for so long, I was very concerned that Thor excel in scholastic pursuits. I think in the back of my mind, I felt that if the Family did not work out for him, he would have a good education to fall back on, unlike many of the children being raised in the Children of God at that time. Even Mo's prophecy that Jesus would come back in 1993, making Thor only twenty years old when Jesus returned, did not deter me. Mo's prophecies had been wrong before, like the one about the Kohoutek comet destroying America. Every time one of his prophecies did not come true, we were told by Mo that we had misinterpreted what he said, or that the Lord had mercy and gave us more time. He referred us to the story of Jonah, in which God had told Jonah to prophesy that the evil town of Nineveh would be destroyed. Poor Jonah, who didn't want to say the prophecy, just in case it didn't come true, had to spend three days in the whale's belly before he agreed to prophesy. Then the Lord forgave Nineveh and didn't destroy the town after all. I was not taking chances with my son. He might live to be an adult, and there might not be the Children of God around anymore. Although I did not think about it at that time, obviously, at some fundamental level, I was preparing my son for life inside or outside the Family.

Thor moved back with Cal and Mara, who had found a very nice home in the cozy town of Antibes, about forty-five minutes away by bus. They now lived with another couple from the old Show Group, and Cal had a steady engagement performing at a local music club. They were settled in nicely, and their home seemed like a picture of family security. I felt that Thor would have the support he needed in education and fatherly discipline, so I let him go without any trouble, after securing a promise from Cal that I could take Thor to Monaco every weekend and on vacation. Meanwhile, during the week, I often made the one-and-a-half-hour round trip to be with him. Thanks to being free from a normal job or witnessing quotas, this was possible. As I went on long, playful walks with Thor in Old Antibes, surrounded by medieval architecture and the famous castle wall by the sea, I imagined that my life was magical.

Back in Monaco, we began an earnest study of the letters describing the "flirty fishing" ministry, upon Timothy's insistence. An early letter, "Law of Love," written in 1974, told us: "Are you so ruled by His Love that He can liberate you from the rules? Are you willing to lay down your life -- or even your wife -- for a starving brother or sister? Can a couch be your cross? Jesus said, 'If any man lose his life, for My sake, the same shall save it. Love God ... and love they neighbor as thyself' (Matthew 22:37-40)" (quoted in "Law of Love" 302c). These Mo letters were illustrated with drawings of naked women with their bodies pierced by a hook, and sexily clad women offering a hook and a look of love to admiring men, with a caption that read, "Hooker for Jesus." The lengthy letters, describing every detail of the fishing experiences, were spiked with quotes asking if we were "willing to do anything for Jesus to help your Fisherman catch men, even to suffer the crucifixion of the hook ... eaten alive" ("Flirty Little Fishy" 293). Later, when women started to get sexually transmitted diseases, our sacrifice was compared with that of Jesus: "We are suffering for their sins as Jesus did for ours in order that we and they might be saved" ("Affliction" 569: 108). However, Mo did suggest we see a doctor.

Now that we were told to accept money from our fish, the financial difficulties that had plagued the Family around the world were considerably lessened. The COG headquarters expected a lot of money from our tiny Monte Carlo home, presumably for distribution to poorer missions in third world countries. Wasn't this the case in most nonprofit organizations? At least the poor, where my compassion always was, were receiving some of the money I made. Along with our required monthly tithe, we sometimes sent extra money to headquarters in Switzerland by American Express checks, made out to a name that we were given in our monthly correspondence.

We met our most generous givers at parties where Sharon and Breeze were commissioned to sing. At one of these parties I met Adnan Kashoggi again. We had been invited by Salim to sing for a small affair to be held in a private room in the Hotel de Paris. By the way he described the event, I understood that we could flirt. I brought both Sharon and Breeze, and from the amount of money Salim gave me for the party, I knew this was important. It turned out to be a special dinner party for a rich Arab business associate of Salim, and his girlfriend. My experience had taught me that the presence of girlfriends had no bearing on anything. As soon as I entered the dark, paneled room, I recognized our honored guest as the famed Kashoggi from the Cannes party I had attended more than a year ago. His new girlfriend was a stunningly beautiful Italian. Kashoggi did not indicate that he had seen me before, but he was visibly impressed with our music and especially our message. He wanted to know what the lyrics meant, so I translated songs that were not in English for him.

Discussing the event afterward, we thought that Kashoggi had been making eyes at Sharon. However, when Salim met with me later that evening, he gave me surprising insight into the thoughts of the Arab billionaire.

"Adnan would like to know if Sharon is married," he said, when  I arrived in his suite after midnight, as planned.

"Yes, she is," I answered. "However, she will be glad to spend time with him if he likes her."

"No. Adnan would not allow that to be," responded Salim gravely.  "He will not willingly be with another man's wife."

"Is that because of his religion?"

"I cannot answer you truthfully. I have many friends who are Muslim, and this does not bother them. But Adnan will not do that."

"You know that I am still married," I said quietly, with my eyes averted. I was not sure if Salim had ever considered that fact.

"Of course I know. However, you have been separated from your husband for years, and he is living with another woman, who has his child."

"You know that?" I asked, surprised that Salim could remember details of my personal life with all the international business affairs he was involved in.

"Yes, I know more, too," he responded, looking deeply into my eyes. He broke into a warm smile. "And besides, I am not Muslim. I am Christian Lebanese, remember?"

"So, what did Adnan say? Was he interested in us?"

"Yes, he is very interested. He noticed that you and I pass forbidden glances to each other. He noticed that Sharon is a mother and a mother-to-be. He also notices that Breeze could be exciting in the bedroom."

"He can read people well," I said, amazed at the accuracy of judgment that Adnan achieved through such a brief contact.

"Of course, that is why he does so well in business. Do you think spirituality stops at the doors of religion?"

"Well, would he like Breeze to see him?"

"Yes. A chauffeur will come for her tomorrow night. Will she be at home?"

"I will make sure she is," I responded with my impresario authority. Of course, this transaction made me more of a madam than a manager, but it was for a good cause. Do the ends justify the means? That is always the big question, and I had decided that sometimes it does not have a yes or no answer. It depends on what ends and what means. Witnessing to Adnan Kashoggi, who clearly had great influence over a large number of people, seemed comparable to the role of Queen Esther, in the Bible, given in marriage to a heathen king in order to eventually save her people. And as with Queen Esther, who was only one of many wives available to the king, Breeze was pursuing a good end. If she hadn't been sleeping with strangers while here in the Family, she would be doing it out in the world and might end up with a terrible disease. Or a broken heart. At least here, she was protected by God's Spirit.

Breeze began a long and prosperous relationship with Adnan that lasted for years. Every time she met with him for a few hours, she returned with wonderful testimonies of his spiritual growth, and an envelope stuffed with thousands of dollars. With both Adnan and Salim as regular fish, we would never have had financial worries again, had it not been for Timothy's economic plan. 

Timothy suggested that we give everything left over at the end of the month, after paying bills, to World Services, whether it be a hundred dollars or a couple of thousand. I agreed. My motives were several. I thought that if I proved to be indispensable in providing large amounts of money to headquarters from my privileged position in Monte Carlo, I would not be asked to go to another mission. I liked being away from top leaders, isolated from homes where numerous brothers passed through wanting sex constantly. I had more liberty of movement and time than anyone else in the Family, and I was close to my son. I was in a perfect situation, and anything I could do to keep that situation just like it was would be fine with me.

Sharon, as usual, was in agreement with her husband. Breeze also consented, provided her own physical needs would be met first. Breeze looked after herself. Within a short period of time, Breeze had acquired an extravagant wardrobe, as well as the most expensive acoustic guitar that could be found. She convinced Timothy to give us each a "flee fund" of a couple of thousand dollars in case we had to escape from France quickly. Considering the illegality and volatility of our situation, this was a wise idea, and one condoned even by our leaders. So for the first time in my life, I had a personal stash of money kept hidden in my "flee bag" in case I needed to split abruptly. I asked for, and received, an extra allotment of flee funds for Thor.

Even with Breeze's constant requests for extras, and the high cost of living in Monte Carlo, we supplied World Services monthly with thousands of dollars. I never kept the books; therefore I cannot state with accuracy how much money flowed through our home to headquarters. I do know that Breeze became known among the Arab billionaires as a sexual stimulant, and she was constantly booked, hooking new fish along the way. Since we were not required to go by two on dates anymore, I never knew how much she actually witnessed about the Lord. 

I knew, from testimonies I had heard in Paris, that Breeze was extremely sexually stimulated. But now that I was living with her, I became acutely aware of her unusual passions. Sharing a bedroom with an adjoining bath, I could hear Breeze unabashedly masturbating in the shower, and although at first I was embarrassed when I heard her moaning, I eventually rationalized that this was normal. It must be I who was abnormal. After all, Mo had written volumes on the virtues of masturbation, and how he had started it at an early age, despite his mother's fanatic disapproval. In his letter "My Childhood Sex," he wrote: "[My mother] brought in a washbasin, a little bowl and a knife and she told me she was going to cut it off! I was terrified .... I almost never forgave my mother for that, threatening to cut it off and embarrassing me in front of the family. But that didn't stop me. It felt too good to quit!" He encouraged all of us to share sexually when we needed to, and to masturbate when it was not possible to have sex. Since I considered my sexual relations as work for the Lord rather than as filling a personal need, I could not fully understand his perspective.

Listening to Breeze enjoying herself in the shower and bed, on the few nights we were home, I thought that perhaps she had a secret insight on sexuality. Obviously, the Arabs liked her. Although I was open to sexual experimentation, the stimulation came from my head, instead of my heart or body. I relied on fantasy and theory while in bed with the fish, and the enormous literature on sex and orgasms that I read in the letters was processed through my reasoning. I rarely felt what I would call pleasure, and I always avoided kissing the men. Sometimes one man would cause me to become more excited than usual, but when I tried to understand why, I could find no answer. There was not a special way or a look I liked, and I finally decided it was just extra love from God.

However, I felt that Breeze was privy to something I wanted to know. It was a curiosity aroused by intellectual rather than passionate desire. I approached Breeze on the subject one night under the influence of a considerable amount of alcohol. We had been talking with two American tourists who wanted to take us to bed, but whom we had decided were not the type of men we needed to give our bodies to. Instead, we spent the evening dancing, drinking, and dining with them, while they enjoyed our company, and we witnessed sparingly about the Lord.

Our friends finally left us in a popular all-night restaurant around three o'clock in the morning. They had an early plane to catch and had realized we were not going to accompany them to the hotel. Both Breeze and I were wide awake with coffee, but the alcohol and witnessing had left me psychologically vulnerable. I looked at Breeze's big brown eyes that seemed to hold a merry-go-round of joy and happiness. They sparkled brighter than the diamond studs she wore on her ears. In contrast, I thought, my pensive blue eyes portrayed a look that many of my more discerning fish called melancholy.

"What's your secret to enjoying sex?" I blurted out.

"You are a constant amazement to me, Jeshanah," said Breeze, her eyes jumping with gladness at my new interest in her. "I think that's why I love you so much."

"Of course, you love me," I responded, "whether I amaze you or not." I was always ready to take a statement to its most honest point, even if it meant I would lose it over the side of a cliff.

"I mean I love you more than a sister," murmured Breeze, her eyes still sparkling but her smile now gone.

I felt uncomfortable when Breeze stopped smiling abruptly. It usually meant she wanted something.

"Well, are you going to talk to me about sex or not?" I asked casually, taking a sip of my vodka and orange juice to support my pretense of aloofness.

"What do you want to know?" asked Breeze, sensing that I was becoming uncomfortable.

"You obviously do something to the fish that excites them more than most of the beautiful girls at their disposal. But, what I am really curious about, is why, with all the sex you get from men, why do you still masturbate?"

"Do you want the truth? Or maybe you want to keep us in this safe and careful arrangement you have created."

I felt nervous, as if a strong tentacle had wrapped itself around my heart, ready to squeeze the life out of me if I tried to unravel it.

"Tell me the truth, Breeze," I said boldly. "You know I always want truth."

"Except when it touches you personally," responded Breeze in what I knew was an insight of love.

"You want to love me as a sexual partner?" I asked, pretending to be objective.

"That and more," she said, for the first time showing a vulnerability I did not know she possessed.

"I just want to know how you get so turned on all the time," I said, changing the subject, since I did not want to go any further down that road. Breeze respected my decision.

"It's easier to show you than tell you," she said, the twinkle again returning to her eye.

"I don't know, Breeze. I've never been interested in lesbianism."

"Why not? Mo says it's wonderful for two women to satisfy each other sexually. Tell me the truth. Have you ever been satisfied by a  man?"

"I don't know. I like being with certain men. What do you call satisfied?"

"I mean an orgasm. How many orgasms do you have when you make love?"

"You mean in all my life" I answered with my voice cracking. Not only was this conversation becoming embarrassingly honest, but I felt the tentacle squeezing my heart.

"Oh, no!" cried Breeze, throwing her head back in a deep laugh. "I really meant every time you make love. But you answered that now. So, you hardly ever have an orgasm, do you?"

"I think I do," I said, feeling that the only way to find out was to discover what an orgasm meant to Breeze.

"I think you need a woman to touch you," she responded affectionately. "I want to touch you, Jeshanah, but you never let me."

Breeze had touched me very deeply without realizing. She had penetrated into a place I never even allowed myself -- my deepest human emotions. Why was I so outwardly hot and inwardly cold? Why could I love my son with the depth of the universe, while I despised the one who made him possible? Why could I write poems of deep-felt love to my special fish, while knowing that every moan and move I made in the intimacy of the bedroom was an act, carefully rehearsed and so fully integrated that I forgot I was playing? Maybe Breeze held some kind of key.

"Are you asking me to make love with you?" I demanded.

"I am asking if I can make love to you, Jeshanah. I don't think you can make love to me, but maybe, I am hoping, you can learn."

What she said made me feel dirty. I had also felt dirty when I had lost my virginity to a boy who didn't even care about me. I felt dirty when I first made love to my husband. The only way I didn't feel dirty was if I detached my emotions from the act of lovemaking. I didn't know why. At first I thought that all women did it this way, and later I convinced myself that I was like this so I could be used by the Lord to love many men and not just one. Now Breeze was asking me to become emotionally engaged in each and every act, whereas disengagement was my most reliable survival mechanism. Those tentacles were so tight now I could feel my blood pumping uncontrollably.

"Okay, I'll sleep with you," I said, downing the rest of my drink.

A conflicting array of emotions seemed to cross Breeze's face. She seemed pleased at the prospect, but sad at my response.

"You don't have to," she said defensively.

I felt guilty for my lack of compassion and respect for her honesty. Mo had written that sex between women was God ordained, and although I no longer took Mo's opinions as the Divine Insight, I would consider the possibility that I was made to like women instead of men. But no, I didn't feel any emotion for Breeze, or any other woman, but sisterly love.

"Let's go home and see what happens," I suggested, hoping to gain wisdom with time and experience.

We arrived back at the home with everyone asleep. The last half glass of vodka that I had gulped down was now taking effect, and I let Breeze lead me to her bed like I let most of my fish take me without protest. But it wasn't the same. I didn't feel a reason to make love to her. I made love to men because I was either told to or believed I was "helping" them. No one told me to do this. There was also a social stigma attached to lesbianism, just as there was shame to prostitution. Lesbianism seemed to be propelled by human sexual desire on the part of both lovers, whereas prostitution usually involved one-sided desire. I fit much better into the prostitution model, where sexual desire on my part was not a necessary requirement. Sexual craving, even emotional desire for a partner in life, had been lost or forgotten by now, and my only desire was an abstract wish to serve others in love.

My fish were in need of God's Love. Our reasoning, which is not unlike some contemporary radical theory, is that women in the world give sex to men in exchange for something else, such as prestige, security, and support in a marriage situation, or money in prostitution. We supposedly gave sex to prove to these men that we loved them with God's Love, and although I eventually took money, the diversity of my experiences shows that money was not the primary motivation. Neither was desire! I could not find a reason to love Breeze sexually; after all, she had a huge reservoir of God's Love at her disposal. In addition, I felt no overwhelming emotional need, no sexual longing, and certainly no desire that could launch me into this new behavior.

"It's not going to work," I finally said. "I don't feel it, and this might ruin our relationship. I'm sorry, Breeze." I went back to my bed and fell into a deep sleep.

Had I the energy and mental development to analyze this incident  at that time, I would have eventually wondered why I could have participated in sacred prostitution and not in lesbianism. Clearly, I did have some concept of my sexuality, however weak, even though I consider my years in Monte Carlo as the most spiritually lost time of my life. Years later, a young female member was rebuked publicly in a Mo letter for not providing sex to a sister who "needed" it, but by then I was beginning to consider my own wants and desires and less influenced by Mo. In Monte Carlo, I don't remember ever desiring anybody, and perhaps that is why I did so much for the Family at that time; however, had I been influenced by the previously mentioned Mo letter, "The Girl who Wouldn't," when Breeze expressed desire for me, the story might have been different.

Breeze never mentioned the incident or tried to entice me in any way afterward. She continued to care for me like a concerned older sister. And even when the opportunity arose for us to be in bed together, it was Breeze who declined.

Salim invited me to dinner on my birthday -- June 27, 1979. I was twenty-six years old. I met him at the suite, where he gave me a lovely Cartier necklace of flat gold links. Then we went to a Monagasque restaurant, the Bec Rouge, where Breeze, Sharon, Timothy, and Adnan had been invited to celebrate my birthday at a surprise party given by Salim.

Adnan gave me his present, a gold-chain Cartier necklace, bigger and much more expensive than Salim's. I put it on with Salim's already around my neck, but Salim told me they looked bad together, so I took Adnan's offer.  We had a lovely evening, my first and only birthday party in the Family. Salim asked Sharon to sing "Forbidden Games" for me, and then he had to leave to attend a social engagement with his wife. Adnan and Breeze sat next to each other, and he whispered something in her ear before he too had to go.

"Adnan wants both you and me to meet him in his hotel suite later," said Breeze when we were alone. We discussed it with Timothy, who thought that was okay, since Adnan was our biggest fish, but Sharon asked me what I thought. I was in seventh heaven because of the love and care I had received from both Adnan and Salim. I knew Salim was with his wife this evening, and I thought maybe he had set this up. It was okay with me.

Sharon and Timothy went home, and Breeze and I went to Adnan's suite. He was not there when we arrived, but she had a key. We sat in the luxurious living room, looking at each other in silence. I knew she was concerned about something.

"Do you really want to do this?" she asked.

"You don't want me to, do you?" I responded, wondering why not.

"No, I don't think it will be good for Adnan to start this kind of thing. "

She said this with an expression that I intuitively read as "Please don't do it, I don't want you to." I never understood why, but I respected her choice.

"Okay. I'll write him a note saying that I am not staying because of my attachment to Salim. Does that sound legitimate?"

"Yes," said Breeze with a thankful smile. "I love you."

Adnan found my little note amusing, and he never asked me to be with him again. He sometimes poked fun at my romantic relationship with Salim. I thought that perhaps Salim had told him something about us, but in retrospect, I think I always acted like I was romantically involved. Salim was my surrogate father, boyfriend, and lover. For a short time, he fulfilled every male role that was lacking in my life. All this from a man I never even kissed.

Now that we had the wealthiest fish in Monte Carlo, we could be choosier as to whom we went to bed with. After Timothy and Sharon's second baby was born, Breeze and I pretty much became our own fishermen. We had been in Monte Carlo over two years now, and we knew who were the locals and the passing tourists. The easy criterion we had for all new fish was if they don't stay in the Hotel de Paris they probably won't "need" sex. This line of reasoning was consistent with Mo's emphasis on the rich being the most neglected group of people spiritually. Of course, exceptions were made for those who owned mansions on the Cote d' Azur, or had a yacht in the port, but the tourists or passing casino players were usually only given a verbal witness. For those who came back to Monte Carlo to see us again, we sometimes gave a sample of God's Love with a date or one night of sex. These were the ones who sometimes fell in love, until they finally realized what we were doing.

Someone who held a possessive love for me was Leopoldo, a short, stocky, balding, and very jovial Italian man who had inherited a title and money from his family. Living in his own villa when he was in Monte Carlo, he drove around in his flashy Rolls-Royce, which I suspect bolstered a weak self-confidence. I engaged in a relationship with him that lasted nearly two years. Although he was quite religious, very loving, and usually possessive, I never understood if he really loved me or my spirit of recklessness.

Leo often took me to Rome with him on business trips. Sometimes I took my son, Thor, and we would spend the days visiting the famous Roman sights, such as the Piazza Espagna, the Coliseum, the Vatican, and the Catacombs. These outings were an invaluable cultural experience for both of us, and I only worried that Thor, at six years old, was too young to remember them.

During my solo trips to visit Leo in his Rome apartment, I spent a lot of time witnessing to him. After making love, we read the Bible together, and I explained our interpretation of various verses. Leo seemed to really love the Lord, and he willingly asked Jesus into his heart when I told him what this meant.

That night we were watching television in his bedroom in Rome. Leo was a dedicated Catholic, but he had never read the Bible very much, so I had been sharing Bible passages with him for months. It was rather late and I had my Bible in my hands, reading verses out loud to him while he surfed the available TV stations. Finally, he switched off the TV and asked me what it meant to be saved.

There were many analogies I could have used, but I chose the one that I knew Leo could relate to best.

"It's like connecting to electricity," I answered. "Think of your life without electricity -- no lights, no TV, no hot water. Having Jesus in your heart is like having electricity in your spiritual life." 

"I'll do it," he said, seeming to be genuinely interested.

We held hands and he repeated after me a prayer that I had been taught since I was a little girl, and I had now repeated with hundreds of people.

"Jesus, I know I am a sinner and cannot have eternal salvation without you. Please forgive my sins. Come into my heart and set me free from sin."

This was my reward for giving up my life and body. The Bible said, and I believed, that this simple prayer and belief in Jesus was the way to salvation. If this was true, how could such a puny thing as giving sex limit me from leading a person to salvation? These busy, important men obviously needed the intimacy that a sexual relationship provides in order to open up to the message of Jesus' Love. And when someone like Leo sincerely asked Jesus into his heart, it provided me with the inspiration and motivation to keep giving.

Leo also asked me to accompany him on a vacation he was planning with some friends. I only found out at the airport that we were going to Bangkok, Thailand.

Until we arrived in Bangkok, I never really knew the level of wealth that Leo was accustomed to, and I thought a little less of him because of his seeming insensitivity to the extreme poverty at the doorstep of his lavish holiday home. Leaving the air-conditioned, plush-carpeted, and richly decorated hallways of the hotel, I stepped out into a typical Bangkok street, sweltering and humid and filled with noise, with entire families living on the sidewalks. Thailand is the country of silk and precious jewels, say the travel brochures, but I did not know, having lived so long in a bubble, that it also attracted tourists looking for sex and cheap prostitutes.

My bubble burst as I walked the streets of Bangkok. In some areas, little girls would run up to us and pull at my skirt or Leo's pants, asking us to take them to bed for "ten dollar only," showing us ten fingers. Sometimes it was young boys who asked. One night Leo and his friends took me to a show far out in the country. The parking lot around an old warehouse was crowded with rental cars and taxis. Inside, there was a center stage that looked like a boxing ring, and around it were hundreds of seats filled with Westerners of both sexes. Young Eastern-looking girls were performing sexual antics. I was so disgusted I put my head in my hands and started to cry. Leo took me back to the hotel.

I was happy and relieved to get back to my home and family in our humble little Beausoleil house. My relationship with Leo was never the same after this trip, and I was beginning to doubt our spiritual influence on these men.

We had become so well-known among the night crowd in Monte Carlo that regular clients at Jimmy'z sometimes called and asked if any of the "sisters of Jesus" were there. Whoever answered the phone knew exactly who they meant and would come to our table with a message, Despite what this situation might look like, everyone deeply involved with us overcame their initial suspicions of our motives and began to accept that we were doing this for God. 

I also began to believe that too much money was going to pay for our leaders' private apartments, and not enough was going to the poor mission fields. After my horrific insight into the life of poor people in Thailand, I contacted a home we had there and discovered that they worked with Cambodian refugees. Without telling Timothy, I started a fund-raising campaign to collect money specifically for the Cambodian refugee mission. I sent personal letters to my fish and informed them that I was raising money for this work, promising that 100 percent of the money would go to the mission in Thailand. I collected several thousand dollars and sent it to the Thailand home, and then immediately started another fund-raiser for one of our homes in India. Of course, I was soon found out by Timothy, who had been contacted by the leaders, and although they openly complimented me for my initiative, I was told that all collections and funds are processed through World Services and I should follow that God-approved procedure. That ended my short career as a legitimate fundraiser, but it was another step toward establishing my independence. I had done something in direct contradiction to the rules, and I wasn't kicked out or struck by lightning, and my son wasn't taken away from me! Without the fear of immediate punishment, I had gained ground over my own soul.

Although I could fall in and out of "love" with the ease and detachment with which I changed my clothes, sometimes I had a brief belief in the old myth that "this might be the one." Spyros, a plump, darkly handsome, young Greek man, gave me the faint feeling that romance still clung to me like old cobwebs in the attic.

Spyros associated with the cool crowd whom we avoided, which included Prince Napoleon (the pet name we had now given Andre) and the ex-Beatle Ringo Starr. Breeze and I were at an empty Jimmy'z one evening when their crowd walked in, and we wound up sitting together. I did not feel that anyone in the group was ready for a message, but when I danced with Spyros, I sensed a deep melancholy. No one told me who this quiet young man was. I imagined that he was the friend of one of the men in the crowd. He seemed so shy and self-deprecating, I could not picture him raised as a rich kid.

When we were invited to join them at a private party over at the Hotel de Paris, we agreed. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a pot party, and since we never took drugs, although we were accused of doing so, Breeze and I became nervous. Spyros noticed that I didn't smoke any pot, and asked if I took other drugs. Of course, this gave me the perfect opportunity to tell him about the Most High-Jesus. His friends laughed, but Spyros listened intently, asking questions and showing interest in my answers about the spiritual world. We talked till the morning, and after his friends left, one of them with Breeze, I joined Spyros in the adjoining bedroom. I was surprised to find that this suite in the Hotel de Paris belonged to him.

Maybe it was the hazy smoke rings that had engulfed the room during the night, and which I could not help but breathe in, but I had visions of Spyros being reeled into the Family. He was so interested in what I had said about God and the Kingdom. He seemed to be quite sad and discontented with the life he was living, and I thought that perhaps he was not really part of the superrich, but had only stumbled into their path to be used for a while, like they sometimes did with their lowly entourage. I could be his savior from a life of purposelessness.

However, my spiritual reverie was shattered when we made love. For reasons I could never understand rationally, I enjoyed it immensely. This disproved my theory that because I took my sexual role more spiritually than did the other girls, I did not experience orgasm.

But with Spyros that night, it was different. He struck a chord that had not been touched for a long time. I often thought about why this happened on that particular night, because it never happened again with the same intensity. Maybe it was the pot in the air, or maybe someone had slipped me something, although I doubt both of those reasons. There was nothing particularly special about Spyros or what he did either. Also, Spyros was the first male of my age whom I had been with in a long time; he was outside the Family, and I did not think of him as a "rich fish." These factors combined might have allowed me a brief repose from my inhibiting, missionary-like hold on my emotions.

I awoke before he did, and with the light peeking in through the thick, tightly closed curtains, I looked for a piece of paper on which to write him the note that might start him on the path toward God's Kingdom. There on the desk, among other paraphernalia from the evening, was the necklace he had taken off before getting in bed. Holding it toward a small stream of light, I read the inscription. My dream shattered and joined the invisible particles that glittered in the light like diamonds of dust, for the name on the medallion told me that Spyros was no ordinary rich boy; he was the son of one of the wealthiest and most famous Greek families in the world, the Niarchoses. I suddenly realized that for Spyros to forsake all and follow God would not be like a camel going through the eye of the needle; it would be more like trying to split an atom with a butter knife. The soul of such a one, raised in the oppressor's world without an inkling of the People's reality, would take a lifetime, perhaps a few lifetimes, to come to a desire for the Truth. This is what I thought not what Mo taught. Our intentions for Kashoggi, a much older man, had always been that he would be a "king," one who helped our group financially while we ministered to him spiritually. I had been hoping that Spyros would become a disciple, but now, knowing 0 his extreme wealth, I had no hope for that. Some of my early, radical training suddenly resurfaced. I didn't put this thought into words; that would be sacrilegious in our religion, because God's Spirit could perform miracles on anyone. But I dropped the idea of fishing Spyros into the Family and accepted that if nothing else, at least he got witnessed to.

Spyros remained a friend, and although he proved to be the epitome of the spoiled rich kid, he still had a humble attitude to anyone who seemed to have more inner strength than he. If I ever saw him in a club or restaurant, I walked over, said hello, and usually sat down to meet the people at his table. Poor Spyros was so well educated in etiquette, yet he never knew what to do when he saw me. One evening I asked Breeze to sing him a song that she had written, which I thought appropriate for Spyros. He was sitting with Ringo that night. Breeze started her song, and Ringo made unflattering remarks. Finally, without listening to the words that Breeze was singing, Ringo started mimicking Breeze, but interspersing words like "We love you Spyros, because you are so rich."

"You are such a fool!" I screamed at him, terribly hurt that he would make fun of Breeze. "Why don't you just shut up and listen to the words? You might learn something, having never written a good song yourself."

Ringo laughed ridiculously, but Spyros was offended by my outburst. He took me aside and said that I could not talk like that to Ringo.

"Why not?" I asked, still angry that Ringo had questioned our motives and laid them on the same low level as his own might have been.

"Well, because of who he is. Who do you think you are to talk that way to him?"

"Who does he think he is to talk that way to God's servants?" I retorted.

I was always sorry for Spyros after that evening. I realized now beyond a shadow of a doubt the inverse relationship between material and spiritual riches. I was getting a little sick of all this decadence myself.

Life was not always heavenly living in God's Kingdom within the world's kingdom. I usually drank more than I ate, and when I was completely sober, I sometimes cried myself to sleep. Even though both Sharon and Breeze loved me more than anyone had ever loved me in my life, I knew that if I was not loyal to the Family, I would lose that love immediately. Once I locked myself in the bathroom, sobbing because I felt no one understood me, and I only came out, in shame, after everyone assured me that they also felt that way sometimes. Even so, I knew I was different. When top leaders came by our home, I shunned them, fearing to be in their revealing light, which exposed my every evil doubt.

Just as the process of internalizing Mo's doctrine of sexual sharing and sacred prostitution had been gradual, so my reawakening was an extremely slow process. Accepting the Family's values was made much easier because everyone around me, even my husband, accepted them, but discovering my own concept of morality was so much more difficult since I was basically on my own. I had rejected the world's conventional moral standards, which seemed hypocritical to me, but if I did not embrace the Family's, what did I have? I was just beginning to think that I might find, on my own, a universal morality, but the thought was frightening, and terribly lonely. Of course, there were probably many others in the Family who at times had similar thoughts, including my own husband though he didn't tell me. No one shared such thoughts. We were conditioned to believe that they were of the devil. They would lead you out of the Family! And we were right -- if you kept thinking that way, you left!

By the winter of 1979-80, we could feel that things were winding down. No one could express what was happening, but there was a general feeling of change around the corner.

One morning I came home to hear that Sharon, now pregnant with her third baby, had been kept all night in the Monte Carlo police station. She had been picked up while she was waiting for Breeze in the Loews Hotel lobby. Searching her guitar case, the police found copies of Mo letters, among them the controversial anti-Israeli literature.

These were the letters predicting the invasion of Israel by a united Arab front and condemning the Western world for supporting Israeli expansion. There were many people of Jewish origin in our group, and we understood these letters as ire against the "state" of Israel, not Jews themselves; however, they were considered by those outside the group as evidence of an anti-Semitic stance. We understood Mo's allegiance with Qaddafi as a means to provide us with inside connections to an eventual "Antichrist government." Whether we did not want to jeopardize our good standing with the Arabs, or whether Mo actually changed his views on the Jews, is still a debate. In any case, the accusation of being anti-Semitic was never addressed by our leaders, many of whom were Jewish themselves.

The police questioned Sharon, fingerprinted her, and sent her home in the morning with instructions that she should not return to Monaco. She was told to send the rest of us down to the station for questioning.

We decided to obey police orders; it sounds odd that we had to consider this, but we had lived outside the world's rules and regulations for so long that only Family orders mattered. Timothy went first, so that Sharon would not be left alone with the children. After he returned, Breeze and I went. The officers seemed amused when we walked in. After waiting the obligatory time so that we understood who was in control and how much respect they had for us, we were given mug shots, fingerprinted, and then questioned separately. I was questioned by an older, more mature officer who looked like he never told jokes.

"We know of your every move here in Monaco, ever since you came three years ago," he said, glaring at me as if I had tried to hide my whereabouts from him.

"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 Mont Carlo Police thought they were ridding Monaco of subversive influences.

Back at home, after praying and discussing the matter, we came t 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 ft years by crossing the Italian border every few months to receive stamp. It didn't fool anyone. But I was worried about what it mea for Thor and me.

Within a few days, our whole team had been invited to join t home in Athens, Greece, where the Family was starting a new music ministry. I wasn't personally interested in moving there, and I al 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 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 w  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 h again. It seemed like there were only two options open to me: go Athens, which meant leaving Thor, and was therefore out of t question; or reconcile with my legal husband, Thor's father. I knocke 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 w Cal. But please, let me stay with Thor." I burst into uncontrolled sobs, instinctively knowing that all was too late.

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

"Yes. I know that now," I said in between sobs. "But I'm so 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 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! 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!

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