Seductive Poison (16 page)

His bodyguards were instructed to protect him, but not to overhear what he was saying. The guards were a new addition since Jim had received several death threats. Father had explained how he, like Martin Luther King, always needed to watch his back. The young burly men stood a respectful few feet away. Innocently excited, I rushed over.

I had recently been allowed to move back to San Francisco from Ukiah and now lived inside the church on Geary Street, as did Jim. More important, Father had made me the Head Counselor, responsible for dealing with members’ complaints and the issue of who should be privately or publicly confronted. I loved my new responsibilities and was very proud that Father had considered me wise enough to be in charge. So when he called me over I imagined that he wanted to talk to me about something that had to do with my new duties. I loved being a counselor but was not sure why Father had made me Head Counselor, when there were older, seemingly wiser and more experienced counselors he could have chosen. Maybe I really was special …

“Debbie, go into the men’s room and wait for me there,” he instructed me.

Baffled, I went to stand inside, as close to the door as possible. I prayed no one would enter and find me there. The room was dirty and had been used by potty-training toddlers, their little drip marks evident on the floor and sides of the urinals. As I waited for Father, a familiar sick feeling came up from my stomach. He entered the room, then turned around, opening the door only very slightly. He instructed the guards that no one was to be allowed near, that he had business he needed to discuss with me.

“Go over there,” he pointed, and I obediently walked toward the toilet stall and waited. “Why are you staring at me in that way?” he asked almost sheepishly.

“I am not sure what you want me to do, Father.”

“I want you now. I was watching you earlier, I yearn for your sweetness. Lie down, darling,” he said, pointing to the dirty bathroom floor.

He looked like a vampire as he thrust back his black choir robe, lowered his heavy body onto mine, and cloaked us in his demonic embrace. “I’m doing this for you …” he groaned.

“I want you to appreciate yourself more. You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he whispered. “I have great things in store for you, Debbie.”

Two weeks later, I was on my way to my room when Father caught me in the hallway.

“Tonight, I will tap on your door when it is safe for you to come down to my apartment.” Father’s voice was filled with sweetness, his face loving and kind.

I nodded and entered my room while he entered his son’s, next to mine. But later that night, when I heard his knocking, I lay very still in my sleeping bag. Slowly the door opened, creaking slightly as Father poked his head in.

“Oh, Father!” exclaimed Shanda as she rose to greet him.

“Goodness, excuse me. I thought I was knocking on Stephan’s door,” Father apologized loudly. I could feel him eyeing the room, wondering why I had not awakened with the disturbance. “Hope I didn’t wake you and Debbie,” he said.

“Of course not, huh, Debs?” Shanda called over to me. “That’s fast! She was awake a moment ago, Father.”

I remained motionless, frozen with fear. I knew it was some monstrous mistake; he didn’t want to have to do this to me … it was
my fault. I must have accidentally sent him a subliminal message asking for it and by staying quiet and asleep God would soon comprehend the misunderstanding and withdraw.

My awakening came that weekend at a cathartic leadership all-nighter. I was sitting next to Trisha and had just thrown a handful of sunflower seeds into my mouth when Jim’s voice slowed and his words became accentuated with disgust.

“I want the person to stand …”

Another one? I thought. Not tonight, it was already too late.

“You know who you are, you’re not special, not different. Stand up and apologize.” Everyone in the room was frozen. “So you think you are different, that I was not speaking to you?” he admonished.

My thoughts were racing as I waited for the fool to stand.

“Yes, it was you, stand up!” Father bellowed.

I looked around the room and then into Father’s eyes. They were focused on me. Oh, Jesus … Mommy … Carolyn … Help me. The room felt terribly small. Sunflower seeds spilled from my lap and onto the floor, scattering under people’s legs and cushions as I rose. My mind was spinning with thoughts of Annie, trembling and standing next to me, of Maria, Christine, Grace, Marylou, Sharon, Jan, Teresa, Sandy, Karen, Laura, so many of them. And I finally realized, at that very second, that none of them had ever asked for this injustice. I had hated them all for so long, so unfairly. Now I was one of them. Standing erect and perfectly still, I knew what I had to do. I knew the words by heart and slowly began reciting the litany of compliments … how wonderful Father had been; yes, I had forced his Humbleness into compromise; I had threatened suicide; he was the best and had the biggest one I had ever seen … Mortified and ashamed, I stood as my friends and comrades hissed their contempt.

“I had so many organisms,” I proclaimed. I did not understand what Father suddenly found humorous.

My confrontation lasted into early dawn. The younger, newer members, my twelfth-grader friends, Jim’s sons and their friends, were pressured into telling me how much they hated me. Father wanted their ties to me severed. When it was all over, hours after we’d been dismissed, I cautiously opened the door to the room where Stephan, Robbi, and Shanda sat whispering.

“It was not how it seems,” I said softly, then stepped back into
the darkened hallway and closed the door. I was taking a terrible risk by breaking the unspoken code of silence regarding our relations, interactions, and discussions with Father with anyone else. If any one of the teenagers told Jim that I had made verbal contact with them in defense of my predicament, I would be relentlessly confronted and punished. But I wanted them to know that I had not asked for this, I had not begged or even wanted Father’s tainted affections. I did not want them to hate me as I had hated the others for so many years. As I retreated I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped. It was Annie. She kissed my forehead gently and continued down the hall.

6
Resurrection

Two weeks after my third fall from grace, Father summoned me to his quarters. It was a gloriously sunny afternoon and an unusual time to meet with our leader. He was rarely sighted during the day because, we were told, he was always on some secret mission for the advancement of socialism. I walked down the narrow stairwell toward his apartment, feeling queasy. Had the kids told him? I scolded myself for being so dependent on their acceptance.

I squinted upon entering the dark stale room. As always, the shades were drawn and the room looked like night. I held my breath, promising I would sleep only three hours that night if my pals had kept our secret. By knowing the truth, that I had not asked or begged for Jim’s touch, they nourished an invisible redemptive seed within me. What would I say if Father demanded to know why I had betrayed him?

Sitting around Father were the most influential people in the Temple: my two sisters-in-law, Carolyn and Karen Layton; Teresa; Sharon, one of Jim’s lieutenants and a diehard believer; John, now a law student and still being groomed to be Jim’s successor; and Tim Stoen, our assistant D.A. whose wife, Grace, had recently left the Cause. I was honored to be in the same room with these exalted few. None of them slept more than four hours per night, I was sure of it.

Father looked up from his discussions. “Come in, darling … I can barely see you out there.”

I inched my way forward. I vowed to stay up all night if they hadn’t told.

Father laughed, “Debbie, come in! What are you frightened of … organisms?” He laughed, his face sweet and angelic. Carolyn smiled at me, her eyes hinting that my recent disgrace and misery were over.

“Debbie …” The room became hushed as Father put his black-rimmed glasses on a substantial pile of papers. We had begun to receive some unsympathetic press. I understood that an investigative reporter was trying to hurt Father.

“Debbie,” he smiled, “are your thoughts in the room with us?” I nodded. “I realize you don’t often see me working on life-threatening projects.” He pointed to the files. “You know about Marshall Kilduff, the reporter who is trying to make a name for himself. He has been intrigued by my power since my appointment to the Housing Authority. We are keeping an eye on him. He is trying to write ugly lies about us and has contacted some defectors. But we know his routine, where he lives and who his contacts are. Mayor Moscone is on my side and the little bastard has no idea who my contacts are inside the
Chronicle.
He is trying to persuade a magazine to publish his rubbish. It is time for us to get our house in order. We must clean the walls, wash the floors, and make sure that there is no dust or dirt for him to follow. Like the others before him, he will forever regret the day he crossed me.” I tried to steady my jittery hands. “What you are about to do is extremely serious and delicate …”

My heart was beating so loudly I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to hear the rest of what he had to say.

“Darling, will you ever leave the church?”

I was suddenly alarmed. Perhaps Father was going to ask me to kill the reporter.

I took a step forward to show my conviction and with my voice reverent and strong, I looked straight into my leader’s eyes.

“Never, Father.”

“Well, with what you are about to do, you never can. You’ll need to get a passport tomorrow.”

My panic subsided and was replaced by pride. Father was entrusting me with a very important task. I was being addressed personally. He was asking for my allegiance! I was being asked to join the brotherhood of the most trusted, the chosen few. I was no longer
the damaged effigy Father had set fire to a few months ago. I saw myself rising above the ashes of my former self and toward the apex of success.

“You are about to take a very important trip,” Father continued. “I could only entrust this top secret and delicate mission to you, Carolyn, Maria, and Teresa.” There was a twinkle in his eyes as he continued. “I promised I would not harm or forsake you.”

At that moment I understood. My confrontation had been a test to strengthen me. Father had never intended to hurt me. How could I have been so wrong? My occasional treasonous dreams of running away faded while I waited excitedly for my new mission.

Three weeks after my few seconds of esteem kindling in Father’s apartment, Maria and I were summoned to his quarters to join him and Carolyn.

“It is necessary for you to leave tonight. Pack for warm weather.”

I stood there, puzzled. Why did no one say where we were going? Why was this such a secret? Perhaps the building was bugged. I knew better than to ask. Asking a question would reveal my curiosity and signal a dangerous tendency to want to understand the workings of God. I wasn’t advanced enough yet to seek understanding of Father’s wisdom.

“You’re approved on my I. Magnin card,” Carolyn picked up. “I have already set aside several appropriate business outfits for you and Maria. And, Debs, I’ve made a hair appointment for you at Yosh’s. It’s important that you look older.”

I was dismissed and, blushing with excitement, returned to my tiny room in the attic of the San Francisco Temple. I couldn’t wait to find out what new adventure awaited me. I wondered how I could have ever questioned or doubted Father.

Maria called to me from her room down the hall, ordering me to hurry. It was time to leave. Maria, who had joined the Temple shortly after I did, was a five-foot-nine, olive-skinned, attractive Greek with long brown hair and dark brooding eyes. Her father was a Greek Orthodox priest, whom Jim seemed to hate. She was serious in demeanor, but when she laughed it was contagious. In the last year, however, she had lost all her youthful exuberance and had become distant and rather bossy. We had been friends, but Maria seemed to have taken on airs since Jim had asked her to care for the
six-year-old boy, John-John, whom Jim claimed to have fathered with Grace Stoen, who had left the Temple. Since my return to San Francisco I had noticed that Maria was spending more and more time in Jim’s apartment. She was no longer an innocent twenty-year-old. She had become highly protective of Father, who feared betrayal and outsiders’ attacks, and she often refused even inside staff members access to him. No one questioned her because we assumed the orders she gave us were coming from Jim. It was true that sometimes Jim needed a rest from all the urgent inquiries of his disciples. Often, they were only trying to show him how busy and thoughtful they were.