Finding Forever (26 page)

A choice. George told Taylor she didn't have one. Technically, though, she did. She could, for example, plot an escape, but then she'd run the risk of getting chewed alive by German shepherds or mauled by a hyper monkey. She could opt out and not sign the contract that George had placed before her. But the choice between facing years in prison on felony charges (a PR nightmare) and hopefully getting the criminal charges dropped and wiped from her record seemed pretty clear.

Taylor took hold of George's pen, and after letting out a here-goes-nothing exhale, scrawled her autograph with her trademark giant
T
and
P
followed by a series of squiggles.

“Legally the state of California now considers Dr. Peter Kensington your conservator,” George said, placing the document into his folder. “This means Peter can make all decisions—personal, medical, and professional—on your behalf.”

Taylor had heard about these conservatorships. It's what parents of the most train-wrecked celebrities usually obtained.
Am I that crazy?

“What about my mother? Doesn't she have to sign off?”

“She has granted Dr. Kensington power of attorney,” George said. “He has explained your difficult predicament to her. She trusts him.”

“Can I speak to her?”

“Upon completion of the Program.” George stood up. “So let's not waste any more time. Come with me.”

As she followed George out of Casa Bell across the courtyard and back to the clinic, Taylor looked up at the midday blue sky and basked in the warmth of a sun she had seen very
little of over the last few days. When she stepped back into the clinic the AC-cooled air sent a shiver through her.

George pushed open a door directly across the hall from the padded room. Inside stood Dr. Kensington, pacing with his arms crossed at the far end of the room. He smiled when he saw Taylor. He nodded to George, who left, closing the door behind him.

“Dr. Kensington.” Taylor nodded in return.

“Call me Peter, my child,” he said. “Here, have a seat.”

Taylor sat at the long oak table in the middle of the classroom, which was one of only six rooms in the single-story adobe casita that constituted the “clinic.” The other rooms were her bedroom, the examination room, the exercise room, the kitchen, and the infamous padded white room. It was like a high-end Palm Springs spa resort—except for the being-held-against-your-will part.

“You will no doubt become the healthiest you have ever been in your life,” Peter told her. “You will gain clarity. You will feel a youthful vigor. In just a few days, you will have never felt more vital, more alive. You will experience a purity of body, mind, and spirit.”

Taylor looked out the window at the heat ripples hovering above the desert.

“But you can only get better by living better,” Peter continued. “Do you realize that almost every fatal illness one gets with aging can be prevented with proper diet? The mainstream medical community has brainwashed us into believing it is pills that prevent and cure diseases. But the truth is, by the time you need to take a pill it is too late. By then you've aged, you've developed terminal diseases, and your immune system has been compromised.”

He proudly held up a laminated, iPhone-size cardboard square and set it on the table in front of her. “This, my dear, is
a very short guide to a very long and happy life. You will carry this with you always.”

Taylor picked up the card, reading the first few lines silently.

“Please, my child,” Peter said. “Go ahead and read the list out loud.”

Taylor swallowed hard, then did as instructed.

Taylor looked up at Peter. “This is it?”

He patted her on the back. “Easy as pie.”

“This is all I have to do?”

“The Program will teach you that all the enlightenment and fulfillment one needs can be found by following these fifteen rules. Human beings like to make things more complicated than they need to be, my child.”