Heaven's Harlots: My Fifteen Years in a Sex Cult (30 page)

When Paolo finally returned, his distraught face looked as if he had been through hell. He fell to his knees and bent his head down, as Catholics are taught to do when they pray.

“I don’t know how to pray,” he said after a few minutes had passed in silence.

“Say what is on your heart,” I suggested.

“Help me, God. Jiutami, aiutami,” he kept repeating in Italian.

After what seemed like a very long time, he got to his feet. His face looked better, and he seemed tired but content. Evidently the prayer had dispelled the hold of the tranquilizers, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Looking into his eyes again, I saw he had something to tell me. “What is it?” I asked.

“Do you want to know?”

“Yes, I need to know.”

“Will you leave me if I tell you?”

“No. I won’t leave.”

“When you told me to pray,” he began apprehensively,“I heard a voice in my head. It said to kill you. While I was in the kitchen the voice told me to take a butcher knife and come in here and kill you.”

“Is that why you went into the kitchen?” I said, goosebumps rising on my arms at the thought of what he could have done.

“I wasn’t going to do it,” he responded defensively. “I think I went into the kitchen so the voice would stop. I went in there to get away from you because the voice did not like you.”

“My spirit is much more powerful than that puny voice,” I said, remembering Mo letters that told us how the devil tries to scare us when he knows he has already been beaten. I pictured an enormous, powerful angel on my side and a shriveled, bent-over little demon whispering into Paolo’s ear. Now I was sure that Paolo would come into the Family. Even the devil knew it, and he was making his last stand.

I succeeded in helping Paolo substitute faith for his addiction to drugs and therapy. I did not feel a sense of power over Paolo after this, instead, I felt an enormous burden of responsibility. I was now his spiritual mother. I had to nurture him, feed him, protect him, and educate him until he was mature enough to be on his own. It was as if I had been through a difficult birthing experience, and the baby had been born alive, but traumatized. Tired as I was after giving birth, I knew that the hard work had just begun.

Convincing Paolo to forsake all, a Family requirement in order to join, took time. Paolo was by nature selfish, stingy, and possessive. Not only did he not want to share me, he didn’t like the idea of giving up his coveted worldly possessions. Paolo pampered himself with fashionable clothes, comfortable furniture, and good food. He had a huge double closet full of the latest Italian fashions and dozens of shoes. I used to laugh to myself that my clothes took up only about one-tenth the space that his clothes did.

Paolo was also not willing to share his money. I brought my flee fund money with me, and to provide an example of true communal actions, I deposited the whole amount, about two thousand dollars, into his savings account. However, Paolo insisted I come to work with him at the pet shop every day, and although he gave me money to shop for food, I never had any spending money of my own. One evening, as we passed the only jewelry shop in the town, Paolo pointed out a gaudy gold cross with Jesus on it and indicated that he would like to wear a cross now that he was a Christian. I offered him one of my Cartier necklaces, suggesting that he ask the jewelry shop owner to make a trade. Even though I was unaware of the value of the Cartier at that time, I knew it was worth much more than the cross. In the back of my mind, I thought that maybe Paolo would surprise me by exchanging my Cartier for a cross for him and a ring, or necklace, for me. When he showed up with only the cross, and said that the shop owner had given him nothing else, I was disappointed, but I dashed these thoughts from my mind.

Anything I could do to show Paolo God’s true love was worth it.

Paolo’s mother lived nearby. His father, a Calabrese, had deserted her with two small sons when Paolo was very young. She supported them by working as a nurse, but as a typical Italian mother, she spoiled her boys, giving them everything they wanted. She came over every morning, after Paolo had gone to work, to make his bed, clean his house, and take his laundry. In the evening, she brought a warm dinner over for him, or he ate at her house.

As I began my household duties, I thought of what Timothy had told me about wasting God’s talent. He was against my living with Paolo, and he still wanted me to come and live in Athens with them. But living with Paolo served many grand purposes, It was helping Paolo break his dependence on legal drugs, giving him a goal in life, it gave me a place to live so I would not have to go to Athens, which would break my connection with Thor and perhaps with my own soul, and it took me from the detached experience of loving many men to learning to love one man.

Meanwhile, I took the three-hour round trip on the train and bus every weekend to pick up Thor. My son integrated well into the Italian country life, camping out with us and going fishing, however, Paolo, who was the poorest conversationalist I have ever met, was even less talkative with children. There is a Bible verse that says “a man who keeps quiet is esteemed wise,” and I thought that perhaps Paolo had deep thoughts. As time went on, I discovered that he just had nothing to say.

A few times I floated the idea of bringing Thor to live with us, but Paolo was averse to the idea. He said it was better for Thor to be with his father. Meanwhile, I had completely changed my own lifestyle for Paolo. I was now a dutiful housewife with a good sleeping schedule, regular meals, and lots of rest. Within a few months, I became pregnant.

Even though I had not practiced birth control throughout the years of offering myself, I had never become pregnant. Therefore, to be having Paolo’s baby was further proof to me that he was a disciple. In retrospect, I was just taking better care of my body.

All full-time disciples sent 10 percent of their monthly income into the COG headquarters in Switzerland, but since Paolo did not want to do this, we were put on the lowest status. That meant simply that we did not receive the “Disciples Only” (DO) letters, and we needed permission to visit Family homes. Of course, Cal never tried to enforce this rule, and I could go and come freely at his house, but otherwise, I was estranged from the COG. Sharon, Tim, and Breeze wrote to me from Greece, inviting me to come if I found out Paolo was not a sheep, and to bring him if he was. I could do neither. Now that I was pregnant, I would have to do my best to keep him connected to the Family, even if it meant living with him apart from a Family home.

The new Family rule, according to the latest letters, was that if a baby resulted from relationships with a fish, it was God’s way of showing that the fish was worthy. Therefore, the bait (me) must stay with that fish and keep him close to God’s Family. Nothing was mentioned about love except that God can give you the love you need.

For many years I waited and believed that love was coming. Sometimes I even fooled myself that love was there, that I just had to acknowledge it.

Years later, I heard the cynical words of a Dylan song,“Love is just a four letter word,” and I thought how true that was in my life. But for now, my time was absorbed with teaching Paolo how to be a Child of God, and I had no time for inner-self thoughts.

Unfortunately, my student was not a willing learner. He, at the same time, was trying to teach me how to be a typical, subservient Italian wife. The first day I went to work in his shop, he yelled at me for arriving late. He let me do all the dirty work, such as picking huge ticks out of the infested country farm dogs and sweeping the dirty dog hair away from his grooming area. After working in the luxury of Monte Carlo for three years, it was quite a change for me, but I had learned to be content in whatever situation I found myself in my service to the Lord.

Paolo was nicer to me after I became pregnant, and his mother, who had long ago resigned herself to her station in life as a single abandoned mother, was the epitome of self-sacrifice. She took it upon herself to train me in her image and likeness, how to shop daily from store to store, picking up the freshest pieces of meat and vegetables, making pasta from scratch, sewing curtains, crocheting baby clothes (she tried to teach me to knit but I have always been afraid to have knitting needles around children), hanging up pretty curtains. I followed her respectfully, but without enthusiasm. What I really planned was to get Paolo and me into a Family home somewhere as soon as possible.

In the spring of 1980, Cal informed me that he and Mara were going to go back to America. Almost everyone who had been in Europe for a while was encouraged to go on to other mission fields like the Far East or South America. First they would have to go to America and raise funds.

Mara was pregnant with her second child, and since I was also, Cal thought it might be a good idea for us to get divorced so that we could marry our new mates. I discussed this with him at length, and we planned on meeting in America, and then going together to a mission field and starting a home consisting of Cal, Mara, their little girl, Thor, Paolo, me, and our new babies. That would keep Thor with both of us, and I liked the idea of having help in training Paolo to be a disciple. All I had to do was convince Paolo to move to America.

Paolo had already been to America when he had worked on cruise ships.

He was not interested in returning. He was more interested in going to Canada or South America, since he had never been to those places. I explained that first we needed to get married, which meant I had to get divorced, which was easiest accomplished in America.

He seemed to agree. Assured that I would be following soon, I agreed to Thor going with his dad to the States ahead of me.

Cal left with Thor before the summer, and I promised to help pay for the divorce. He handled the whole procedure in New York, where his parents lived. Meanwhile, Paolo and I were to start gathering funds to leave and meet them when summer ended.

As the summer months passed, Paolo seemed less interested in leaving.

I pleaded with him to put the shop up for sale as he had promised, and although he kept saying he would, he did nothing. Finally, in November, seven months pregnant, I gave him an ultimatum.

“Paolo, we agreed on a plan before Thor left,” I reminded him. “I trusted you. I never would have let Thor leave if you had told me you were not sure.”

“You can’t do anything about Thor anyway,” he replied. “You gave Cal custody of Thor.” His words jolted me out of my delusional fantasy.

Basically, I had not counted on Cal asking for full legal custody, which he had done once in America, but I had continued to have faith in the plan. Now, it became clear to me that even Paolo was ready to betray my trust in him.

I had given Cal custody in order to obtain an uncontested divorce.

That was the only way that he would do it, and with him in America, with Thor in his possession, there was little I could do. The divorce papers also said that I had deserted them. I complained about this statement, but Cal said he had to give some excuse for getting divorced. Paolo, the only other person I ever talked to at that time, had encouraged me to sign the papers also, and now he was using this against me.

“Yes, I did give up custody!” I hissed at him, angry that he could be so insensitive to my feelings. He was there when I received the papers from Cal, when I cried over the desertion claim and the custody. Paolo knew how much those statements hurt me.

“But I trust Cal, and I still do,” I cried. “And I thought I could trust you.”

“Do you expect me to leave a good business, and go to America where I don’t know what I can do?”

“You are going to America to be part of God’s Family. If you don’t want to do that, then I don’t want to stay with you.”

“What about the baby? God gave us that baby for a reason. We are supposed to be together.”

“God gave me Thor for a reason too, Paolo, and I am going to stay beside my firstborn.” Paolo laughed condescendingly, an irritating habit he resorted to when he didn’t know what to say.

“I am leaving here with or without you, Paolo. You can’t keep me here. We aren’t married yet, and you can’t prove fatherhood either,” I added, not knowing if that were true or not.

We were on chilly terms for the next couple of weeks. Since I had put the money Timothy had given me into Paolo’s bank account, I had virtually no money. I contacted my mother and sisters, who were willing to help me. My mother had been reading all the anti-COG literature she received from church groups that explained our unusual marriage relationships, however, she was still horrified to learn that Cal lived with a pregnant woman in New York, while I lived with a stranger in Italy, and was also pregnant. I had been in touch with her through letters, but I never had given her the details of my life.

Other than news about Thor’s growth, my letters were filled with Bible verses supporting our ministry. Now that my mother heard about my divorce, she preferred I arrive with a husband-to-be, but said she would send me the money if I needed it to leave Italy. Paolo, sensing that I would do this on my own, gave in. He put the shop up for sale, and we left before Christmas. We arrived in New York in December 1980, with the news that John Lennon had just been shot and killed.

“Great entrance into America,” said Paolo sarcastically.

Paolo and I began to live in my mother’s house in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and we were married a few weeks before I had my first daughter. Only my mother was present at the ceremony held at the justice of the peace’s office, and she took us out for pizza afterward.

Paolo had not bought a wedding ring for me, despite having over ten thousand dollars in the bank, so my mother gave me an heirloom ring she had been saving. It was too big, and I eventually lost it while doing dishes. My second baby was born in the local hospital, and we named her Athena.

Back in Lancaster, I caught up with all my family’s history. I knew that my sister Marlene, who had visited me in New York before I’d left for Europe, had died in a car accident, but back in my home, I finally had the time and space to allow myself to mourn. Many times I looked at the old pictures of her and remembered how I had hauled her to the antiwar march on Washington when she was only fifteen. Ruby had married a drug user whom she felt sorry for, and was now divorced and trying to start a new life with a baby. Karen and Ingie were living in Florida and doing well. My brother, Steve, was in prison again.