Heaven's Harlots: My Fifteen Years in a Sex Cult (21 page)

After we traveled down a tree-lined private driveway for a few minutes, a huge white mansion appeared in front of us. The driver pulled up to the well-lit veranda accented by impressive Roman columns, and another man, a valet I guessed, opened the car door for me.

Following the sound of other people, I walked into a split-level room which opened to a patio with a pool. There were about five sets of couches and sofas around the plush-carpeted room, and a long oak table set with hors d’oeuvres. Outside, on the upper level, I saw a pool and patio. I looked around for Tony. There were mostly black and Arab-looking men there, as well as young, extremely beautiful women.

Every one was dressed so much more elegantly than I, and their sparkling jewelry reminded me that I had not worn so much as earrings.

“Jeshanah, come over here,” called a man who appeared to be Tony. I had only met him the night before in a dark club, and now I noticed his gray hair and age-lined tan face.

I walked self-consciously to the couch he was sitting on.

“Jeshanah, I would like you to meet my wife,” he said, as he introduced me to her and a few other people sitting there. This was interesting. I had never met a fish’s wife before, but I soon found out that Tony was not a fish.

Tony continued to talk with his group, and I sat down wondering what I was doing here. There was a woman with a Barbie doll face sitting next to me, and I was relieved to hear she was American. She was a model, she later told me, but due to her short stature, she usually modeled only face, hands, and feet.

“You would be surprised how many requests there are for feet,” she said. “But I really would like more face shots. If I don’t get more work in Paris, I might have to come down here permanently. What do you do?”

“I used to be a dancer,” I said, which was my normal explanation for living in France. I was surprised she did not ask me what I was doing now.

A waiter came by and offered us drinks. I declined, but she took another and gave him her empty glass.

I noticed that she kept looking at a large black man standing with another blond woman.

“That is the one I want,” she said. “He is the special guest, I heard.” She smiled at him coyly.

Even my introduction to wealth and luxury in Paris had not prepared me for this. The house was fancier than the famed HBtel George V in Paris, which I had been in a few times. The opulence reminded me of a scene from La Dolce Vita, but more modern. For the first time, I realized how far removed I was from real life. Not only was I “not of the world,” as Jesus had told us to be in the Bible, but I felt more alienated from the world now than ever. It was sometime in the late seventies, and for seven years I had been living a life of almost total social isolation, in contact with those on the outside only through witnessing. I was glad that Mara had not come. It was the first time I was alone among so many outside people, and had she been present, I never would have felt this utter alienation. I never would have forced myself to think seriously about what I was doing there. Whenever I was with another sister, I felt I had to “fill in the gaps” and make sure that God’s Will was being accomplished. By myself, I did not feel this pressure to perform for my Family, and since I hardly cared what these people thought of me spiritually, I had no role to fulfill.

At first, I could not quite understand what was happening. Tony was here with his wife, so it seemed to be a real party. But here was this model flirting with what seemed to be an African elite. All the men wore lots of jewelry, huge rings with diamonds and gold chain necklaces.

All the women looked like models. Their faces were impeccably made up, their clothes seemed to come straight from the fashion magazines, and each one had a stunning hairstyle. I felt very inadequate, and compared with them, I looked like a little girl who had tried on her mother’s clothes. Tony interrupted my thoughts.

“Jeshanah, you are not as animated as you were last night. Here, let me introduce you to Amir.” He led me to the table and I talked with an Arab man from Kuwait. I did not even know where Kuwait was on the map.

Luckily, dinner was being served, and I was relieved from having to wonder what to do next, since everyone was eating at a formal setting.

I tried to gain some information from Amir, but he was obviously not interested in me. He was busy eyeing a gorgeous redheaded woman who seemed to be over six feet tall. My physical attributes paled in comparison to what these women offered.

In addition, I did not get any sense that these men were interested in a Godly message. As I sat at the table, eating food I couldn’t even identify, I searched my mind for a memory, a connection, any information that I had stored away in the back rooms of my head before I had joined the Family that would explain what was happening here.

How should I act?

What was expected of me? I remembered a sociology class in which we learned that all human interaction is socially defined. We play roles we are taught to play, however, sometimes we can also choose roles.

Where did that theory lead? I wished I had learned more. I felt so much like Alice in Wonderland sitting at the Queen’s table with a bunch of strange characters. My thoughts were interrupted by the person next to me, a short, balding, fleshy man who asked if I was coming downstairs to dance.

He led me downstairs where there was a club-size discotheque, complete with a deejay. I sat down on a chair on a raised platform on one side of the room, and the man joined a group by the bar. One by one, different women stood up and danced in front of all the seated men. I looked around for the American model I had met, but she was not there.

I noticed that the African man she had pointed out was missing also.

Someone called that I should get up and dance. Even though dancing came easily for me, and I knew I could dance better than these women who were wiggling their bodies oddly without following the music, I felt that my dancing would not be appreciated by these men unless I danced like Salome before King Herod. I wasn’t ready for that yet.

Instead, I remained sitting in my chair. I had been tempted to enter their world, and I understood now that these women were very expensive prostitutes, euphemistically known as high-class call girls. This was not what Mo was talking about in the letters. I could choose not to play this role. Feeling very unsettled, I decided to just sit this evening out and hope no one bothered me until the chauffeur took me home, if he was still around.

While I was pondering my eventual departure, a middle-aged, short and stocky Middle Eastern man came and sat down beside me. He had a wonderful, warm smile that spread across his small, round face like a moonbeam. Somehow, I felt I could trust him.

“What is the matter?” he asked. “You look worried.”

“Yes, well, I am not sure what I am doing here.”

“These are my friends. Do not worry. They will not harm you.”

“You see, I have never been to a party like this. I am usually with some of my own friends.”

“Yes, well, maybe someday I will meet your friends also. Now relax. No one will harm you.” He patted my knee and got up to go.

Immediately after he left, the tall blonde who had been talking to another man came over to sit next to me.

“I see you know my boyfriend,” she said cockily.

“No, I don’t know him. Is he your boyfriend? Who is he?” I replied innocently.

“Why, he is the host of this party. He owns this house. Really, don’t you know him?”

“No. Tony invited me here, and he didn’t tell me whose party this was.” The girl saw that I was obviously not competition.

“Why, that’s Adnan Kashoggi,” she replied as if I should know him.

“I never heard of him,” I said.

She threw back her head and laughed.

“He is just the richest man in the world, that’s all. Where are you from anyway? You will surely hear about him if you stay here very long.” She left and went over to her “boyfriend,” giving him a playful kiss on his bald head.

With relief, I noticed that some people were leaving. I went upstairs and asked for my coat and for the chauffeur, but since I did not know his name, it took a long time to find out who brought me. I was obligated to stand in the hallway in my humble raincoat, while all the other girls were helped into furs.

My chauffeur was finally found, and I was taken back to Monte Carlo in a subdued, but wiser, state of mind.

Cal was excited by my story, since it was the first time we had penetrated elite society, which was our mission in Monte Carlo. I had been pondering the situation all night and concluded that we, the women in the Family, had something much better to offer these men than those beautiful models did, but we had to have better access. We couldn’t just go to parties and be picked and paid for like a piece of pretty merchandise. How could we get to meet these people on a more personal level? We discussed this over dinner, like guerrillas plotting a strategy. Cal wanted to write to “World Services,” the Family headquarters, and ask for money. Every home sent World Services 10 percent of their income, and that money was used to support top leadership, the publications, and needy mission fields.

“Why would World Services send us any money?” I asked. “We are not a mission field.”

“Of course we are,” said Cal. “We have to get into these expensive clubs, and I should be going with you, if we are going to meet the right people.” Mara agreed with Cal, and they sent a letter to headquarters. As far as I knew, they never got a reply. I was beginning to worry about how Mara always sided with Cal, however.

I was not sure if it was because they actually thought the same way, or if she was trying to get closer to him by standing up for what he said.

Since I was basically egalitarian-minded, I didn’t like the power imbalance occurring in our little team of three, especially since I was often the odd one out. I talked with her about it, and she told me that I treated Cal disrespectfully.

I was not sure what she meant by this, but it started a division between us. I guess I had imagined that we women would stick together, and instead she supported the designated “head of the house.” Many years later Mara informed me that when she first joined our marriage, she thought she would like to be part of a threesome. However, when she realized my lack of love for Cal, she began to become more emotionally attached to him.

The apartment we were loaned was completely remodeled after three months of hard work. The young man who had given it to us rent-free liked the new look so much, he decided to move back in. He gave us a month to find someplace else to go. Of course, we could never afford Monte Carlo rents, and even the apartments in the small villages around Monaco were out of our price range. After praying about the situation, we seemed to get an answer from the Lord through a couple who used to work with us in Paris.

Abraham and Breeze were childless, freedom loving, and very talented.

They had been friends of ours in Paris, as much as Family members could be friends. Abe never listened to the house rules—he always had a stash of wine and snacks in his room. He also had worldly music, since as a musician and sound technician, he was allowed this privilege. I was afraid to listen to too much worldly music, since I thought it might have undue influence on me, but I often stopped by Abe’s room for a chat.

Breeze had come to Paris from Holland after the band did a show there.

She wanted to be in the Show Group, and Abe seemed to be a door to that opportunity. As a singer and violinist, she was integrated into the show, and she eventually married Abe. I thought she might be in love with him, but I knew she was secretly having sex with one of the leaders from Italy. It was secret because she did not get approval from Abe first. When she developed a fallopian tube pregnancy and had to be hospitalized, Abe stayed by her every minute, and his love for her was endearing. I concluded that Breeze had been punished for the deceit of engaging in secret sex, just as I had. It seemed that sexual sharing was moral, as long as it was done in the open and all those involved were in agreement.

Abe and Breeze tried to live in a few homes after Les Enfants de Dieu broke up, but as artists they felt uncomfortable with the strict rules.

They heard we had opened a home in Monte Carlo and asked if they could come. We welcomed them gladly. With two musicians on our team, we could make enough money to pay rent. The Lord was blessing us, so we must be doing right.

The five of us, along with my son, moved to a three-bedroom home on the beautiful hillside of Ere-sur-Mer in the winter of 1977. We rented a small house, called a villa, which had a much cheaper rent in the winter months. Summer was still six months away, and we thought by then we would find something else.

My experience in Ere was one of beautiful days with my son flawed only by ugly times in argument with Cal and Mara. I seemed to gain strength from the natural charm of the tiny beach and quaint villages along the coast. Taking my son, who was now four years old, for long walks by the seacoast path along St. -Jean-Cap-Ferrat, I became closer to him than I thought possible for two human beings. Unconsciously, he became my reason for living.

Cal and Mara were made “colony shepherds,” mainly because they were home most of the time and could devote themselves to reading the Mo letters, filing reports, praying, and other time-consuming activities that home leaders needed to do. They decided all practical matters in the home, such as how to spend money. However, they also decided whom I should go to bed with, and although I never minded that Cal had that authority, it bothered me that Mara was advising him about my sexual relations.

As a threesome, we had slept together in the same bed in Monte Carlo, but now Mara was pregnant and needed more rest. I agreed to move and began to sleep in Thor’s bedroom in an extra bed. I always got up early in the mornings to play with him and teach school lessons anyway.

Cal wanted me to sleep with him sometimes, but since I went out almost every night, and he was asleep by the time I got home, it just never happened.