Beyond Belief (38 page)

I knew none of this when Mr. Rathbun and Mr. Rinder gave me my final instructions. They told me that Maddie, my escort for the day, would meet me in the reception area of the HGB the next morning. I was to wear civvies, not my uniform. They would meet with me again after the visit to see how it went.

Mr. Rathbun smiled as he and Mr. Rinder walked out of the room. At times like this, I got the sense that he actually felt bad for me. In all my dealings with him, I always had the notion that he had to act a certain way and do certain things because of who he was and his position, but that deep down, he was more human and cared about me a little bit. Unlike his wife, who seemed to enjoy raking me across the coals, he had a hidden compassion. It might have been my imagination, but I figured senior executives were under pressure to do whatever my uncle told them to do.

On the way back to my berthing that night, I looked at the other Sea Org members all jam-packed onto the bus with me. In the few months I had been in L.A., many Sea Org people, complete strangers to me, had approached me randomly, telling me how they had once worked with my mother or father and how much they admired them. I wondered what they would think now if they knew that Ronnie and Bitty Miscavige had left the Sea Org and were currently living in Mexico, where they were selling real estate. It would have shown a crack at the top. A lot of people liked my parents. Learning that they had left the Sea Org might have caused alarm and rumblings and maybe would have started quiet speculation that they had had a falling-out with my uncle. That was why I had to protect the secret at all cost. After what had happened with Molly, I knew there was no one I could confide in about seeing my parents the next day.

Maddie met me in the morning as scheduled and took me to the hotel at LAX. As she pulled the car to the curb, I saw my mom smiling broadly and heading toward us. I was completely oblivious to all that she and Dad had been through to make this reunion happen. Maddie handed me a cell phone. “This is for you to use for the day. Push this button to call me when you are ready to be picked up.” I felt so trustworthy at this moment, in authorized possession of the forbidden cell phone.

Stepping from the car, I started to smile. It was hard not to be happy to see someone when they were so overjoyed to see you. Mom gave me a huge hug, and I hugged her back. I felt awkward knowing that Maddie would see me hugging an SP, but when I turned around, she was smiling and waving to my mom as well. My mom waved back before leading me toward the hotel.

The day with my parents went great. They looked older but like they were doing well and taking care of themselves. They seemed to know what topics to avoid and just what to say. We never talked about the Church, for example. We spent the first part of the day shopping at Universal CityWalk. Occasionally, I felt guilty for enjoying myself. It was especially weird because they were SPs, but it was hard to think of them that way.

Mom and Dad never tried to convince me to leave the Sea Org and live with them. In fact, they didn’t ask me anything about the Church. If they had questioned me or pushed me to do their agenda, I would have been ready to argue with them. They would have been providing me with the excuse I needed to disconnect from them once and for all, and they knew it. My parents were aware that it was my choice to remain in the Sea Org, but they also knew I was brainwashed. The last thing you want to tell a person who is brainwashed is that they are brainwashed. They realized that the best thing they could do was to be nice and loving toward me, causing me to question the validity of them being SPs. By acting kind and not trying to change my mind, they were laying the groundwork for me to leave on my own.

In the evening, we were getting ready to go our separate ways when Dad pulled out a wooden box with a leather top.

“I want you to have this,” he said handing it to me. “This way, you have something to remember us by.”

When I opened it, I found photos of them and their new house, and a credit card with my name on it.

“What’s this?” I asked in confusion.

I think my dad expected me to refuse it, or at least make some sort of objection.

“It’s just for emergencies,” he told me, really hoping I’d agree to keep it.

In a certain way, it made sense to me. I didn’t have any other money or anyone to contact if anything ever happened, or if I ever needed to leave the Church. I knew that Mr. Rathbun and Mr. Rinder would probably not approve of this, but my dad’s simple explanation was convincing. It also made me feel cared for and safe. I decided to keep the card but not tell Mr. Rathbun or Mr. Rinder about it unless they asked.

When Maddie arrived, my parents hugged me one last time. I was surprised at how sad I was when we said goodbye. I also knew my life was back at the base—seeing my parents had not made me waver in that regard. As Maddie drove me away, we waved one last time.

Next thing I knew, I was back in the conference room on the twelfth floor. After a quick debrief of all that had gone down with my parents, I was sent home. I had even come clean about the credit card, and to my surprise, Mr. Rathbun didn’t confiscate it.

It was well after midnight by the time I got back to my room. I wasn’t particularly tired, so I went down to the basement to do my laundry. Most unusually, the laundry room was empty, and as I was shoving my dirty clothing into the washer, I looked up to see Dallas walking in with a laundry bag.

“Hi,” he said, likely not noticing the red glow of embarrassment on my face. Actually, he also looked somewhat embarrassed.

A few awkward moments later, we sat down outside the laundry room door to chat for twenty minutes or so. It was only when we heard people coming down the stairs that I realized how late it had gotten. Dallas smiled and said we should get to know each other more, and I agreed. Before we said good night, he leaned over, put his hand on mine, and we kissed.

What a day it had been.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
IVE

THE CELEBRITY CENTRE

I
T WASN’T LONG BEFORE
I
OFFICIALLY STARTING DATING
D
ALLAS.
Not only was he smart and kind; he always had me laughing and I could be myself around him. A total family person, he’d tell me about his parents, his older brother and younger sister, and how he had grown up spending time with his cousins. It was obvious that he loved his family. He’d had a carefree upbringing and was proud of it.

The stories I shared with him about my family were full of holes. Since I couldn’t tell him where my parents were, and I didn’t even know where my brother was, I tried glazing over the specifics as much as possible.

Mr. H was annoyed that I was dating Dallas, saying that she didn’t understand why I couldn’t just be single. Technically, romances did not have to be approved. There were broad rules, such as Sea Org must stay within their base, the same for CMO, but individual dating choices were not subject to approval, as long as the policy concerning the rules of dating was respected. She had authority to weigh in on my relationships, as she was the one who had daily contact with me. She would report to her superiors, most likely Aunt Shelly or Mr. Rathbun. I was a Miscavige, and my decisions were taken to be a reflection on the Miscavige name.

I didn’t mind that Mr. H made jokes about Dallas. I actually thought they were her way of giving approval. We had gotten closer, now that her crony Mr. Rodriguez had been posted at Flag. At heart, Mr. H was a good person, even though she could be ruthless. She was about Taryn’s age, and, in some ways being only a few years older than me made Mr. H like an older sister. She would talk a lot about her own younger sister, who, like me, enjoyed drawing. Her sister was not in the Sea Org, and Mr. H obviously loved her and missed her a lot. Mr. H always bought me Christmas presents, and because I had always had to eat at her table, she would tell me stories about the movies or books she read. Eventually, when I was allowed to eat elsewhere, I think she was sad because it meant that she had to eat by herself; the fact that I was happy to be free of her probably made her a bit sad. She was also an RTC Rep and so had to keep up her front. Mr. H’s RTC position gave her a lot of authority, but it allowed her to have no friends. It really was lonely at the top.

Pretty quickly, all of my friends liked Dallas. They got to know him because he ate at my table now. He was just an all-around nice guy who was easy to talk to and extremely polite. He always opened doors for me and offered a hand whenever someone needed assistance. He and I would sit on the fire escape right next to my dorm and talk late at night when we got off duty. He was born in 1980, so he was actually four years older than I. His parents were public Scientologists and not Sea Org members. They had been on staff at the local San Diego mission when he was born. They weren’t recruiters per se, but his father was good at getting people into the Church to become regular parishioners. Dallas’s parents had gotten into Scientology when they were eighteen. Despite not joining the Sea Org, they were important money donors to the Church and very active in recruiting.

Dallas’s childhood seemed so traditional compared to mine. He would tell me the stories of growing up and the family trips with his aunts, uncles, and cousins—few of whom were Scientologists. He lived with his parents, rode dirt bikes, went to public school, and hung out with his friends, both Scientologists and non-Scientologists. He was particularly fond of the ocean and had traveled to Mexico with his cousins to surf. He was also a fan of snowboarding and promised to teach me one day. My childhood had never had that sort of family time or even just the luxury of free time. I would replay Dallas’s stories in my head when I got into bed in the evenings, wishing that they could have been mine.

His exposure to Scientology was also drastically different. Dallas was raised with Scientology in the background, not the foreground, and even attended a San Diego public school until sixth grade, when a bad grade and sassing the teacher had gotten him in trouble. His parents sent him to a local Scientology school for seventh grade. It was held in a classroom with only twelve students for sixth grade and above. There was also a section of thirty to fifty younger kids for the earlier grades, which was where his sister went.

Dallas made me laugh when he told me how it had taken him more than a week to grasp the meaning of “beingness,” his first Scientology word. He hadn’t realized that Scientology had its own language and how confusing a lot of the concepts were. He attended high school at a Scientology boarding school about an hour outside L.A., which was run out of the home of a married couple who had once been in the Sea Org. I was impressed that he had completed the four-year curriculum in just two years. He said recruiters from the Sea Org would visit frequently, trying to sign the kids up, but he wanted to be an actor and had no interest in enlisting.

Only sixteen when he graduated from high school, Dallas was too young to go to college, but he said he hadn’t wanted to go. Many Scientologists looked down on college as a waste of time. His parents owned 50 percent of a large, successful jewelry store in San Diego, so he started working there to save enough money to move to L.A. and start his acting career. He was also saving the six thousand dollars he would need to take courses at the Celebrity Centre. That way, he could do Scientology studies and mingle with the celebrities, and maybe even make a helpful contact. His dream was to be an actor, not a Sea Org member. He had a beautiful singing voice, was great at improv, and could even tap dance.

It was at the San Diego org where he witnessed firsthand that Scientology worked. He was taking auditing sessions and decided to skip one, because he had come down with a head cold. The auditor called, freaking out, saying he needed to come in right away, as his sickness was a sign something had gone wrong. The next day, despite still being sick, he went in to the org, as he figured they knew what they were doing. It was the best session he ever had, he told me. Right there in session, his sickness left his body and didn’t exist anymore. At that moment, he knew Scientology worked for him.

When he was eighteen, he went to the Celebrity Centre in L.A., where he wrote a check for six thousand dollars to pay for his Key to Life and Life Orientation courses—the courses that I’d taken at Flag all those years earlier. He was assigned to twin with fifteen-year-old Dylan Purcell, son of actress Lee Purcell. Dallas said he was a real jokester, so he was always getting pulled into ethics on account of Dylan’s antics. He hung around with a lot of budding actors, some of whom now have established acting careers. In the evening, he took acting lessons with a Scientologist/actor who had trained Juliette Lewis and Giovanni Ribisi, themselves Scientologists.

Dallas often asked me questions about my family. When he’d ask if he could meet my parents, I created excuses, but he wasn’t buying them. Mr. H specifically reminded me every day that telling him my parents were out of the Sea Org was forbidden. She would even drill me on how to behave if he got too nosy. She’d pretend to be him asking questions, and I would have to figure out ways to skirt the topic. None of it ever made it any easier to dodge the questions when he brought them up.

One day, I finally decided to ignore all Mr. H’s warnings and just tell Dallas everything about my parents. He felt really bad for me, but at least he had understood why I had been so weird every time the subject of my parents was broached. Of course, now I had to lie to Mr. H when she’d ask me if my secret was still safe. But I had to tell Dallas; otherwise I felt like I was deceiving him.

Unlike most Sea Org members, Dallas had a car, which allowed us the opportunity to go off base and have breakfast on Sunday mornings, as long as we finished our work. The morning was supposed to be dedicated to getting our berthings clean enough to pass inspection; we had until noon, so if we completed our cleaning expeditiously, we could use the remaining time to go somewhere.