ALL THAT GLITTERS

1


Colloidal gold. I'd never heard of it until Flint, my uncle, announced we were about to make a killing in it.

Colloidal gold, Flint said, was fine dust trapped in sand. "You know how sand contains little specks of metal? Collect enough tiny particles, bind it all together and you get solid gold. Honey, this means not just hundreds of millions, but billions in our pockets!"

Flint handed me a gold button about an inch in diameter, saying it was made from sands using a revolutionary new formula. "We've not only got this unique process, we've got the fourth richest mines in the entire world, right out in the Mojave Desert," he said. "Piles and piles of ore just waiting to be manufactured into pure precious metal."

I turned the button over in my palm. It certainly looked real to me. I said, "I thought gold was found in ingots, Flint, that it was panned from streams or mined from veins underground."

"True, but this is another way. The method's been around for years -- ask the California Mining Journal or Gold News, even the U.S. Department of the Interior. They'll all tell you."

"If others are already doing it, what makes this different?"

"Our process is more cost efficient and our mines richer. When our sands were assayed, they told us the values are out of this world." Flint said these ores, owned by his business partner, Scott Lansing, were so complex that up until now nobody knew how to get the gold out, but at last, an engineer associate had come up with an answer.

"And you saw this button made, Flint?"

"In front of my own eyes!"

Technically speaking, Flint Dawson isn't really my uncle but my great uncle by marriage, his late wife being my mother's Aunt Adele, but Flint is actually more like a father to me. Despite a fifty year age difference, the two of us are very close. Flint is an amazing man -- 84 years old, disease free, full of energy, ageless and alert, an expert horseman and tireless worker who rises at the crack of dawn and puts in ten to fourteen hour days, seven days a week. But then, the entire Dawson family is long lived; Flint has three siblings even older than he (one of whom, Bessie Williams, is my incredible 91 year-old spiritual teacher). Over the decades, Flint has made and lost five fortunes; he's been a millionaire and a pauper over and again, but has promised not to leave this earth till he makes another pile -- not that anyone expects him to die for a long time -- he's so strong and healthy and has such great genes he'll probably live to over a hundred.

Flint said, "I've been putting out the thought into the ethers that you and I both need security for the future, honey, and our prayers are being answered!"

I too had been putting out thoughts to the universe, asking for “supply,” a spiritual term for money. Ever since being suddenly widowed two years ago, my financial picture had deteriorated until it was really scary now, but Flint kept saying everything was going to work out; my novel-in progress would sell; I'd co star in another TV series; one of his deals would culminate, enabling him to ensure my son and I were taken care of for life.

"We always knew these mining properties were valuable, but till now we never had the right process to make it work," Flint explained. "Then out of the blue this fellow Karl Robinson, the engineer, calls -- he moved to Arizona a few years ago, now he's back in Los Angeles -- he's got the process. So all we need is seed money to go into production."

"How much?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand. Robinson's gone up north for a few days, but when he gets back next week I want you to meet him. Honey, if you and I can bring in this venture capital, we'll be set. There is so much money in this -- limitless billions beyond your imagination, and that's only the beginning!"

It sometimes looked like my entire life was a crapshoot. Maybe it was my own fault. Instead of following a traditional career with guaranteed salary and benefits, I'd gone the unconventional route -- model, actress, aspiring author. At this juncture, writing seemed the surest gamble to financial freedom, even though it was as much, if not more of a longshot than the Hollywood acting game I'd been involved in, with varying ups and downs, for the past twelve years. But now Flint was saying there was another way, a miraculous idea that might seem unbelievable, yet hearing my uncle tell it, I could accept it as totally plausible.

"It won't be long," Flint assured. "Susan, you and I are going to be seriously rich. Then you can do whatever you want for the rest of your life, to your heart's content. Let's just get this deal done, so we can both sit back and relax."


2
Mauve, turquoise and rose sunset colors framed magnolias silhouetted against the sky; the air was pungent with eucalyptus and cedar as I pulled my car in front of the Dawson family's Pasadena compound. The large estate shared by some two dozen people was bounded by clipped hedges, poinsettia and hibiscus. A fountain on the lawn was splashing next to a birdbath and by the doorway, a deodar raised its uppermost limbs in a parenthetical welcoming nod, while overhead, spiky clusters of bell-shaped yucca blossoms, odiferous and sweet, hung close to the cylindrical appendages of pittosporum blooming with waxy white flowers. Grecian pots bordering the mansion's main entrance contained many hued geranium plants.

Three extensions had been built onto the main house, and there were eight guest cottages plus several garage apartments. Flint and another sister, eighty-nine year old Pearl, occupied one of the outbuildings in back.

Taking a seat next to Flint in the comfortable, airy studio meeting room in the main house, I joined several dozen others in pre class meditation. Green bayberry candles emitted a pleasant, evocative aroma, and the strains of a harp piece played by 90-year-old virtuoso Ava Thomas, looking eternally young in seafoam green, soothed the ear. I watched Ava's slender, gnarled hands sailing gracefully over the keyboard, her feet in command of the intricate pedal work, her swiftly emerging notes creating fluidity of glissandi and dulcet plucked tones, the harp strings shimmering in golden candlelight. When the piece finished, the stillness contained a swelling fullness that occupied the entire room.

Wearing her keynote color of sky blue, a gentle smile on her face, Bessie's assistant, Millie Conover appeared. At 82, Millie is a beautiful woman -- auburn haired, thin and straight as a ramrod, with remarkable muscle tone, an unlined face and twinkling blue eyes. Millie picked up her hymnal and nodded to our organist, Margaret Renquist, who began the introductory bars of "Break Thou the Bread of Life."

Through music, prayer, meditation, and the use of a special color system (many levels more advanced than any other known color system in existence), the class builds power, raising the group vibrations.

In our teaching, we recognize each soul born on earth has an individual keynote and keynote color uniquely his; the highest spiritual colors, our birthright, are contained in the "Channel of Our Being," also called "the Keys to the Kingdom." Now we each clothed ourselves in our keynote color, then joined Millie "climbing the Channel," drawing each color to ourselves for a few seconds at a time, absorbing them until we reached the Fount of Supply, gateway between the visible and invisible worlds.

Here, one basks in quiet fullness, feeling earth burdens dissolve, rising into a fourth dimensional consciousness, which Bessie also calls "living in eternity now," a state in which we become acutely aware of the oneness of our two worlds.

I now saw, in extended sight, color tones from the etheric dimension, as reality shifted into a greater octave and the energy increased thousandfold. Color was swirling in the atmosphere in auras/halos; darting, circling, swimming: spiralling points of light, delicate photons and quickened quanta my earth eyes failed to perceive under ordinary circumstances charged the room with the silvery blue lavender of tranquility, rosy peach of gratitude, soft seafoam green of awareness, delicate pink lavender of inspiration, smoky pinkish lavender blue of humility ...

Spiritual attunement is heightened by the use of color as a method of accelerated awareness. After a certain time, most students will hear their keynote with all its harmonics in their left ear, and perceive brilliant color energy with their spiritual eyes. Eventually, if one stays on the path, one may see complete, ever changing auras (as opposed to the partial auras many people see) and have a thorough understanding of the meanings of the completed color rays.

Flint's keynote color is "the Arc of Green", all shades of green, whose overall general meaning is Growth. My attenuated sight was picking up tones in his etheric body -- soft yellow green with a pink apricot midray -- honesty; deep green with a blue underlay -- a strong energy ray identifying a generous person; around his body I saw the psychological greens of philanthropy and integrity, the latter grey green with a cobalt midray; and recognizing the brilliant chartreuse ray of supply, I knew the universe was feeding Flint energy to bring us the answer to prayer: he and I would be blessed with money.

As existence contains two aspects, sacred and profane, our two worlds impinge simultaneously, though many do not realize it. The profane world is full of chaos: conflict, uncertainty, endless difficulties and impossible lose/lose situations, where people's reactions are too often critical, angry, egotistical, controlling, and resentful; but step inside the Pasadena complex and meet order, beauty, and the certainty of love in the most selfless "agape" sense of the word.

I turned to Flint, seeing his small moustache, sparse grey hair and thin lips, his aged watery blue eyes, the cloudy silver rimmed spectacles that had needed a prescription refill for the past two years now. He was sitting slightly stooped, a habit that had increased lately -- yet when we rode horses together he still sat very straight. I was thinking Flint is such a good person -- modest, kind, benevolent, and that I love him in a very special, indescribable way.

The four of us used to sit together -- Flint, Aunt Adele, my husband Jim and I. Sometimes it was hard to believe Jim and Aunt Adele had left us, and yet when Flint and I were here in class, it was as if we were all still united.

Pasadena was the balancing component of my life, the spiritual manna that nourished and gave direction and purpose. The past two years were full of shocks. Earth is a school -- we come into the physical world to learn lessons that are often hard and contrary to our desires; it was the Pasadena teaching that gave me the way to navigate through the storm.

The white walls of late evening turned mauve before my eyes, as colors flecked with golden spots danced in front of my vision, against the play of shadow from the candles on the surface of the walls. Again I noticed the tremendous energy of chartreuse around Flint, and smiled.

God's in his heaven, all's right with the world.


3
Back to the profane.

From the start Karl Robinson struck a sour note, as far as I was concerned. Upon his return from up north, Flint and I met him at the Denny's Coffee Shop on Sunset, not far from Ralph's Supermarket.

Not that Robinson didn't cut an impressive figure. In his mid 40's, he was rugged, powerfully built, goodlooking, close to six and a half feet tall. His nose was irregular enough to add character to a face that with its large deep-set mahogany-colored eyes and chiseled jaw might otherwise have been too pretty, and wavy, wiry black hair shot with premature grey streaks gave him a distinguished air. There was a decided inner dynamism to this man, and a note of imperiousness to his rich, resonant voice.

If Robinson radiated presence, his attire ruined the illusion -- an ancient, limp, formerly white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt looked like it had been through a thousand rounds in the laundromat and should have been tossed in the trash years ago.

He ordered two sandwiches and two ice teas. The man had a huge appetite, or possibly hadn't been eating well recently and was trying to make up for it, since Flint was paying. Between mouthfuls of his first sandwich, a fat tuna on rye stuffed with lettuce and tomato that was too large to fit in his mouth, Robinson described future plans.

He said, "We're looking to open a facility locally. We'll haul in the ore from the desert and process it through a special hydrogen furnace. That item, our biggest expense, will cost between seventy and seventy-five thousand. The furnace is the main secret of our formula.

"The idea is to process approximately a ton of ore a day until we have money to expand. From that one ton alone, we can extract each 24 hours approximately $100,000 worth of gold at today's market prices, in addition to which there's also silver, platinum and members of the platinum group -- rhenium, rhodium, iridium, platinium, and so forth. Since our overhead will be low, there should be no problem clearing in excess of a million a week --"

"One million dollars a week?" It boggled the mind. "You mean we can make over 50 million a year at this?"

"Only in the beginning; after that, up to $50,000,000 a day isn't unrealistic -- and so on, in exponentials. The profit margin's enormous. It's merely for us to determine how much we want to produce."

The process, Karl said, was invented by "mad scientist" Elston Wingler McCabe, who lived in a town he owned up north in the mother lode part of the state. Elston supported thirty people who worked his bread and butter mercury mines and helped out with his patents and inventions.

"Up in El Efante," (an alternative spelling for the Spanish word `elephant,' Karl said), "the men are already making gold from ore on Elston's property. But their furnace is a cheap makeshift one, not capable of handling large loads, and Elston's ore is mediocre in comparison to our mines in the Mojave Desert."

Elston, Karl said, was an altruistic person bent on giving back to the world what the world had given to him -- but the man had been literally hounded by powers that be; the major oligarchs of the world, realizing what a threat his inventions represented, had been suppressing his work for years.

Don't ask why, but I just couldn't really take to Karl Robinson. I tried to identify drawbacks other than his threadbare clothes that caught my attention. His handshake was too firm, his manner too phony/sincere, he looked me too closely in the eye in a forced way. Quick to judge character, I formed an instant opinion that while Robinson was certainly bright and well informed, he was also paranoid, manipulative, controlling, and definitely an anal compulsive. His attitude struck me as an unlikely combination of pompousness and ingenuousness. There was something about him -- too slick, too smooth -- I couldn't help being wary. But Flint said this man had the process, that he was honorable and a man of his word, that we could work with him. I trusted Flint's judgment implicitly and would give Karl the benefit of a doubt. Still, the guy would take some getting used to.

"Why hasn't this method been done before if it's so easy and there's so much money in it?" I asked. "It sounds too good to be true."

"You're right, Susan," Karl agreed, exuding a well practiced humility. "If you were meeting me for the first time without being introduced by your uncle, you'd probably think I was a nut, and you wouldn't be the first to come to that conclusion. But people who know my engineering background and reputation realize I'd never put my credibility in jeopardy."

Not that I would have thought to question Karl's engineering ability. No, it was something else about him. I looked up from my shrimp salad into his unctuous face. "I understand what you're saying, Karl, but why if it's so great should there be any problem getting this going? Why haven't you been able to raise the $250,000 yet?"

"Truth is, we could have that money tomorrow. A syndicate in Detroit, another in Las Vegas want to come in. When I opened my antennae I realized both of these groups represented mob money -- and I won't deal with that element. That's not the way I do business, especially since my own role in this is for the greater good of humanity."

While it was understandable Karl wouldn't want to deal with organized crime, were no legitimate sources interested? Perhaps reading my thoughts, he said, "The last people we want involved, even worse than the mafia, would be Fortune 500 interests. They'd love to get their hands on our formula, steal the process out from under, but we won't accept their backing."

"You see, Susie," Flint interjected, "big business always insists on the lion's share of a deal. We'd be lucky to get 49% -- they'd take the maximum controlling interest, and worse, they'd end up dictating terms, maybe even putting in their own management, and eventually they'd find a loophole to screw us. Karl's looking for investors willing to deal at arms' length -- "

"We do have other, legitimate people who might fill the bill," Karl said, "however, Flint and I have known each other for many years, I gave Flint part of the deal and I never renege on a promise -- my word is my bond. 50% is Flint's for bringing in the capital. You'll have plenty of time to raise it -- if you need three months, we won't object."

Karl made it clear any arrangement for my compensation would be up to Flint to pay out of his take. He said, "Half of my share, 25% of the total -- I've signed over to my old friend and partner, Raymond Rodriguez. Like myself, Ray's an engineer; we had a smelter in Arizona together. My deal with Ray has nothing to do with you people."

Karl emptied two packets of saccharin into one tall glass of iced tea, stirred it with a long spoon and gulped down a generous amount. "My greatest desire," he said after swallowing, "is to help my fellow man. So my share of the profits won't be used for personal gain. We're starting an institute or foundation. The sad thing is that almost from birth children are totally misguided both at home and in school. The goal will be to correct this so our kids can get the kind of training that will make them sensitive, caring, compassionate human beings who appreciate the humanist side of life -- "

Now, as Karl's eyes grew softer and his voice became even more mellifluent, I began to feel some of my initial distrust dissolve. Maybe this guy wasn't really that bad. Still, questions remained. A propos of his institute, I asked, "So this will be a sort of utopian community then?"

"You might say, albeit beyond any Utopia you ever heard of. We plan to locate the institute in Canada, in the Pacific Northwest."

"You'll leave California?"

"No question. As you know, the Golden State's going down the tubes fast, for any number of well publicized reasons which keep growing more critical. One longstanding problem: how many decades is it now we've been hearing about the big quake? When the San Andreas Fault cracks, as it inevitably must, the results will be disastrous. Even Arizona won't be safe. Californians are in denial. How else could they go on living here? But even beyond the quake, so many other things don't bode well for California's future -- or that of the whole United States, for that matter -- that we've decided Canada's the place to be."

Karl often used the royal "we," I noticed. Sometimes he seemed to deliberately mystify certain points, making statements like "we've been told," "it's been disclosed to us," or "we're not at liberty to reveal our sources," which for the time being would have to remain secret. When I questioned him further on the whys of this secrecy, he confided, "Sinister, powerful forces in the world want us to fail," and a shadow crossed his face. "We must be extremely cautions."

The sweeping statements annoyed me, especially when he avoided answering direct questions. A man who acted so sincere, looked you straight in the eye, shook your hand like he could break your bones, and evaded all your questions -- what kind of a person was this? Or was I making too harsh a judgment?

"The gold cartel is controlled by a small number of companies in London -- Engelhardt, Handy and Harmon, Johnson Matthey, Mocatta Metals, and so forth -- the powers behind these entities are the world oligarchs -- Rockefellers, Rothschilds, the British Crown Corporation, Royal Dutch Shell -- the Queens of England and the Netherlands -- "

One large palm swept through the air in an enigmatic gesture, presumably intended to further mystify. "This handful of individuals, disguised in reams of paper, manipulates the entire world metals industry," Karl continued. "Of course, they control most major portions of the world economy as well, but for now, we're concerned only about precious or so called noble metals."

Karl sat up straighter, pushed his drink aside and leaned forward. "I must warn you up front that our process will pit us against the most colossal forces of this entire globe -- people who are totally unscrupulous, so ruthless they will stop at nothing, will use any method no matter how vile to gain their ends."

"What are their ends?" I asked. "What's their agenda?"

"Preserving the status quo for themselves, protecting their interests, keeping challengers like us out."

Karl's assumptions made me want to force him to prove it. "Whatever happened to free enterprise? Is there no room for healthy competition?" I asked.

Glancing at Flint, Karl shook his head. "Susan, you don't know how these people operate," he said. "Ask Flint. Both of us have lived it first hand."

Flint, a veteran of more than five decades in the independent oil business, could tell some harrowing tales which I'd been hearing about for years. If Flint hadn't been on the spot when John D. Rockefeller pulled his dirty tricks, first hand accounts had been conveyed by those who had been, so Flint was in a position to verify that if old man Rockefeller tried to take over refineries whose owners refused to cave in to his demands, the s.o.b. had them murdered or the refinery burned. "Honey, they don't call those fellows robber barons for nothing," Flint always said.

"Flint knows for a fact," Karl confirmed, "the very same element we're talking about, the oligarchs, tried to murder me five years ago and nearly succeeded. I know whereof I speak." With that, Karl lifted his chin to pull down the neck of his tattletale grey t-shirt to reveal a tracheotomy scar. He said, "My life was saved only through emergency surgery."

"Who wanted to kill you?" I asked, repulsed by the ugly Dracula type sight on his neck. "How?"

Furtively, Karl's eyes swept over the coffee shop's dining area, its counter and doors, as if to determine whether the premises might be under surveillance. His voice lowering, he said, "Listen: I mentioned the smelter I had a few years back in Arizona -- we owned some rich platinum mines. My partners and I stood to make a comfortable $20,000 a day with no problem, if we could have proceeded without interference. But they found out. First they murdered my foreman, then they tried to whack me too. And they nearly succeeded -- in fact, during the operation that saved my life, I was actually dead for several minutes."

I was suspicious. "Wouldn't you have brain damage, then?"

He seemed surprised I'd considered that. "You're right, Susan. In fact, I did suffer brain damage. Sometime, after we've gotten to know one another, I'll tell you about it."

"I hope so," I said. "I'd like to hear."

"The accident did additional damage by affecting my speech. I wear a plate in my mouth, a substitute for my palate, which was destroyed --" his fingers went to his lips. I watched, puzzled, as Karl removed a pink, curved plastic object from his mouth, rubbed it on his t shirt and paper napkin, then placed it back in his mouth again. "Excuse me. Every so often I have to adjust this," he explained. “It becomes heavy and clouded.”

Bewildered but not wanting to be overly personal, I changed the subject to money: how much, how soon; was it certain we could count on a steady income? In what amount, for how long? Could he provide a ball park figure, best guesstimate?

Karl's attitude toward money was that since he had so little use for it himself, anyone who might be concerned about it should be advised of its unimportance in life. "Money is only a medium of exchange," he replied, avoiding my questions, "with no intrinsic importance in and of itself. Consequently, you'll forgive me, but the lure of lucre shouldn't be where a man places his attention. One of the great lessons we all have to learn in life is to disregard money. We must all come to see money as nothing -- yet unfortunately, most men are enslaved by it."

"Money may be nothing to you, Karl, but to me, it's close to everything," I said, not merely validating his appraisal, but trying to make a point that my regard was justified. "You may think I'm enslaved too, but I'm a widow with a young child to raise. My chief interests, aside from my son, are creative, artistic, spiritual and intellectual. My aim is to meet responsibilities and be free to create. That takes money."

"I understand. But you needn't worry, Sue," Karl smiled benevolently. "It won't be long ... your every dream will be reality."

Having finished his two big sandwiches, Robinson pushed his plates aside. "You wondered about how my accident affected me; I said some day I'd tell you. Well, one of the results of being dead for several minutes is that the experience caused me to become deeply religious and also very psychic."

"Interesting," I muttered.

"With my third eye, I see it all unfolding, changing our lives. It's as if I can read your mind, Susan, and believe me, I empathize with your plight. You've had a lot of ups and downs in your life, I know." Hand resting on his chin, he was looking at me intently, even longingly. There was something in his eyes, the unwaveringness of the gaze, I found disconcerting but decided to ignore.

"Inasmuch as you're psychic, Karl, maybe you could tell me when things are going to change for the better?"

"Soon," Karl promised in a gentle voice, his eyes soft. "Soon." When he was expressing empathy he was at his best.

Flint donned his grey straw hat and paid the check. We bid Karl goodbye, with plans to get together again in a few days.

"Did you see the way Karl was looking at me, Flint?" I was at the wheel of Flint's Cadillac Coupe de Ville, driving down Sunset on our way to the natural foods co op before picking up my two year old, Eric, at the babysitter. "It kind of gave me the creeps."

"I understand, but Karl's a man, after all, and you're a damned attractive woman, so --" Flint chuckled. "You made the poor bastard shit in his pants, honey. You wouldn't let him get away with a thing, and it was driving him crazy. That business about the brain damage --"

"Come on, Flint -- I wasn't that obvious, was I?"

"Not much! Susie, you should have been a prosecutor -- you're relentless. So what did you really think of Karl?"

"I'm tremendously excited about the gold, Flint. But Karl -- well, I have mixed feelings about him," I confessed, turning the car on Highland and heading south. "He's knowledgeable and convincing, but there's something troubling about him. It isn't that I disliked him. In fact, there were moments when I even sort of liked him, almost -- except I doubt I've ever met a more obsequious person in my life. I just kept getting signals not to trust him."

"Karl can have that effect on people," Flint allowed, "and then he can also have the opposite effect, because as you say, he's convincing. The important thing is he has the process, and that's all we need to know."

I would put distrust on hold, to become caught up in a wave of enthusiasm and euphoria. Flint, an experienced businessman, knew what he was talking about; his endorsement was confirmation enough.


4
I visualized a golden future. But then, I'm the eternal optimist invariably believing everything's going to be wonderful. It takes a lot to shake my confidence; if something doesn't come through immediately, I may start getting a little anxious, but even then, I still believe things will turn out eventually, and in this case, I knew we were going to get that money, I just knew it.

Aluminum-colored asphalt stretched beyond the point where light rested on a sun-flecked zinc tower in the distance, where the Los Angeles bowl basked in a mellow glow. I steered the car onto Wilshire, in the warm night air, past the park by the Veteran's Hospital, past the aromatic pine of the L.A. Country Club, and in my mind turned over the exciting gold deal, laying plans how I was going to nail down the $250,000.

The chapel bells chimed seven times as I arrived at the Spanish-design building surrounded by camphor and yucca trees, ready for four hours of lively talk and literary critique at the UCLA Extension's Workshop in the Novel. After class, I would begin hitting targets for the gold deal. I would mention it en passant to Adam Matthews, my clandestine lover, filling him in more completely the following day, when we were alone. My other leading candidate was Dawn Kramer, who is well connected and knows a lot of people with money.

Following class, a number of us, including Adam, Dawn and I, convened at a restaurant/bar in Westwood.

Dawn Kramer took a sip of her white wine, then pushed an unruly lock of blond hair away from an unnaturally smooth looking cheek. Dawn is short, dumpy, twenty to thirty pounds overweight, and there is something weird looking about her face. She has to be a good two decades older than I, though noticeably taut skin gives her the strange, out of synch air of someone trying to appear much younger. As I've gotten to know Dawn better, I realize what it is about her appearance that's so jarring. As a Valentine's Day present last year, her ex-husband gave her a face lift, and to my taste at least, the job (done by a cut rate plastic surgeon in Palos Verdes) was bungled. On top of that, she had a deep skin peel, the kind that removes pigment entirely, leaving a whitened complexion with the look of waxed fruit. Dawn is convinced these procedures allow her to look not a day over 30, however, to my eye, not even in the most flattering light could anybody possibly take her for a day under 55 (and that's being kind).

Forgetting appearance, Dawn Kramer was to me an authority, since in her experience as a west coast book publicist she'd dealt with all facets of literary promotion -- talk shows, newspapers; she was up on gossip; she knew what hot properties the local bookstores were pushing, what deals were being made at the networks, and so on.

Before I could launch into a spiel on the gold process, Dawn started relating problems concerning the youngest of her three sons, Jason, a recent college graduate with no ambition, whose only interest in life was surfing. "I'm worried," Dawn said, pushing her Chablis aside and looking at me with a wrinkle free yet troubled face. "We just don't know what to do. Hal's paying Jason's rent and giving him an allowance. We wish he'd go to graduate school, but Jason keeps stalling. It's driving us bananas."

"He's still young. Be patient."

"Patience is something Hal has very little of, I'm afraid," Dawn said. "He's threatening to cut Jason off, and I'm in the middle, trying to mediate. And Hal can't really afford to support another household -- which as you know is the reason I'm living with him."

Indeed, Dawn's was a complicated situation. Having suffered financial setbacks from layoff, she'd recently been forced to move back in with her ex, tv producer Harold Kramer. Hal, suddenly and unexpectedly unemployed himself, offered a spare bedroom in his house as the best solution to mutual difficulties. A lot of people, not knowing the circumstances, assumed the Kramers had reconciled.

Dawn said, "Remember when California was lotus land, the Golden State? Today everybody's dream is ending. The economy sucks, our options are narrowing, and there's no end in sight."

Now was the time to spring the gold deal as the panacea for all Dawn's troubles. "Remember I said I had something to tell you, Dawn?" I could hold back no longer. "California can be the Golden State again, and Jason doesn't have to make a career move till he's ready. I have an answer for all our woes." I leaned closer, then revealed the story of the process.

Eyes wide, Dawn listened, mouth agape. At length she exclaimed, "This is incredible," raising her arms to invisible powers, then pressing her palms together as if in a prayer of thanksgiving. "You know, all my psychics have been predicting a big surprise would transform my life! Just two days ago, I kid you not -- Henri, my amazing reader in Beverly Hills -- predicted this. He said a friend would bring me a miraculous idea out of the blue to put me on the road to riches. Oh, God, Susan, I can't wait to call Henri. And I can't wait to tell Hal!"

Enthralled with the opportunity, Dawn was sure she could get the money through Hal's connections, and marveled at this miraculous gift being dropped in our laps from on high. But if you paid your dues and kept the faith, Dawn said, it was bound to happen. Furthermore, everything in life was timing, and God had a divine plan, if we could just tune in to His will.

"Look at your own life, Susan," Dawn said. "There you were, Susie Maddock, homecoming queen, Northwestern graduate, successful model in Chicago. You move out to the coast, land some initial small acting roles, and then a running part in a tv series which didn’t make it beyond the first 13 weeks – so then what? Hollywood's a town in which if you're a fresh face and your star's on the rise, you have the world by the tail, but once you've been idle a while, it's an uphill climb, as well we know. Then you could use a break."

True enough, although a short three years ago, the picture looked a lot different, when a new series I'd been signed for boded promise but didn’t make it beyond its pilot. Jim and I were dating and my biological clock was ticking, so I gave up waiting for my soulmate, married Jim, and got pregnant. Baby Eric was perfectly timed: not only would he arrive during the "hiatus period" Hollywood undergoes every March through June when production halts, but our son would be an Aries, very compatible with Jim (a Leo) and me (Sagittarius); by the time shooting resumed for the second season everything would be back to normal. Only unforeseeably, not only were we canceled that winter, but Jim died unexpectedly, sadly never to know his own son.

Dawn was right; I did need a break. Aside from this new gold prospect, another hope for the future was THE CLINIC, my novel about alternative medicine recipients in Baja California, Mexico. Many people saw THE CLINIC as a sort of updated Magic Mountain, in addition to being an indictment of AMA dominated American medicine. Its major characters suffered from AIDS, cancer, heart disease, arthritis, the leading cripplers and killers. The book delved into hot political issues of health care, moral questions of euthanasia, suicide, and so forth, and was an exploration of illness as metaphor, its causes, spiritual implications, and relationship to the soul.

Projected revenues from this work of fiction clearly represented one of my greatest means for survival. The class found it a unique, timely story that surpassed anything yet seen in current fiction. Flint's sister Bessie, who is psychic, said THE CLINIC would inspire people not only to view illness from a new perspective, but to realize that in reality there is no death, there is merely the transition to a higher life. So if this book was everything others believed, I figured I had a shot at becoming a best selling author. Further, I also believed in the future resurrection of my acting career.

Realistically, however, one couldn't pin hopes on maybes, which was the great appeal of a business to a person like me: a business, unlike acting and writing, was something over which one could exercise control. So, like Dawn, I was optimistic about the gold deal being the answer I'd been praying for.

Dawn said she'd start the ball rolling with Hal immediately and call me in the morning.

It was nearly midnight by the time I picked up my son from his Peruvian baby sitter across the courtyard and placed him in his crib. Eric always looked so sweet when he was asleep. My son was terrible two's, and though I hated to acknowledge, not yet toilet trained. He didn't speak any English, either, only Spanish. I was sure he could speak English if he wanted, just the same as I was sure he could use a toilet -- but he didn't chose to do either. Being a single parent may have its trials, but looking at my angel so peacefully off in the Land of Nod, I had a brief flash of insight -- that Eric was the greatest accomplishment of my life.

If for no other reason than this beautiful little boy, the future would have to start happening soon.

And tomorrow there would be Adam ...


5
A patch of gradually darkening indigo sky peeked through the banana trees as elongated shadows reflected dipping leaves on the adjacent white stucco wall outside my window.

This domain, our four room West Hollywood apartment, had changed little since Jim's passing. Eric and I lived here among the plants and paper flowers, the furniture made with Jim's own hands, including Eric's crib with the removable railing, his toy boxes, and the floor to ceiling bookshelves, my rock collection, and the glass pieces Jim and I picked up from excursions at the beach.

You've heard: the sex life of a single mother is often not ideal. Perhaps this explains Adam. Adam was a transition. No, our relationship was more than just an arrangement; I truly cared for Adam, and under other circumstances, who could say? But since Adam was married, there was no future, so I tried not to focus on anything beyond the now.

I'd taken Eric to his babysitter, and had just enough time to park the car in the garage and rush in when Adam rang the bell. The coarse cotton of his denim workshirt scratched my face as he crushed me in a big bear hug. He pulled away suddenly, asking, "Did that hurt? Dr. Albert says my embrace is too tight, that I need to soften up."

"What does Dr. Albert know? He's only your shrink. Tell him to ask your lover."

Another thing about this relationship: the time element. It was the end of the day, around 5 p.m. Adam glanced at his watch, perhaps unconsciously realizing he had to be out of here by 7 at the latest, preferably sooner. He began removing his clothes almost as soon as he walked in the door, folding everything neatly on a chair in the bedroom. Adam is fastidious to a fault, in contrast to me. Why is it when he's stripping down from his jockey shorts to his birthday suit I always have the feeling he's eyeing the clutter of my life -- books, papers, Eric's toys strewn all over the place -- and disapproving? A strange non sexual thought -- guilt, perhaps?

Adam was the first man in my life since Jim died. When we met at the UCLA class a year ago, he immediately came on, and I immediately rejected him, both because of his being married and also due to my initial, albeit erroneous, impression that he was arrogant and conceited, which was the exact same albeit erroneous assessment he formed of me.

He persisted. Then one night my car wouldn't start and I accepted his offer of a ride to class. Driving home, we both instinctively knew this time would be different.

Adam owned a natural foods restaurant, The Human Bean, in Westwood. If he seemed older than his actual years, it was probably because he had always assumed heavy responsibility. A self made man from the Boyle Heights ghetto who's worked since the age of nine, he never even finished grade school, although he was smart and well informed. A large family leaned on him -- nieces, nephews, cousins, in laws, all with trouble getting their acts together. Both he and his wife came from families of six fatherless children, and the relatives on both sides looked to Adam for leadership and problem solving. He was the patriarch of a clan, if you can imagine a 39 year-old patriarch.

These past years, Adam had had nothing but tsouris -- his recently bar mitzvahed 13 year old son had a serious drug problem and had gotten three girls pregnant; another son, 18, was a screaming fegala; he was married to a domineering, frigid woman whom he described as a hostile bitch and a cunt; the government nailed him for back taxes, his investments went sour, and he was up to his eyeballs in lawsuits. His entire immediate family was in Wilhelm Reich's "medical orgonomy" therapy, which cost an arm and a leg.

"There's so much blame, so much chaos in that household," Adam lamented nearly every time we got together.

Orgonomy was the tool that would enable Adam to some day lead a healthy life as a "genital character," since orgonomy freed a person's armoring, dissolving defenses so that barriers dissipated and one became capable of healthy sex. Most people in the world were, unknown to themselves, having unhealthy sex. Their orgasms were not true orgasms, but simulated ones arrived at in a contrived manner.

A common disease known as the "emotional plague," characterized by man's negative traits of spitefulness, sneakiness, stubbornness, deceitfulness, deviousness and dishonesty, were the major offenders standing in the way of people becoming genital characters. Adam and his wife were both trying to shake off these qualities, which Adam was convinced was poisoning their marriage; his sex life at home was lousy, our sex life was great, the best he'd ever had; but even so, Adam knew he was not a true genital character yet, and that ate away at him.

Our fusion was full of subtleties. Afterwards, we fell into a deep and restful slumber locked in each other's arms. On waking, as was his habit, Adam liked to give a critique of the sex, a sort of progress report. He waxed eloquent about flowing currents and spontaneous feelings brought on by orgontic contact, "contactful coupling," and other orgonomy jargon.

As usual, he touched on his miserable home life -- oy, vey, vey is mir, so many problems, he moaned. Adam does a lot of moaning. Then again he tells me how I'm his refuge: "I come here and I'm enveloped in peace. Being with you is so nonthreatening, so nourishing and nurturing. Susan, you're my only sanity." This was my cue to segue into the gold deal.

I was sure Adam could do the deal if he wanted. He's quite a resourceful man who can materialize money from nowhere; despite all his griping about financial constraints, he never does without, and it's always the best of everything -- Mercedes and BMW's, designer clothes from high priced boutiques, expensive schools, trips, country clubs. To hear Adam talk about his monetary woes and traumas with lawyers and accountants, you do wonder where is this money coming from for all the things he says he can't afford -- orgonomy alone is running him several thousand a month. But he does it.

Adam is a good businessman; he can put deals together. But he's also one of these people who feels put upon, that others are always demanding and using him, trying to get something out of him he doesn't want to give. He also has a parsimonious streak. One of the things he claims to admire about me is my lack of demands. This gold deal was hardly a demand. It was a gift.

So I was naturally surprised when Adam said he couldn't get involved and that to him the deal sounded flakey and fishy. "Anyway, with all my current financial troubles, there's no way I could do it." Persisting, I asked if he had any ideas who could.

"Go after Gary," he suggested, meaning Dr. Gary Fredericks, the Beverly Hills shrink who was saving my life by paying me $30 an hour to research and edit psychiatric papers for him, currently my sole source of income. Gary was away in New Mexico, but was on my list for next week. "Doctors and dentists have steady cash flow, and like to think they're sophisticated investors, although they're really not, which makes them ideal targets."

I was disappointed at Adam's reaction, feeling let down, and if the truth be told, wishing there was a man in my life on a fuller basis than this, someone who'd really take an interest in my welfare. It seemed like everything in the past two years had been torn apart. Nothing could bring Jim back, but there certainly had to be a way to get my life on track again. So I would keep pressing in all directions. Things had to work out.

A car pulled out of the driveway next door, its diminishing lights shot across the wall and disappeared. It started to rain and all was still but the plop plop of the droplets.


6
Just as Dawn was certain he'd be, Hal Kramer was the perfect connection to get the ball rolling, and he was rarin' to go.

To discuss strategy, Dawn and I met for lunch at the Golden Temple of Cosmic Consciousness on Third Street. White clad waiters and waitresses in thin Indian gauze religious robes and headdresses hovered over us while we examined the eatery's fabulous vegetarian menu, which we already knew by heart anyway.

Hal definitely had the man to get the money, Century Halstead III, brother-in-law of his girlfriend Phyllis. Halstead was an ambitious man-about-town into exciting deals and "special situations" with access to well-heeled investors, Dawn said, describing Century further as a Flintridge/La Canada wimp, a member of the Valley Hunt and Jonathan Clubs, the Young Republicans and other organizations of equal social cachet.

In between bites of scrumptious quasi Indian and pseudo Mexican California eclectic cuisine, Dawn elaborated on Halstead's financial expertise.

"Just on Century's say-so, doctors, dentists, psychologists, lawyers and other professional people with large incomes are looking to get involved in interesting investment ideas," she said. "They already have their portfolio of traditional picks, and now they want something with more juice. These people don't ask questions, they just sign checks. So Century's our target, Hal says. He's ideal."

The downside was Dawn's dislike of Century, who had a nasty streak. "With most people you can usually find at least something to like. With Century, there's nothing," Dawn said. "The man is an egotistical, conceited ass hole, period."

"If he can get the money, we can overlook all that."

"Hopefully we won't have to be around him much, God forbid. Look, I could give you a two hour speech on all the things I find objectionable about this man, but I'll spare you. Money is Century's god, which in this case is good. I'm sure you can picture him -- a super anal retentive type."

"He should get along well with Karl," I observed, "his polar opposite."

"Hal and I spent two hours this morning arguing about Century. Hal thinks I object to Century because he's Phyllis's brother-in-law, that I'm jealous of their relationship, but that's not the case at all."

"He's really that bad?"

"You'll see when you meet him. The man is charmless." Dawn sipped her large glass of raspberry/boysenberry/apple juice. "With all Hal's contacts, he could certainly do better. But he seems closed off to anyone but Century -- no doubt because of Phyllis. At any rate, it wasn't worth more fighting over, so I gave in. Oh, well," Dawn said, "if Century can do the deal, so be it. The important thing is to get it done."

"Dawn, what do your psychics say about this?"

Dawn frequented three clairvoyants on a regular basis: Sonia, an Armenian mystic in the Valley; Delilah, a black woman in South Central L.A.; and Henri, her gay reader in Beverly Hills with a big motion picture clientele, who charged an arm and a leg but gave mercy readings to Dawn, knowing she couldn't afford his prices, which ran several hundred just to walk through the door. "Some day in the not too distant future you're going to be incredibly rich," Henri predicted, "and then you can settle up with me."

"Well, I spoke with Sonia, my Armenian in Van Nuys, at 6:00 am today. She was just finishing her morning prayers and I caught her at the tail end. I'd been thinking how at this critical juncture I might need another serious trance reading, but Sonia said no.

"Remember I explained Sonia's methods -- first she gives you a cup of thick, bitter Armenian coffee; after you've drunk it she studies the grounds, then she goes out of her body, which is when the voices speak through her. Sonia does a form of channeling, only actually much higher than your average run of the mill channel. Well, her psychic interpretation of present events is that everything is unfolding exactly the way Spirit in my last reading said it would. I'm to stay calm, not to worry, just trust in the power of the universe to deliver what is rightfully mine. `So mote it be,' Sonia said. Her words gave me goose bumps."

Dawn shook a bottle of red pepper over her tostada. "You know, I believe all this is the result of the energy from when I became a Completed Jew. Al Levin, my godfather and sponsor at baptism, told me it would take a few months, but that the energy from that rebirth would be so phenomenal that my life would start changing right about this time."

A Completed Jew was a sort of Born Again Jewish person who had accepted Jesus in his life. The previous May, I attended a ceremony at Santa Monica beach where Dawn, wearing white robes, with a young man on either side (one of whom was Al Levin), walked into the Pacific to be baptized, and emerged beaming and renewed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "This is the happiest day of my life," she sobbed. "Oh, sweet Jesus, I'm so happy! So happy!"

Well, if this guy Al Levin said now was the time, all the more reason to be optimistic.

Two nights later, Flint and I pulled into the driveway at Hal Kramer's sprawling home off Beachwood Drive with its full view of the famous Hollywood sign. Behind us, the Hollywood hills were nearly obliterated by a thick wall of smog, and in front, lights twinkled on the famed boulevards below. Listening to the stereo blaring Hal's favorite musical comedy tunes, I felt something akin to a shifting of keys within, as if life were now being played in a higher octave.

Dawn opened the door to the strains of "I'll Buy You a Star" from the short lived long ago Broadway show "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn." She was wearing orange cut velvet jeans with matching silk blouse and her hair was done up in a pony tail with an orange ribbon. She looked tiny in flat shoes alongside a towering Hal.

Hal Kramer was personable and outgoing, a hail fellow well met, glad handing Mr. Nice Guy type. Dark and oily-skinned, he resembled Don Ameche of the '30s and '40's, with his lacquered old-style Bryl Creamed haircut and pencil thin moustache, under which he was perpetually smiling. He looked like a right wing conservative, but was in fact a once rabid left leaning arch liberal, now given to serious doubt regarding his bleeding heart convictions -- only one of many wrenching events in his life.

The Kramers' split level dwelling smelled of garlic, onions, and other pleasant cooking odors. Dawn kissed me on both cheeks, Euro style, and pecked Flint on the lips before Hal extended his hand.

Seated comfortably in Hal's dramatic cathedral ceilinged living room, the four of us chatted amiably against a background of Cole Porter and Noel Coward -- "I'll See You Again," "I'll Follow My Secret Heart," "Miss Otis Regrets," "Anything Goes" -- sung by Fred Astaire, Gertrude Lawrence, Ella Fitzgerald and others among Hal's favorite artists.

Hal described himself as an incurable romantic. "Have you ever noticed how many contingencies there are in Cole Porter lyrics?" he asked, leaning against the back of a peach colored wing chair. "Everything is should have, could have, would have, might have been --"

"Just like all our lives," Flint laughed.

"Like our lives used to be," Dawn corrected, emerging from the kitchen carrying a tray of smoked chicken and sweet onion relish canapes, "prior to our gold deal!"

Hal said he'd spoken to Century, who was definitely interested in backing the venture, and that there would be no problem getting the $250,000 once all facts were verified. Tomorrow, Century was leaving town on a short trip to a condo he owned in Hawaii, but would be back next week. In the meantime, Hal would like to meet Karl for some preparatory investigations himself.

"What can you tell us about Century?" I asked, disappointed it would be another week before we'd hook up with him.

"He's a WASP socialite, old Angeleno moneyed background, but the family fortune's thinned out and he's angling to build it up again," Hal replied, helping himself to a canape. "His sister came out at the Las Madrinas Ball, to clue you in to the type family this is. Century's a graduate of the prestigious Harvard School on Coldwater Canyon, then went on to major in political science at Stanford. His bread and butter business is general insurance, and on the side he has a healthy financial consulting clientele."

Dawn fingered a delicate gold cross around her neck, a thoughtful gift from Hal, who didn't understand her newfound solace in the Christian faith, but respected it. "Century's done very well," she said. "But he's definitely looking for a special situation where he can clean up, which this definitely is."

A propos of business cycles and the concept that what goes up must come down, Hal was saying his home had been recently assessed at over two million dollars. "I've realized an incredible appreciation -- but nevertheless, I worry: are we headed for a world economic collapse?"

"More than likely, yes," Flint said. "After all, we do have these 60 year cycles."

"The entertainment industry will survive, in fact flourish, because historically in bad economic times the industry provides escape. However, the question I ask myself is how will I fare personally? And so, this gold business is a guarantee of a better old age than I could ever have imagined. Not only for Dawn and me, but for our children and eventual grandchildren."

Dawn outdid herself with the food, serving a sumptuous dinner of banquettes of crabmeat with caviar, smoked salmon tartar on foccacia, stuffed mushroom caps with ratatouille and a big hearty tossed salad followed by dessert of strawberry mousse and fresh fruit kantens.

Flint and Hal took to one another immediately. Dawn said that was usually the way it went with Hal, till a person became better acquainted with him. Since their divorce eight years ago, the Kramers had maintained an amicable relationship, probably due to their no longer living under the same roof. Hal had a lot of good qualities, Dawn conceded, but they were best appreciated from a distance. Now that they were once more co habitating, it remained to be seen how long they could refrain from getting on each other's nerves and driving each other crazy again. All the more reason why for Dawn this gold deal was such a serendipity.

While we were sipping after dinner cappuccino to the tune of Fred Astaire singing "Puttin' On the Ritz," Harlequin, the family cat, came and stretched out on top of my shoulder. I reached to stroke his fur and felt his tongue, like sandpaper, licking the back of my hand. Relaxed and mellow, I gazed at a scene on the wall from Bosch's Garden of Delights, a human figure crucified on the strings of a harp. The figure seemed symbolic of man crucified every day of his earthly existence, yet given hope. Everything was falling into place; this was the inception of something monumental. I surrounded myself with a delicate peach color of gratitude and for good measure added the chartreuse of supply and the royal purple of faith.

Hal ran his index finger across his thin moustache. "You know, the American economy is in even more dire straits than most people want to admit. Foreign investment has dried up, capital is flowing away from here, interest rates are up, the dollar is down, the bond market's headed for collapse, it's just a question of time till the stock market cracks wide open, real estate's off, and we're headed for inflation and higher taxes. But this gold process can change all that. We could singlehandedly turn the U.S. economy completely around."

Dawn said, "Hal has a cousin who's head of venture capital for one of the major oil companies. He called him today to get some advice; Sid's out of the office for a couple of days, but Hal will be speaking to him by the end of the week."

Hal said, "So you see, when you came to me, you came to the right person.”

"Anything new from your readers, Dawn?" I asked when we were putting the last of the coffee cups in the dishwasher.

"Yes! Henri, whom I was able to reach last night at 2 am -- Henri's a night owl -- says we'll definitely get the money, but it will be another month before it's in escrow. Henri said all is well in this universe of infinite supply; we can expect a few minor glitches with Century, but he'll go for it, because Century will not want to miss out on this great opportunity."

The following day, Dawn reported how much Hal liked Flint, that he'd commented on how incredibly youthful Flint was for 84 and how he was the father everyone wished they'd had. Dawn said, "Susan, this is like something in your wildest dreams you could never imagine, yet when it happens, you go, yeah, that's the way it was supposed to be all along." Blessed be! It was happening, it was ordained.

Moving right along, the next step was the four of us meeting with Karl.


7
My turn to entertain. I prepared a feast of barley risotto, veggie burgers and bean buritos, together with baskets of blue and white organic corn tortilla chips and hot salsa, served with non alcoholic pina coladas and wheat free neapolitan cake. Everybody thought the meal was delicious, especially my son, who kept running in one room and out the other, splattering salsa all over the carpet and walls. How long do the terrible two's last?

Karl held court. "Gold, like diamonds, is strictly regulated; however, gold is scarcer than diamonds -- there's only so much reserve to be mined. And with the volatile world situation, who can predict? Since gold supply can so readily be exhausted, our process takes on an amazing value." Karl reached down to the floor, where his pina colada was still in tact, to rescue it at the last minute from Eric's clutches. "What makes our process so special is because for the first time in history colloidal gold will be economical to extract.

"Since it will be within our ability to flood the market, we could create a glut and drive the price down. Needles to say, we won't, dealing as we will be, confidentially."

Dawn asked, "Isn't it possible others might get wise to the process and try to horn in on our action?"

Karl said, "Not a problem. Buyers locked into contracts with us will honor their commitments, and by then, we'd all have made so much money we probably wouldn't care anyway."

"Here, here," Hal said, crunching another blue tortilla chip in his mouth.

"No company has the unique combination we have," Karl said. "I can show you assay reports proving our ore can yield per ton gold valued at $100,000, silver at between 10 to 20 thousand dollars per ton, and platinum, rhenium, rhodium, iridium and others of the platinum group worth roughly $50,000 and up per ton. In fact, I'm giving you low ballpark figures because frankly I'm embarrassed to tell you how much this stuff is really worth."

In response to Hal and Dawn's questions, Karl talked about his background. As an engineer at JPL in Pasadena (feel free to check out his employment history) he'd worked on moon launches, satellites, space stations, all kinds of far-reaching hi tech projects, but nothing as far reaching as this gold venture.

Not long ago he was divorced from his wife of twenty years, Sondra, a nurse, mother of his two teenage sons, who in the settlement got their Woodland Hills ranch home. In fact she got it all -- cars, kids, cash, while he was banished to a small Wilshire District apartment with his partner, Ray.

In the divorce action, Sondra listed Karl's profession not as engineer but "promoter," which gave an idea of the contempt in which she and her attorneys held Karl for devoting his energies to these mining interests. Four years ago he was earning a six figure a year income, and Sondra simply could not accept him turning his back on all that -- for this.

But, said Karl, "It's been an important period in my life, one in which I've refused to give up, all the while living with faith that in just a few short months it will all turn around. Fate has chosen us all for this incredible destiny."

The formula, Karl said, was a gift from the gods to us, since we were people of great awareness who cared about Planet Earth and desired the highest good for humanity.

Like Karl, the process inventor Elston McCabe took the high road and wasn't in this for personal gain any more than Karl was. Although unprincipled people tried to ruin Elston, Elston persevered, and now that the formula was ready for the greater good of mankind, Karl could appreciate this all the more due to his having died and been reborn.

"What was it like, Karl, your after death experience?" Dawn wanted to know. "Can you tell us about it?"

In cardiac arrest, Karl was dead for three minutes, which he now described: "I passed through what seemed like levels, areas of consciousness, dimensions that were deep, so deep, beyond human imagining," he said.

"I can remember emerging from a wood or forest to a river bank. Across the water the landscape was blindingly bright. I was filled with the greatest feeling of love I'd ever dreamed possible. I was ready to cross permanently to the other side of life -- but just then a dazzling figure appeared, a perfected being, one who had `overcome the world'. When he spoke, his words were, `What have you given to the world?' It was then I knew I wasn't ready to go to the other side, not yet."

"Oh, wow! Far out!" Dawn exclaimed.

"I returned to the hospital and regained consciousness. They'd performed a tracheotomy and were massaging my heart. You can't imagine how heavy and dense the earth seemed."

"How did the experience change you, Karl?" Hal asked.

Karl's manner became confidential. "All my life I was a mathematical genius, able to tackle complex problems in my head. I was the most unspiritual agnostic you could find, believing in nothing aside from the empirical here and now, and I used to question even that. I certainly had no belief whatsoever in any kind of immortality or the hereafter. The after death experience changed that.

"After returning to life I found -- to my amazement -- I'd completely lost my mathematical talent, a right brain function. But one door closes, another opens. I gained psychic ability and the facility to read thoughts and predict the future --left brain functions. Overnight, I became spiritual, I was reborn. From that moment forward I decided to dedicate my life to helping mankind. As soon as I'd conceived my Institute, it wasn't much longer that the exact way I was to help the world became clear -- the formula for the gold process literally fell into my lap, and eureka, I knew it had been given to me for a reason."

I said, "Karl, you should meet Flint's sister Bessie. She's a master teacher, an expert on life on the other side."

"Is she?" Karl said politely, but you could see he wasn't going to be one upped by any guru, especially a female one. He went on about his institute and helping his fellow man, then, basking in benevolence, said, "All of us are mystically tied, you know. The five of us have been together in many past lives, and we've returned to earth to complete a mission together this time, a very important service we must render to the planet. We're the core of a divinely ordained plan. It's meant to be."

A light went on in my head. Right then, I had an insight into Karl, into the reason why I didn't take to this man, what it was I disliked about him. He wasn't sharing with us, he was talking down to us, lecturing as though he were the big expert and we were ignoramuses in need of his enlightenment. The question was why were we all buying into it? The answer was a simple four letter word: Gold.

And I was as covetous as the next guy.


8
We New Age idealists are constantly working on ourselves, clearing out our negative patterns. Consequently, I'm always asking what is life trying to teach me? Why am I having this experience? What lesson do I need to learn? Insight is all, and money will definitely help by enabling me to be the best I am capable of being.

Even though the Kramers were positive Century would go for the gold, I was impatient to have the money in hand as soon as possible, and with Century temporarily on ice, even for one week, I couldn't let any grass grow under my feet.

As Adam had said, Dr. Gary Fredericks was an ideal candidate. Gary and I got along well. He had many beautiful qualities -- sensitivity, understanding, warmth, intellect, talent -- he was a kind, patient, loving, and generous man -- with just one handicap as far as any male/female relationship was concerned: he was gay. Nevertheless, he did have the required money; he could make this a reality.

Blinding spots of autumn Southern California light moved across my face as the cool breeze floated through the car's open windows. All I could think about as I turned my blue Dodge 600 from San Vicente onto Chautauqua and wound through the hills onto the Pacific Coast Highway, was this has to work -- it's such a fabulous opportunity, a once in a lifetime chance; and yet I was conscious of a strange, unaccounted for inner turbulence, a premonition of something being not quite right.

Gary and I had made this date ten days ago just before he left for New Mexico. I'd phoned last night to leave the message I'd be at his home this morning as planned, and thought nothing of it when I didn't get a callback confirming. Now, however, something just seemed wrong.

The sea air was refreshing, and there was the splash of breakers hitting the sand and rocks. Overhead the gulls swooped from the gray blue washed out light into the sea. Groups of children making castles dotted the stretch of beach and a raucous college crowd was engaged in a volleyball game.

I traveled down the PCH past Trancas, then pulled off the road behind some bushes and shrubs onto a path lined with poinsettia and birds of paradise. The ocean, its soft lapping audible, peaked through puffy eucalyptus and fragrant pepper trees. I steered the car into a pebbled driveway where the scent of bougainvillea and oleander filled the air. Behind greenery of silk and acacia trees, Gary Fredericks' rough hewn redwood, glass and concrete home stood, its pivotal facade of flowing arches giving the appearance of being poised on the crest of a wave ready to cascade to shore.

Gary didn't answer my ring and his car wasn't in the garage. How unlike him not to notify me if he wasn't going to be here. Something was definitely wrong. I phoned his Bedford Drive office, got no results, and finally left a note.

Next day I heard the terrible news: my friend Gary had been murdered -- rough trade in Taos. Oh, my God. I felt my insides sink, my knees go weak, and I started to shake all over.

The transition called death is a natural process, a gentle change in consciousness, like stepping from one room into another. Yet for those who fear the unknown, death can be traumatic, which is why Bessie always says now, while we're living on earth, is the time to become familiar with our future home, before we go there.

Accordingly, the science of nighttime soul travel, known to the ancients, mentioned in the Bible and by other religions as far back as 8000 B.C.E., is a central point in Bessie's teaching; and every night from approximately midnight to four a.m., Bessie takes the class to the other side, where we visit temples and halls of learning, meet our heavenly guides, receive initiations and pass spiritual tests, which are later paralleled in our lives in the physical world.

To provide a better idea of the overall design of the other side, Bessie created fascinating and highly complex charts labeled "the Planes of the Heavenworld," showing numerous areas of consciousness from the lower, undesirable sub planes (Hell, Limbo, Purgatory, etc., which we bypass altogether) onto the spiritual areas up through the 10th plane -- truly a magnificent achievement. We, Bessie's students, all have xerox copies of these charts, and as a matter of fact, enlarged versions decorating the walls of my apartment always make for provocative conversation pieces.

Passing out of this earth plane through murder isn't the greatest karma in the world -- in fact, it's pretty horrifying, and can be hard to accept when the soul arrives on the other side. For this reason I was eager to do all I could to aid Gary's ongoing in the next life.

On the charts, Millie pointed out Gary's exact course: leaving earth aided by 21 power stations of invisible helpers, going through a magnetic field into an area of Nature's Creative Energy, Gary would cross the River of Life and arrive at the Landing Field, where he would experience seven clearing rays. On the next plateau of consciousness, he would meet the Hierarchy of St. John, and in an area known as "Segregation," would be given renewed reflective power before going to Registration and seven tests in the mirrors of life.

He would then come to an area not far from the "Arena of Accident," where a series of lodestones functioning as empowering forces would impel him to the Isle of Restoration of Consciousness, and on to a Clearing Plateau adjacent to the Supply Station for Healing.

He would linger on the Plateau of Healing before entering the Library of the Book of Life, meeting the Hierarchy once again on another plateau of consciousness. It would probably take 21 days here to fully balance the trauma of his sudden, brutal death, Millie said, before he could go on to more advanced planes. But rest assured, no soul ever crosses over who is not met with loving arms of his dear ones who have already passed, as well as high guides to aid his ongoing.

To help Gary's journey to the next phase, I could send him colors from the five spiritual arcs: the purples of Spiritual Balance, particularly faith and depth of love; yellows, especially a rich sun yellow -- unifying with the Christ within; reds: the "4th of red," a variegated ray containing red, purple, maroon and yellow, denoting higher forces beaming into a person willing to lay down the old man and ready for the new; then among the greens: the "5th of green" -- yellow green with an old rose midray meaning vibrant universal force; and I would finish my color message to Gary with sky blue, the ray on which selfless prayers travel.

"This is going to make it rough on you, Susan," Adam said. "What a shock to lose a friend, but on top of that, now you're without a cash flow. How will you manage?"

The answer seemed obvious: Century would have to make haste, inasmuch as it was now more imperative than ever to get the gold deal going ASAP. It would only be another few days now.

But Adam said, "You have to start being realistic. My best advice would be to go to real estate school. It's what all ex actors gravitate to."

"I don't consider myself an ex actor," I said, stunned by the suddenness of his judgment and resenting his lack of faith in my future. "I still go out on auditions; in fact, I'm up for a new series. I got a callback on a commercial, and--"

"How long since your last acting job?" Adam asked, not with cruelty.

"Eight months." I hurried to add, "But there's no guarantee in real estate either."

"Maybe not, but you'd have a draw with the possibility of later earnings."

The idea was remote from my mindset. Century was where I placed my entire faith now, and even though I never liked putting all my eggs in one basket, everything pointed toward Century definitely coming through; there was no question we were getting the money. Century and Hal were in touch via phone and fax. Century was high on the deal, there shouldn't be any snags. This couldn't miss. It was happening, and that was that.


9
"Good news," Hal said. "Everything checks out."

Prancing and preening while holding center stage in his living room, Hal was delighted with the results of a conversation with Cousin Sidney Kramer, Chairman of Venture Capital for one of the world’s most famous oil companies, who confirmed the viability of colloidal gold as a business endeavor. This was a great step forward. Century wouldn't hesitate a moment; it was sure thing. This news from Sid cinched it.

"What I outlined to Sid, based on what Karl told us all, is entirely feasible, Sid says," Hal beamed, consulting his notes. "Sid mentioned the platinum group, specifically the rhenium bond, being the major obstacle. He also said that his company’s forays into this field led them to see it's sometimes difficult to separate the iridium from the rest of the metals -- however, it can be done, Sid says. This definitely gives us a boost."

Hal took a seat and assumed a businesslike expression. "According to Sid, basically nothing in this area should be considered insurmountable. Sid says if you get into trouble using a furnace, you can always go the chemical route to do the trick, leaching and the like."

Dawn said, "Sid says they’ve put money into this type investment in the past, and reaped returns."

"Our conversation definitely enhances Karl's credibility," Hal said.

"It made me feel a lot better, too," Dawn put in, "because people are naturally skeptical when they don't have the facts."

Flint laughed. "Little do they know -- what we know!"

"Right on!"

Stroking his skinny moustache that had a tiny bare space at the indentation above his lips, Hal said, "It's true many unscrupulous flakes are operating in the mining field all over California, Nevada, New Mexico, Arizona, Oregon, Utah, Idaho, Colorado, Montana and Wyoming -- but there's no reason to suspect this of our venture. Sid trusts my judgment. He said if I vouch for Karl's character, that's good enough for him. So I'm excited." Hal was smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary. "I'm convinced we've found not only a fabulous enterprise that can enrich us all beyond our wildest dreams, but one that can make the world a better place. Amen!"

Flint leaned back, glabrous head skimming his grey straw hat that was perched at the top of the Morris chair he sat in. His jacket was too tight, I noticed. In fact, just about all Flint's clothes were too tight -- pants, shirts, sweaters, everything. No doubt this was because he'd bought so few new items of clothing over the past twenty years. Well, all that would be changing.

In fact, every one of us would require a new wardrobe, but clothes would be the least of our purchases. Soon I'd have the new, more powerful computer I'd been wanting for so long. Just think of all we'd be able to afford, soon ... and the benefits this would bring to so many others. Euphoric, I gazed out the expansive bay window at the Hollywood hills below.

Dawn's eyes rolled upward. "I can't believe it," she said. "I keep repeating the old cliche `it's too good to be true,' because words fail. After all the hardship and struggle -- this gets dropped in our lap like a gift from heaven, and already the world is a different place."

"In addition to good works for others and personal fulfillment for ourselves," Hal said, "this will help our country resume its rightful place in world leadership, and our state rise to the top again."

"Definitely. By the same token, I'm not so sure, once I collect my riches, I want to stay put here in L.A.," Dawn said.

"No wonder. Look what's been going on L.A. keeps getting increasingly lawless -- freeway shootings, riots, crazy events, crazy people. Everything's changed. But this deal will give us a new lease on life. If we want to, we'll be able to live out of reach of the long arm of Uncle Sam," Hal said. "Listen, I used to be a bleeding heart liberal. I never thought I'd live to see the day I'd vote Republican, but things have gotten so out of hand there's no other choice.

"The state is 50% Hispanic -- pretty soon nobody will speak English here anymore -- a million -- you will pardon the expression wetbacks -- a year sneaking in, everybody's getting benefits at our expense, using our schools and our health care, going on welfare, just freeloading. The state's broke and people are fed up, they're leaving in droves."

"Where will we go, I wonder?" Dawn mused.

"To Karl's institute?" I joked.

"Wherever our hearts choose," Hal said. "It won't be long now. Century is going to pull it all together for us."

The Kramers, Flint and I were becoming increasingly buddy buddy. Dreams, projections and plans continued the following evening at The Islander on La Cienega, Hal's treat, where we crossed over a moat to enter through great double doors, and passed a grey wood pirogue moored in murky waters. The sound of steel drums and bongos reached our ears as the four of us strode into the Bora Bora Room.

Hal was in his element. After we'd placed our orders, he announced Karl had agreed that Jason, the son Dawn was so worried about, could come work at the plant.

"It's the God given, magic solution to all our problems," Dawn said, happily nibbling on melba toast.

I too had spoken to Karl, about a job for my babysitter's son, Jose. "I'd like to help this family get ahead," I said. "They're expecting another child, and Jose is such a hard worker." Jose held down three jobs -- waiter, parking lot attendant, and factory foreman in the sweatshop type enterprise he and his mother ran out of their garage. If anybody deserved to realize the American dream, Jose did.

In the ladies' room, away from Hal's scrutiny, Dawn confided excitedly, "I went out to South Central today." She always seemed embarrassed to admit going to that part of town, where her black reader had a voodoo supplies store. Hal didn't like her going there; he thought the area was dangerous.

"Delilah, my voodoo woman who's originally from Algiers, Louisiana, says this will definitely come through for us. She confirmed everything I already told you about Century, what a horse's ass he is, how he's out of town, but she told me what to do to speed things up, what kind of spells to use."

"Spells? Voodoo spells? Doesn't that conflict with Jesus?"

"Not at all -- because this is white magic, not black," Dawn explained. "Actually, the Bible mentions white magic as a means of counteracting evil -- so many people are into the black arts because world consciousness is so incredibly low level, and some people are practicing it without even realizing it. But Delilah is into strictly higher consciousness -- she loves Jesus and her works are for the good of mankind.

"I bought all the supplies she recommended -- a Seven Powers candle, High John the Conqueror incense, special Success bath oil, St. Barbara floor wash -- and I'm doing what she told me now, a spell for power and mastery. Delilah is predicting when Century gets back in town we'll all get together by the 15th. After that, it's all systems go."

"Whatever it takes," I said, "voodoo, hoodoo, wicca -- just let it happen!"


10
The long awaited meeting with Century Halsted III was set for the evening of the 15th, automatically enhancing the credibility of Delilah out in South Central.

Century, a man in his early forties with a barbershop quartet style moustache, European tailored business suit, retro tie and a full head of wiry, pepper and salt, expensively cut, blow dried hair, pulled up in a new BMW, appearing at the threshold of Hal's Hollywood Hills spread carrying a yellow legal pad and wearing a glum expression. Exactly as Dawn had described, the man was a long way from charming or even semi-friendly. He greeted us with a scowl and the handshake of a fish, looking green and dyspeptic, as if he'd eaten a meal that disagreed with him, urgently needed to belch it up or fart it out and was unable. The air of permanent flatulence clung to him all evening. His skin was milky white -- apparently he hadn't availed himself of the Hawaiian sun.

In contrast to Century's formal attire, Karl's was casual to the extreme, and even for Southern California, sloppy. The thing about Karl's grooming was that his clothes were so old, everything limp and drab, tonight's outfit being his de rigeur stretched out t-shirt and threadbare, worn, shiny jeans. But you couldn't fault his charisma.

Karl faced an eager audience to once again deliver his earnest, mind boggling pitch and toward the end of the presentation reiterated that no one must breathe a word they'd heard tonight. Forces were at work, he warned, spies from the major gold producers and others as well, who would try to prevent us from opening the plant and selling finished product.

"We've taken care of sales," Karl affirmed. "We have buyers -- secret, confidential sources. Let me explain: on the world metals market, it's impossible to buy or sell gold without a hallmark, the bestowal of which is strictly regulated by the cartel. The cartel is rigid about who they'll accept; they refuse a seal of approval without a whole lot of bullshit rigmarole, and then, give the hallmark only to people they can control. A hallmark may be nearly impossible for a new company to come by, but we're going to lick the problem. We have people in Zurich and London --strong allies who want to see the gold cartel smashed. And they should be smashed, because a more ruthless group of sons of bitches you won't find on this earth -- now I can't elaborate on these plans any more at present. All I can tell you is the hallmark situation will not present an obstacle.

"We initially plan to sell product locally at a discount to a source in San Pedro, which cannot be named at this time. While I'm not at liberty to disclose further facts, rest assured, we've secured all this, or else we wouldn't begin manufacturing. After a while, when the investors have been paid back and we have adequate working capital, we'll start selling to Arab, Indian, and Chinese buyers.

"These people don't care about hallmarks, incidentally, it's the gold they're after -- they know what b.s. the whole system is -- just a device to control, manipulate and extort. But our Arabs, Indians, and Chinese will buy every ounce of product we can produce. Incidentally, it's worth noting that the Chinese will give a tidy premium over market price. In fact, they've already demonstrated they're so eager to acquire all the gold they can lay their hands on, that it's been necessary for them to resort to being supplied by the American and European mafias."

"I'd heard the Chinese were desperate for gold, but I didn't know they were that desperate," Hal said.

"Incidentally, we have a novel way of getting gold into a country without the buyer having to declare it -- by embedding it in copper. The Arabs have told us they want their gold this way. It won't be our responsibility," he said, "if the Arabs want to buy our gold as is, trapped in copper, if they want to smuggle it into their countries or into Switzerland that way, that's their decision. We'll sell to them any way they want it, and it will be their responsibility to ship. So the potentially illegal arrangements will not be ours to make -- we'll be off the hook."

Century was asking very few questions and making little attempt at participation beyond scribbling on his pad. "Karl," Dawn prompted, throwing a concerned glance Century's way, "why don't you talk about what makes this technique so unique?"

"I was coming to that, Dawn. What's heretofore been difficult has been separating the metals of the platinum group from the rest of the ore. It's always been tough to collect this fine colloidal dust, mainly because the rhenium molecules will adhere to the gold, making separation of noble metals impossible.

"Then Elston made an incredible discovery -- that with the hydrogen furnace it's possible to break the rhenium bond!" Holding up his palm, Karl demonstrated how it was done -- smack! "I can't tell you what this means. It's one of the most important discoveries of the 20th century and must necessarily remain secret --"

Four out of five in Karl's audience were spellbound.

"If you read the Old Testament, you'll know about the fabled King Solomon's mines. Where did King Solomon get all the gold used in his temple? No one really knows for sure, but we do realize now that King Solomon was actually using a crude version of Elston McCabe's very process, involving hydrogen peroxide -- H2 O3. We don't know exactly how King Solomon's people were processing their colloidal gold, but we do know this is exactly what they did -- which explains the mysterious mines which have puzzled historians for centuries -- they were merely the Sinai sands!"

"Incredible," Hal said. "I'd always wondered about King Solomon myself."

Karl said, "Now the hydrogen furnace enables us to break the rhenium bond and collect colloidal gold on a large-scale basis, in keeping with today's highly developed technology."

"So all we need is the venture capital and we'll all be rich," Dawn put in, but Karl interrupted.

"Let me make it clear," he corrected, "this is not venture capital, Dawn. What we're seeking is a loan to be secured by equipment. Our investors will be paid back as soon as we have finished product, which should be near the time we open the plant."

"When do you anticipate that will be, Karl?"

"February, March, given the holidays coming up -- we probably won't be ready to open till at least the end of January, beginning of February -- "

Century crouched over his pad, frowning, nodding silently, continuing to write voluminous notes, while Karl held the rest of us captivated.

Hal enthused, "Karl, what you're telling us is almost too much to believe! And yet, I'm an astute judge of character and I know an honest man when I see one."

Dawn cringed. Hal was at his worst, I decided, when cloying. Hal turned to Century. "Bear in mind, Century, that Karl wants nothing for himself out of this -- his motives are purely to help his fellow man, which is commendable. How often do we meet a true altruist?"

Century looked up from his pad, a constipated expression on his face, made no comment, and returned to his scrawling.

"What a tremendous opportunity," Hal enthused. "No one's pressuring for a decision now, but Century, you and I will have a lot to discuss afterward --"

Still frowning, Century continued his non stop notations, now without looking up. Dawn and I retired to the kitchen to serve the food. Returning, I noticed that Karl had removed his tortoise shell glasses and was just breathing on them to wipe them with a kleenex. Minus the glasses, his naked eyes looked out of focus, strange and bleary.

There was another observation I'd made about Karl, one that I was to notice several examples of over the next few months. Whenever someone asked him a question he couldn't answer, he used a unique method of deflection: he'd remove the fake plate in his mouth. His voice would falter, his words sounding as if coming from a distance deep inside his throat, until it took on the quality of an old 78 record player starting to konk out. His words became garbled and undecipherable, as if he were toothless, as the sound, like a weird tin box tunneled voice distortion, ground to a halt.

Invariably, his audience looked bewildered, just as they did now when Dawn and I were carrying out the buckwheat blinis with domestic caviar, baguette rounds, chopped onion, capers and egg, assorted pastries, cookies and chocolate dipped berries. Raising his hand, Karl bowed his head, then reached into his mouth, pulled out the plastic plate and waved it through the air for a few moments. Smiling, he placed the plate back in his mouth and graciously accepted a blini.

"I'm sorry," he said to the puzzled group, "every once in a while when I talk too much, I have to make an adjustment."

No one wanted to ask what the matter was. Karl, discerning embarrassed curiosity, elucidated, "When the attempt was made on my life and I nearly died, it became necessary to replace my entire palate with an artificial one. Being an engineer, I designed this piece myself. It works well but sometimes tends to clog, and then I have to air it for a few seconds. Everything's under control now."

Dawn, not wishing to dwell on Karl's handicap, changed the subject. "Let's retrace our steps, if we may, Karl. You mention this ore yields close to $200,000 a ton?"

"A conservative estimate. If I told you the real figure you might not believe me. Let's just say this process, the ores we have, can make a lot of people very comfortable for the rest of their lives. And that's the way it should be. We deserve it."

"Amen!" Hal agreed.

"Remember, I told some of you how my accident triggered left brain psychic ability -- ok, allow me to read a few minds now. I'd like to begin with Hal. Hal, your dream is to produce motion pictures. Correct?"

"Absolutely," Hal replied, flattered at being the center of attention and amazed at Karl's perceptiveness.

Rolling with the tide, aware he had the audience eating out of his hand, Karl continued. "Up till now, Hal, you haven't been considered a major force in the film industry -- although you've made a living in television, you've been a journeyman with no clout. But from now on, things will be different. If you want to be out front with your money, studios will be coming to you for financing. Or if you prefer a lower profile -- you'll get your money in increments from offshore corporations and no one will guess the source is yourself."

Hal's eyes were as big as saucers.

Karl went around the room and singled out each person individually, in every case bringing to light a stymied ambition, a frustrated wish each would like to see fulfilled, assuring all that with the process, dreams would soon become reality.

The man was psychic, no question about it. I was impressed. I liked him better when he was this way. There was something almost selfless about him when he was telling people about themselves. If only he could be that way all the time.

Karl blew Dawn's mind by revealing that if she could do anything in the world she'd start her own newspaper, to mold public opinion.

"Why, this is the greatest fantasy dream of my life," Dawn said. "Imagine, with unlimited funds -- I wouldn't even care if I made a profit or not -- Amazing. How could you have picked up on that, Karl? How could you possibly know that? Hal, Susan -- you didn't say anything, did you?" We didn't. Indeed, it was uncanny the way Karl discerned everyone's secret desires.

Next Karl zeroed in on Flint. "Flint has always been a dreamer. He wants to gather a brood under his wing, build homes for everyone -- and he'll do it before next year is over, mark my words."

Karl could be generous with his compliments. He came to me. "Susan. Ah, Susan! Lovely widow with a youngster. Susan, your life is just beginning. Take heart, because the best is yet to be."

Then there was Karl himself: "For my part, I've been told to begin preparing, because I don't have that many years left." I wondered who told Karl that, but it didn't seem an appropriate time to ask. "I realize I'm still a young man at 46, but when they ran me down -- attempted to kill me -- they left me in a weakened physical state, and I won't be able to continue living in this earth dimension too much longer."

"They" referred to the shadowy group of spies, emissaries and unscrupulous henchmen unleashed upon Karl, apparently ordered by the nefarious cartel of Rockefellers and Rothschilds, big banking and the corrupt seven sisters oil interests, various crooked blue chip Fortune 500 bigwigs, some with CIA connections, plus the royal families of England and Holland, to harass him because of his access to methods which could impair their business and take funds out of their coffers -- the McCabe metals process being a perfect case in point.

For the remainder of the meeting, Karl impressed everybody with his scientific knowledge, flooding us with technical jargon and information that passed over everyone's heads. He threw around terms like "coarse or screened minerun," "separation values," "hydrocyclone technique with midlings and tailings," "stable separating medium with consideration to effective gravity," "gob piles," "slurry ponds," "oxidization/200 mesh flotation," "pyridic sulfur removal," "secondary recovery," "slimes clarification and slimes flocculation," "sludge disposal circuit."

Everyone was galvanized. We couldn't have repeated a thing Karl said, but were mesmerized by his obvious grasp of the situation. No matter what his utterings meant, they sounded impressive, and whereas others mightn't understand, it was reassuring to know Karl did.

Hal said, "Tomorrow I start doing further due diligence. Sid, my cousin in New York, can really pull this all together -- in my mind, at least. I've learned a lot tonight, so I'll be able to ask intelligent questions."

"By all means, ask anyone whose opinion you value," Karl invited.

Hal announced, "When the entire picture fits together, which we know it soon will, at that time I will personally commit $25,000 of my own money." He made it sound like he was talking about a highball seven or eight digit sum instead of a lowball five figure one. But that was Hal for you.

Charmless Century left sans amenities, merely nodding to Karl and Hal, ignoring Flint, Dawn and me.

"Well," Dawn said, "was I right about Century? Is he as rude as I painted him?"

"You did the man justice," Flint answered.

"Century's a good man when you get to know him," Hal defended. Still electrified by the meeting and feeling compassionate, Hal took Karl aside and in a display of largesse offered him three hundred dollars to tide him over. He made it clear this was a loan.

We were enjoying a final glass of Pinot Grigio together, the obscure Broadway score to "Mister Johnson" playing in the background. "I'm impressed!" Hal exclaimed, just after Karl had left. "All those chemical terms! For a person who never could stand high school chemistry, I have nothing but amazement for a genius like Karl my hat's off. Brilliant mind!"

Dawn said, "The poor man, living with a time clock running out. But who knows, when he becomes fabulously rich, he may even discover the secret of immortality."

"Fascinating about King Solomon, isn't it?" Hal said.

Karl had done a masterful job in his presentation; our energy was jacked up sky high, we were euphoric.

What next?


11
I'd been expecting an instant miracle, but there would be an enforced lull while Century did his due diligence. The major activity was lots of phone conversations going back and forth. Hold onto your hat, Century's checking; the word was don't expect this to happen overnight, but it will happen; give it a week, maybe two. It's all in the works, as good as done.

Meantime, life goes on ... the color classes, riding horses with Flint, working on my book, UCLA, still trying unsuccessfully to get Eric toilet trained and wondering if he'd ever learn English, making love with Adam ...

And there were confirmations in my night work, a heightened phase of my inner life in which the psychic energy being fed in the temples was phenomenal, every night numinous, leading to greater awareness and incredible insights. In this accelerated receptive state, my spiritual development was growing by leaps and bounds as I opened myself up to the universe:

I am alone under a raining shower of light fine sliver, drenched with energy. The air contains ribbons of shimmering, pulsating, tinsel like quanta, infinitely fine, throbbing argentine iotas. I move to a room with walls of glittering sandstone, breathing tiny specs of golden-pointed light. This force circulates permanently in my spiritual body. Its residual can be reinforced; its supply increased, and it is there for me to draw upon at any time.

Four or five times a week, Flint and I would ride horses together on the more than 600 acres of mountain trails in Griffith Park. We stabled the five horses -- four chestnut geldings named Major, Captain, Salsa and Tabasco, and one strawberry roan, Diego -- at Pepper Tree Ranch in Glendale, not far from Flint's Pasadena home. Usually once a week we'd ride to the Los Angeles Equestrian Center, hitch the horses outside, have dinner, then ride back. There was always so much to talk about -- our lives and reminiscences, classes, night work, the future.

The return trip to Pepper Tree in dusk or darkness always seemed a magical time. In the silence of deserted hills, the view of the city stretched out as we approached the tunnel to go under the freeway. Darting headlights made reflections across the concrete into the Los Angeles River, frogs and crickets were singing in the fields. Pale grey concrete water banks and lavender mauve colors reflecting in the river evoked a sense that something ineffable was coming, something miraculous, and all about us there seemed a delicious kind of peace.

Flint was wearing a tan pea cap. He collected hats -- panamas, porkpies, fedoras, homburgs, Stetsons, fur ashkatrans, you name it -- many of which were anachronisms in Southern California and dated back several decades to another era. Lately Flint's prostate had been troubling him and while riding, he had to dismount four and five times to go into the bushes. For this problem he was taking the herb saw palmetto, which he said was helping. Flint said he'd been thinking a lot about Adele lately.

"Now why do you suppose that is, honey?"

"You've probably been seeing her on the other side at night and it's popping into your waking consciousness during the day," I said.

"You think? I suppose that's the answer." At certain moments, Flint would suddenly turn somber, solemn.

We came to an open field near a wallpaper factory whose eerie blue neon sign cast colors on the brown dirt path and the green clovered grass, and we inhaled the aroma of pepper trees and witch hazel. Freeway traffic resounding against the mountains sent a sucking, whirring reverberation across to our side of the river as the yellowish glare of headlights whirred past. The colors of the sky were strange tonight -- purple, citrine, malachite. Somewhere the sounds of another nearby factory echoed in the night, and from a distance there came a great rumbling welter that began ominously low and rose to a roar.

Flint described a temple he'd visited in our night work: "Leading up to it is a series of purple geysers that pour forth a shower of light streams which become diffused as you get closer. The geysers are about thirty feet tall, completely weightless and almost granularized, if you know what I mean. They just exude this wonderful purple living energy in streams. As you approach through the cascades, you see the facade of the temple, which is like dark silver with a metallic threaded effect. Bessie told me this is the Temple of Revelation on the Seventh Plane.

"I went inside that temple, and honey, they told me I have a mission to complete on Earth. I still have a lot to do here, and they didn't need to remind me because I know one of the things I have to do is make sure you get that new computer."

If Flint could have afforded it, I'd have had the new computer long ago. But he was on a fixed income and at this point he was in over his head, leasing two Cadillacs and paying board on the five horses, which were both ridiculous -- he didn't need two cars any more than he needed five horses; but Flint always had to have a "matched pair," as far as horses were concerned, so now he had two matched pairs plus the one orphaned strawberry roan he would have liked to make another match of if he could. These quixotic gestures were so typical of Flint. He had the two Cadillacs just in case -- in case what, he never could quite explain. Maybe because he always used to live that way, years ago. That was Flint. About some things he was practical, about others quite the opposite.

Flint was a Virgo, and a very earthy man. Even though he was spiritual, he always recognized the more vulgar aspect of things as well. For example, in the studio classroom in Pasadena was a very large canvas of Jesus that Millie had painted. Everyone raved about this portrait, saying how beautiful and how spiritual it was. Flint's comment about the painting?

Jesus looked like he was missing a prick and a pair of balls.


12
"Dr. Albert really killed me today."

Adam had just come from his orgonomy session. We were sitting together at his Human Bean, a cozy place with a brick fireplace and copper kitchen decorations on the walls. Outside the window a heavy rain was falling.

Adam continued, "Not only does Albert do his body work on me, he does these mind trips as well. Well, today he gets out a pair of scissors. We'd been talking about castration, specifically about my own castration anxiety, so Albert reaches into the drawer and takes out these huge scissors. I can't begin to describe my feelings --"

One thing I'll say for the Human Bean, it has fabulous food, and it's on the house besides. I was enjoying a scrumptious lunch of tofu spinach walnut lentil spelt lasagne, oriental quinoa salad and fresh fruit muffins, together with a double desert of chocolate devastation cake and lemon tofu cheesecake, juice and organic grain beverage.

"You know all the psychological problems I have over my own circumcision," Adam was saying. "Well, the scissors activated that and made it all come to the surface. It was incredible. Okay, so I lost my foreskin and now Albert wants what's left of my penis besides."

"What happened? He didn't really use the scissors, did he?"

"No, but it felt like he was going to. When I got over the shock, and after he finally puts the scissors away, he has me get on my haunches. Then he puts on the plastic glove and dips his fingers in the KY jelly, and shoves practically his entire fist up my ass -- it was the most painful thing I've ever felt, even worse than my ulcer -- but let me tell you, after he finished, I realized the most serene and incredible release I ever imagined possible. God, was I armored -- which surprised me -- I thought I was doing better than that. But then, you and I haven't made love since last week."

Adam has a real thing about circumcision, believing it's not only the reason behind all his own psychological problems, but that it explains why all circumcised men are fucked up, and that the world would be an entirely different place if this barbaric practice were outlawed.

"What about Eric?" Adam asked. "Is he -- ?"

"You've seen him naked. You've seen me change his diapers."

"I know, but it's the strangest thing. I never looked. I was afraid to -- as if your son were a reflection of myself --"

"Rest easy -- Eric's not circumcised."

"That makes me feel a lot better," Adam said. "How did it happen he's not?"

"I read circumcision desensitizes the penis, so I thought it would be better not to."

"Susan, you're amazing. You don't know what a beautiful gift you've given that child."

On the street, a siren screamed in soprano, backed by another, basso profondo. My eyes traveled in the direction of the rain-splattered pavements outside the window. Adam wanted to know how we were coming along with the gold deal. I told him Century still had more checking to do but that everything looked good.

"We're getting there slowly but surely. Century's verifying this is a bona fide situation."

"And you're sure it's for real?"

"No question -- Karl has the process and they have the mines."

"So there's no way this can fail, then."

"I don't see how. The one thing that bothers me is this guy Karl. He can be charming but still, he turns me off."

"I wouldn't let a personal dislike get in the way if the deal is sound and the guy can perform."

"That's what Flint says. But certain things disturb me. For instance, I don't buy his attitude toward money. He says he doesn't care about it, but he strikes me as greedy. That institute of his is bull shit, a way to mask his ambition."

"I must say, the numbers you quoted sound unrealistic."

"Oh, that part's ok. I mean, if you listened to Karl's whole spiel you'd buy the plausibility. Anyway, despite drawbacks, I'm putting my faith in this, because I invest nothing but time and energy, and if it works, which Flint and Hal are certain it will, it's the answer to prayer. I keep an open mind, cross my fingers and say please, God, I believe in miracles."

"I hope you get your miracle, Susan."

"Only doubt makes anything seem impossible, Adam. Really, nothing is impossible."

"I hope you're right."

Outside, the rain, letting up now, had become a gentle drizzle lit in spots by the glare of yellow lights.

Adam rose. "I'll meet you in about an hour. Today is going to be very special," he promised. "Dr. Albert really got me ready."


13
"Great news!" Dawn couldn't contain her excitement over the phone. "Century has proven everything to satisfaction. He knows for certain colloidal gold works. He's hooked."

"Glory be!" I breathed a silent prayer of thanks, and envisioned a cloud of peach, the color of gratitude. "So what happens now?"

"The only thing open to question is amount," Dawn said. "How much can we produce? Nobody can predict, but nevertheless Century knows this will be an economic boon no matter what. And he's very impressed with Karl."

Century would pledge $60,000 of his own money, which along with Hal's $25,000 made a total of $85,000, so $165,000 remained to be raised among the other investors to make the $250,000 total. Century's attorneys, intrigued with the idea of easy money fast, might spring for some of the remainder, and Century had others to talk to as well.

Flint, Dawn, Hal and I were on a conference call with Karl.

"Believe me, this process will play its part in reviving the American system and boost capitalism from the desperate state it's fallen into," Karl declared. "What we have is far more than just a way to make money, it's a divinely-ordained gift to rescue the very roots of our culture. And each one of us has been chosen to play a vital role."

"What a privilege," Hal said with quiet reverence, "to be instrumental in giving a breath of fresh air to free enterprise, which has been all but ruined by the wrong element."

"Yes," Dawn agreed, "we must do something about it before it's too late."

"We will, Dawn, we will," Hal said. "We've got the secret right here, the key to our own futures, our state, our country, the entire planet."

"There's no limit to what can be done in this world once the power for good starts to take over," Karl proselytized. "We've all been sent to earth with a very special, important mission. This process will free us up to do what we were intended to do when we entered this life. It's as if the hand of destiny has tapped us."

The pungency of autumn filled our lungs with its aromas of fall flowers and trees. Coral-red berries huddled together in clusters on the pepper trees. A few seed pods still clung on leafless jacaranda.

Buoyed, Flint, Hal, Dawn and I drove to Laguna Sunday for champagne brunch at Andree's, and strolled outside into some of the shops at the Art Center, where Hal bought a painting, an ugly seascape he thought was a tremendous find. We visited the local boutiques, looking at Indian and Florentine jewelry. Dawn found some pottery urns, a silver spoon ring, and picked up a pair of lavender-tinted sunglasses, which she donned for a walk on the beach, where we explored the rocks and coves the Canadian rumrunners used during Prohibition.

"You know," Hal said, "I'm probably the world's number one skeptic as far as the New Age is concerned -- but for once, I see things I never realized before about destiny, how people are fated to come together, how we are meant to make good things happen together."

"Hal never believed in karma or reincarnation," Dawn said, "but this gold deal has convinced him all of us knew each other in past lives and that life has put us together for a purpose this time around."

Could all that was happening be real? I didn't need this much abundance, never considered having such vast amounts of money even a remote possibility. But now that I knew I was going to be rich, I have to admit I liked the idea. My cup runneth over.

Soon now, Dawn would be able to take up a lifetime ambition of learning to fly. Already she was pricing airplanes, trying to make the tough decision which aircraft would be best suited to her needs. Flint definitely planned on buying a private jet himself, and had in fact spoken to aeronautics industry officials on the matter.

Dawn and I talked about the publishing ventures we expected to initiate within the next year or so, about Dawn's newspaper, an unbiased presentation of fact, in which she would shape public opinion for the good, and about the books I'd issue under my own imprint. I already had my logo designed, kind of a variation on the old Alfred A. Knopf Borzoi label, in my case, a Greek nymph holding a pack of Irish Setters on one leash that branched out into five. My impressive list reflected the kind of books people want and should read, with solid emphasis on New Age titles, books to enlighten the world about the meaning of life and man's divine place in the universe.

"What a relief not to even have to worry about whether a New York publisher will accept my novels or not," I said. "I can release them myself. What could it cost me? A few hundred thousand? A million or two?"

Then there was my other dream: my artist's colony, to help other creative people find respite from the mundane survival aspects of life. I was thinking about buying property in Martha's Vineyard for this purpose, and had already written to realtors there announcing my intentions. Elated, I thought how truly astounding it is that money, "nothing but a medium of exchange," could make such a difference in peoples' lives. Money was the key to everything, the gateway to self realization. I understood how dollars had the power to bring out the best in us, to unlock the secrets of the soul, and to make us all more than we ever dreamed possible, enabling us to live in the highest, most inspired spiritual vibration. Of course, sharing the abundance with others was the key.

The entire fabric of Dawn's dreams would soon become reality. "I told Al Levin about my incredible good fortune and he was ecstatic for me. He said after a person becomes a Completed Jew, the pattern never fails -- something incredible happens in their lives, but Al said this surpasses anything he's previously known. I told Al I definitely want to make a big contribution to the organization, just as soon as the bucks start flowing. He was very appreciative."

Think what this was going to mean to Eric's future. And even just the near future, for I was sure once the investment capital came in, my son's toilet training would no longer be a problem. It was probably nothing but my own stress that was the delay factor impeding his learning to use the toilet. It was my fault. My fear and anxiety were creating this condition. But soon it would all change.

All that remained now was for Century to lock in the rest of the money, and that would be no problem -- he'd already started meeting with investors, so it wouldn't be long now.

The four of us celebrated again, this time at the Captain's Table. Dawn and Flint were engaged in conversation when Hal turned to me and asked, "Any action in the Hollywood tv and film scene, Susan?"

"It's been quiet lately, Hal. No calls."

"I have a friend who's doing a pilot," Hal said, "and there's a part in it you'd be perfect for. You don't happen to have any pictures out in the car with you?"

"No, but I could get one to you easily enough," I said.

"Pretty soon, you'll be able to buy this whole town, but in the meantime, why don't I stop by your place in the next day or so and pick one up if it's all right with you?" Hal said. "I'll call ahead to make sure you're home."

He phoned first thing in the next morning, but finding me out, left a message. A few hours later, having picked up the message and being near by, I phoned to drop off the photo at his house. The score from "Pal Joey" could be heard a block away. Dawn was out. Hal asked if I wanted to come in for juice or herbal tea. I told him I could only stay a few minutes.

Everything was upbeat. The gold deal was progressing; we all knew it would work out. Then Hal studied my photo closer. "This picture's great -- you photograph like gangbusters," he said. "But for the purposes this is intended for, I really need something more sophisticated and glamorous. You wouldn't have a shot like that with you, would you? "

"Not with me, but I do have at home."

"Good. Then maybe I could stop by tomorrow and get it, if you're going to be in?" he suggested, then added smoothly, "Perhaps we could have lunch."

Thinking this sounded harmless enough, that Hal's interest in me was strictly business, I accepted. A friend with whom I trade baby sitting took Eric, so it didn't cost me anything, and I met Hal at Ma Maison.

Midway through the onion soup, we were talking about my acting career. "To a certain extent, I'm at an awkward stage," I was saying, "It often goes that way if you hang around Hollywood long enough and you're not catapulted to superstardom within a certain period of time."

"Pretty women especially," Hal agreed. "This is a town where women are still making it through sex, but more and more, women are making it in spite of sex. Things have opened up more for women, and in a lot of instances, they're having it both ways."

"Producers, writers, directors, maybe are, but a non star actress has fewer options."

"Rejoice. Soon you won't have to worry about a thing."

"And is that a great feeling!"

"Dawn tells me you're a very fine writer. She says your book is excellent."

"Thanks. Maybe part of the reason people respond to THE CLINIC is because I feel so strongly about the material. It was inspired by my aunt's illness and death. She did what the characters in the book do -- alternative medicine in Mexico, the natural route -- fasting, juices, enzymes, enemas, exercise, megavitamins. She didn't want any chemicals contaminating her body and destroying her brain cells."

"She must have gone through a lot."

"Yes. But Aunt Adele had no fear of dying. She knew there's a greater life waiting, and her illness was made easier through Bessie's teaching, through her faith in the whole life process and in what lies ahead for us after life on earth."

Hal said he was interested in hearing about Flint's remarkable sister and the Pasadena classes. Where to begin?

Bessie Dawson Williams, musician, poet, seer, philosopher, author of four published books, specialist in Egyptology, hieroglyphics, Sanskrit, East Indian languages, Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek, Dead Sea Scrolls translator (Yale University, University of Jerusalem, Huntington Library), originator of the Color and Planes courses; Millie Conover, artist, sculptress, former surgical nurse, religieuse, poet, mystic, administrator and teacher... how to describe their importance in my life?

From an early age Bessie Dawson was a natural clairvoyant, and her family -- brothers, sisters, parents -- all were deeply into spiritual studies. At eighteen, Bessie fell in love with a medical student, Dr. George Williams, married him and had a child. In her mid twenties, she was stricken with infected tonsils, followed by double pneumonia and tuberculosis, which in turn led to paralysis. Doctors, including the Mayo brothers, said it was doubtful she would ever walk again.

While bedridden, Bessie occupied her time with music and languages. As an opera student, she had already studied modern languages, and in school, Latin and Greek. Now she learned Sanskrit, Aramaic, Hebrew and other ancient tongues. With her husband, Dr. George, she shared studies in theosophy and esoteric Christianity.

One day waking from a nap, Bessie was startled to find herself standing by the window, having walked there in her sleep. Immediately, she perceived a series of beautiful etheric colors swirling around her. In prayer Bessie asked for the meanings of the colors she was seeing. Bit by bit over a period of two years, Bessie's paralysis ceased as her color knowledge increased; more and more truths were revealed, until the elegant, highly sophisticated color system comprised over 100 color rays, each with its separate meaning and power. Since Bessie saw the colors in form of a feather, she called the color combinations plumes.

While doctors considered her cure a miracle, Bessie knew it was the power of color which had healed her. Now the question was would color work on others as well. So for the next twenty years, Bessie and Dr. George experimented with patients in his practice. Whether in person or from a distance, Bessie and Dr. George would perceive the aura of that person, and fill in the missing necessary colors to complete the health and wellbeing of the individual.

Assured through practical experience that color did indeed heal others physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually, the Dawsons began teaching many years before the proclamation of the "Age of Aquarius" or "New Age." Bessie's first class, taught in Beverly Hills, consisted of 100 doctors and dentists. Later, a group of students from England and France began coming to Southern California every other year to absorb her teachings.

Bessie's Dead Sea Scrolls translations had given her a unique insight into the Essene Teacher of Righteousness, said to be Jesus, who studied at the Temple of Heliopolis, and over the years, she formulated her remarkable Planes of the Heavenworld course.

Bessie's beloved Dr. George died suddenly from a heart attack after an accident in which he stopped to administer to a victim. Not long after, Millie Conover came to study with Bessie, and after an apprenticeship in color, became Bessie's assistant.

Millie, youngest of eight children, grew up in Alberta, Canada, in years full of droughts, blizzards and fire. A fall from her horse at 15 left her with a serious spinal injury, and like Bessie, she too became paralyzed for a time.

While she was still unable to walk, a prairie fire broke out and was heading straight for their house. Hobbling on a pair of crutches made by her brother, Millie prayed with her mother, while her father and brother fought the fire. At the last moment, the winds shifted and the house was spared. Millie was sent to a hospital 70 miles away to at last have her horseriding injury tended to. As she lay alone gazing at a star outside her window, it was as if the star spoke to her and told her she would recover and then devote her life to missionary work.

While still a teenager, Millie met her soulmate, who sadly died an untimely death. To this day Millie wore his picture in a locket next to her heart. Choosing the vocation of Episcopal nun, Millie served in the capacity of nurse and teacher, but found the orthodox Church of England failed to answer puzzling questions, chiefly in the areas of higher consciousness and in the visions of life after death she was experiencing. Advised by Mother Superior her visions would have to stop, Millie asked for an audience with the Bishop. He in turn assured her that yes, indeed, there was a life after life, and yes, many souls in the afterlife do indeed communicate with those on the earth plane -- it is, as Jesus said, one world without end, amen. However, the Bishop said, the church is forced to downplay the afterlife, since the subject is too controversial. Only outside the cloistered existence, upon meeting Bessie, given the means of expanded consciousness revealed to her through color, did Millie find what she had been seeking all her life.

"So I guess that tells you a bit about these people who are so dominant in my life," I finished. "The teachings have been my mainstay, my grounding and rudder in the storm."

Hal wanted to know more about Flint. I glossed over many of his ups and downs, and told how eighty some odd years back, when the famous astrologer Jondro put up a natal chart he called Flint "the King in Rags." It blew Hal's mind when I told him that although the Dawson family would prefer not to discuss it, Flint Dawson had been married a number of times. "Flint was Aunt Adele's second husband, but she was his seventh wife," I said.

"Seventh? You gotta be kidding."

"Flint and my aunt were married eighteen years, and Flint says Aunt Adele was the only woman he ever loved."

"Seven times? How does any man have the strength?"

"As Flint explains it, he was obliging -- these women all asked him to marry them, and he just said okay. Likewise he had no objection when they wanted their freedom. If all men were as easygoing as Flint, they'd be multi-married, too, he says."

"Do you know anything about any of these women?" Hal asked.

"A little. Flint's first wife, Irene, happened when he was 19. She was a spoiled brat raised by her grandmother, who discovered them in bed and insisted they make it legal. Next came Eve, when Flint was 22. He married her because he got her pregnant. Their daughter, Lorraine, died tragically, a crib death. Lorraine was Flint's only child.

"Jean, Pat, Alice, and Toni were the next ones. Alice was the only wife Flint didn't get along with of the seven. Her main problem was the bottle. Jean was really much too young for him -- 27 years, to be exact. They married primarily to accommodate Jean's mother, who worried about her daughter's reputation.

"Toni, I understand, was a barrel of laughs. Game for anything, a great buddy who lived in blue jeans, western riding boots and chaps -- I don't think Flint ever saw her in a dress the entire marriage. Toni was an outstanding horsewoman, the only one of Flint's wives besides Aunt Adele who was. Unlike Aunt Adele, who rode English, Toni rode Western. What went wrong with Toni was she fell in love with Flint's nephew Wayne, so Flint gave Toni her freedom to marry him."

"He had a lot of guts, marrying that many women. Amazing!"

"He is. Flint and I have a very special relationship. We're both into horses in a big way. Flint and Aunt Adele used to ride together in the Rose Bowl Parade every year. Flint also rode with the U.S. Cavalry, and he was a member of the L.A. County Sheriff's Posse, the only English riding posse in the United States.

"Aunt Adele had a horse named Major -- Flint still has Major. Well, Flint taught that horse all kinds of tricks -- Major's the only horse I ever met who could do Spanish dancing, and Flint taught him how. Flint also taught him how to do his turds in a bucket. It got so Major refused to make his turds in a stall or even on the trail. That's a very talented animal, let me tell you, and very well mannered too. Flint is just great with horses. He and I ride together on a regular basis. We're like two peas in a pod, Flint and I --"

"Well, that's wonderful you have such a close relationship with your uncle," Hal said, "but how about the romantic side of your life? I assume you have time to think about younger men every now and then."

"Every now and then," I repeated, tossing it off with a laugh, glancing at my watch, aware I had to wind up our luncheon. I was spared further remarks by the bill arriving. "This has been delightful, Hal. And I do appreciate all your help "

After paying the check, Hal said, "You're a fascinating lady, Susan. I hope we can do this again ... I've enjoyed it."

I said I hoped so to, to be polite, but privately hoped Hal couldn't possibly have ulterior motives.


14
As far as the next step was concerned, we could relax. Century was talking to his people and would be back with us in a matter of days, but the deal was in the bag. Just to make doubly sure, Flint and I were using color on an accelerated basis -- lots of soft rose, muted oranges and apricots.

Flint had a surprise, located about 40 miles from L.A., in Sherwood Lake, Hidden Valley, over the Ventura County line, a ranch property he planned to buy with his earnings from the gold deal. There was enough room for dozens of people to live here; we could all move in together. I invited Dawn as well as another friend, Linda, to inspect the property with Flint, Eric and me.

Linda is a member of what is sometimes known as "Flint's collection"-- a group I belong to myself; there are about a dozen of us, all attractive women, most of us under forty, who look up to Flint as a father figure and friend. Most of us ride horses (Linda included).

Linda was wearing high laced sandals of russet suede, a bare midriff top and short shorts that barely reached her crotch, her standard attire away from her job as a loan officer in a Century City bank, coincidentally the same branch Adam uses. Linda, who is about my age, was an illegitimate, abused child, and is now a free spirit who lives in an apartment on the water at Hermosa Beach, swims with dolphins, wears exotic jewelry, belongs to MENSA and is into Tibetan Buddhism, vegetarianism, yoga, astrology, tarot, Jungian psychology, Shakespeare, far left politics, gardening, painting, and poetry. She also comes to the Pasadena classes.

For a dozen years Linda was the live in lover of a chiropractor from whom upon splitting up with she collected palimony, and she just recently broke up with a 65-year-old multi-millionaire whom she is planning on suing for the same deal.

Linda never uses birth control, claiming her natural health and spirituality protect her from both pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases, boasting a twenty year strict observance of vegetarianism has immunized her to the extent that she has no mucous in her system, thus can operate under different laws than most other humans. I too am a vegetarian, but do not claim these reactions in myself; better safe than sorry, right?

Once, Linda experienced violent illness due to unknowingly eating a sliver of Boar's Head in some split pea soup, and sued the restaurant. The same celebrity lawyer who handled her palimony took care of the soup suit, and there was no charge for either, as Linda was having an affair with this guy.

Flint is fond of Linda; she's a great favorite, one of the priorities on his list of people he plans to set up for life.

We'd just been given a tour of the premises by the real estate broker. Flint was wearing his tight fitting, shiny brown gabardine suit and carrying a worn leather brief case. "How would you like to live here?" he asked Dawn, Linda, and me.

"Are you kidding? It's pure heaven!"

"Well, get ready, because as soon as this gold deal starts paying out, I'm buying this property, and there's plenty of room for everybody -- the more the merrier."

"Flint, do you mean it?"

"I figure we're a few months away, but it'll happen, for sure. Well, what do you think?"

What did we think? We were thrilled. The ranch was incredible. 500 acres, two olympic size outdoor pools, stables for 50 horses, a race track, a private landing field. The property nestled in a small valley with mountains on three sides. The air was clean and smelled of pine and eucalyptus. There were six tennis courts, and a bowling alley in the basement with polished pins and balls all set up.

The main house, a French renaissance chateau with pinnacles, chimneys and gargoyles, was enormous, 58 rooms, including 32 bedrooms; there were several other houses and outbuildings on the grounds, and the property could accommodate even more dwellings.

Where to begin to describe all the features? Informal gardens with red and white azaleas, rhododendrum and dogwood, mountain laurel, wisteria and holly, red and yellow tulips, chrysanthemums, acres of roses and iris ablaze with color; groves of trees and bridle paths, lake streams, hollows and forests, mead hemlocks, spruce and balsam; tree shaded roads winding around lagoons beside arched stones and shaded bridges; waterfalls, gazebos, cowbarns; conservatories furnished with elaborate statuary; terraces, indoor swimming pool with showers and dressing rooms, sauna, whirlpool, a gymnasium; salons for after dinner brandy and cigars, a music room and library, throne room and billiard room, a winery with Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay grapes.

Every room had a fireplace; chairs were upholstered in silk damask, there were 18th century leather sofas and 17th century oak tables, Medieval Flemish tapestries, museum quality engravings, Oriental and Aubusson rugs, Chinese and Japanese vases, medieval armor, antlered moose, great kodiak grisleys peering down from high ceilinged drawing rooms, elk and deer heads, and so on and on and on.

"I told them we'd be making an offer very soon."

"Oh, wow, Flint!" Dawn exclaimed. "I'm overwhelmed. I'm beside myself!"

"Yep, this is what I have in mind for us," Flint said. "We'll bring the entire Pasadena group, those of my nieces and nephews who want to come, and any of the rest of our friends."

Flint would pay for everything, he said -- for the construction of new homes for those who lacked the means; he'd take on the whole tab. Maybe 50 or 100 people would live here -- those who could afford to pay their way would; he'd carry the rest. His relatives, extended family, riding cronies, assorted friends -- everyone was welcome.

Eric was in his element, romping around, free as a bird. "You don't have to worry about him running out in traffic," Flint pointed out. "Just think what a healthy life this boy'll have."

"You could even start your own school, Susan," Dawn said, "so you wouldn't have to bother with existing ones that don't do what you want."

We were all on a high. Driving back to L.A., Linda talked about her current lawsuit, about how unjust the s.o.b. millionaire defendant was to her. "He conned me. He should pay for it. I don't want to be vindictive but he deserves it. He's worth zillions of bucks -- he can part with a few measly millions, for God's sake."

We stopped in Hollywood at the Las Palmas newsstand, where Dawn and I splurged on copies of Architectural Digest to start planning the homes we'd be building. After dropping the others off, Eric, Flint and I went to a popular restaurant near my apartment.

Flint, laying aside an enormous hamburger, said, "Honey, I've done a lot in my life, but there's still a reason and a purpose for me to be here -- I know my greatest mission lies ahead."

I leaned over to Eric's highchair to wipe his stained with carrot juice mouth, while Flint continued, "If I don't put this deal together and organize our move to the ranch, nobody else will, and there's a lot of worthy people out there who could benefit from this. When we buy the ranch I want to build a center for Bessie where each and every one of her students can live for free if they want.

"What else is there in life if not to spread good works and give money to people so they'll never have to struggle again? And once we get the ranch going, honey, and have people to run things for us, you and I can take time off, travel everywhere we've ever wanted to go."

No matter how rough things once might have been, tomorrow would deliver the dreams yesterday denied. Both Flint and I believed it with all our hearts.

"Everything will change. Susie, I'm 84 now, but I figure I have a dozen or more good years left at least, maybe fifteen or twenty, who knows? -- the Lord blessed the Dawson family with good genes -- so I can look forward to a lot more earth time yet."

No sooner had we gotten Eric to bed when the phone rang and Karl was on the line. He had news: Century was ready to move forward. We would be meeting to discuss it the next step.

Halleluia! We were ecstatic. Flint and I cheered with joy.

"See, didn't I tell you?"

This was absolutely a dream come true, one in which we participants had to keep pinching ourselves to be sure we weren't imagining. It was fantasy unlimited in which no desire would go unrealized, and no expectation was too far out. Imagine the power this would give us. But as per instructions from Karl, we'd be cool about it so no one would ever suspect the source.

Sharing our elation over the phone, Dawn said, "Do you realize, Sue, what this will do for our social standing? We will be among the most prominent people in America. This will give us access to just about anyone worth knowing, everyone will be clamoring to meet us -- movie stars, rock stars, athletes, politicians, philanthropists, you name it. People like Donald Trump, Rupert Murdoch, Warren Buffett, Bill Gates -- people like them will put out feelers trying to get to us once they get wind of our being even greater movers and shakers than they are. They'll probably break their asses to attend our parties -- that's how wild this is.

"Of course, Trump, Murdoch, Buffett and Gates we don't need. They're yesterday's newspaper, compared to us. Our money is so new, the manner in which we acquired it so novel that this creates an excitement around us those people don't have. That's why everyone will be after us. Only we'll keep everything under wraps and be careful nobody discovers the truth. Karl's right about that. The last thing we want is the U.S. government getting wind of what's up our sleeve."

What seemed so utterly fantastic was the phenomenal amounts of money to be made.

Flint had his pocket calculator out, doing arithmetic. "My personal income, conservatively speaking, for openers," he announced, "based on lowball estimates, will be something in the area of between $50,000 to $100,000 per day. That’s a conservative minimum of two hundred and fifty million dollars a year for doing next to nothing -- just some minor supervising and administrating.

"Later on, when we'll be doing 50 tons, I'll be making fifty times that amount.”

"It's going to be incredible, Flint, no dream left unrealized."

At the meeting the next day, Century said he had all his investors lined up now, it was a go. Just one minor thing: he and his wife would be leaving Wednesday for a ten day safari in Africa, so plans would be delayed slightly.

Africa? Seems they'd been planning this trip for months -- in fact they made a habit of going to Africa once a year; they loved the continent, particularly East Africa; said it was magnificent -- the sunsets, animals roaming right outside your door ...

"Oh, my God, what next?"

"Not to worry, it's in the bag," Hal said. "In the meantime, I have another friend who's doing a pilot you're right for. May I come over tomorrow to pick up another photo?"


15

"You know, pretty soon I'm going to have to start collecting my ten percent," Hal joked, as he sat down opposite me on the living room couch.

I offered him a choice of organic carrot juice or a selection of herb teas, and he chose the latter -- sassafras. We made small talk until he turned to the color and planes charts on my walls and started asking questions about them.

"I noticed these when I was here before -- I kept looking at them. Now once again, I can't take my eyes off them. Why are they making such an impression on me? Exactly what is this all about?" Hal asked.

"There's nothing mysterious about it," I replied, and started telling him about color. "You're probably acquainted with color related psychological expressions -- seeing red, feeling blue, tickled pink, green with envy, the grey zone; you've do doubt had your share of black moods, awakened mornings with that dark brown taste, you may have experienced dizzying purple passion," I said. "Have you ever wondered if there was more to these colorful sayings than meets the eye?"

"Well, I never actually thought about it one way or the other," Hal admitted, "but now that you mention it ..."

"Color is a reflection of your moods, your characteristics, a factor when you choose clothing and decor; it's often used to manipulate moods: operating rooms are traditionally green, the shade of carpeting at theatres is chosen to keep voices at a soft level."

"Yes, that's true."

"Have you ever noticed how certain colors depress you while you enjoy others, that some colors give you a surge of energy or a happy feeling?"

"That I have noticed. I believe we're definitely influenced by color, whether consciously or subliminally."

"True. And every part of your physical body is some color -- no two organs, veins, or atoms are exactly the same; no two people see quite the same rainbow -- there are as many rainbows as there are eyes and minds to observe them.

"It isn't necessary to see a color physically to be aware of its appeal and purpose -- even the blind sense color. Helen Keller, who never saw color with her physical eyes, said, `I understand how scarlet can differ from crimson because I know that the smell of an orange is not the smell of a grapefruit. I can conceive that colors have shades and guess what shades are. The force of association drives me to say that white is exalted and pure, green is exuberant, red suggests love or shame or strength. Without color or its equivalent, life to me would be dark, barren, a vast blackness. Thus through an inner law of completeness my thoughts are not permitted to remain colorless. I habitually think of things as colored and resonant. The unity of the world demands that color be kept in it whether I have cognizance of it or not.'

"We live in a universe powerfully designed by color whose energy is both visible and invisible. We live in two worlds, and color occupies both, each in its unique way. In class, we explore color at both levels, with the emphasis on the invisible world, where invisible becomes visible when our higher senses are attuned. In this invisible world are many octaves of light.

"Just as each color has its own individual wave length, so each one has a message and a special effect. Color will keep you balanced, improve your health, contribute to your success and happiness. Color can bring greater understanding, establish harmonious relationships. Throughout the ages, color has been used in healing -- it can help solve problems -- obesity, smoking -- "

"Really? That sounds fascinating."

"Healing with color is an ancient art. According to records, the Egyptians, Essenes, Greeks, Buddhists, Hebrews, Persians and Tibetans used color for therapeutic purposes."

"I didn't know that."

"Sure, the Greek city of Heliopolis, City of the Sun, was renowned for its healing temples where sunlight was broken up into individual colors, each one used to treat particular conditions."

"They knew a lot of things back then we don't give them credit for, I bet."

"That's right. And later on, we have Paracelsus, who saw the body had what he called `two substances: the visible and the invisible.' The invisible, or etheric body, what we call the aura, was indestructible but could be `deranged'; any disfigurement produced disease. He therefore sought to bring the aura back to harmony by applying color."

"And so this is what you do when you use color?"

"It's one of the things we do, yes."

"How did you ever get hooked on this?"

"Through my Aunt Adele and Flint. From the very first day I started class a dozen years ago, I knew color was for me -- I felt so incredibly energized and uplifted. Since then, it's been demonstrated in my life many times over."

"How does it do this, exactly?"

"Color cleanses by replacing a negative with a positive. It can be used instantly and quietly under any circumstances, meditating privately at home, or actively out in the world anywhere. Color offers a choice of how to think. We don't have to stifle negative thoughts and feelings, only concentrate on something beautiful -- lovely colors."

"Can you give some examples?"

"A crying baby in a doctor's office quieted suddenly when soft pink-lavender smoke reached him; a chattering woman was silenced by a swiftly moving cloud of burnt orange-tinted smoke sent swirling around her; a friend quit smoking, given the willpower to stop through color prayer -- these are just a few examples.

"Add to this the harmony that's come into my life, the faith. Color is a very gentle, simple way to meditate. I really absorbed color more than studied it. It's become a way of life.

"If I'm angry or around an angry person, instead of just being upset, I use the color of cobalt blue, either around myself or the other person or both of us -- to help control emotions. Next I'd visualize a beautiful rose-henna, a refining color, followed by the rose of love or a pale apricot -- balance and appreciation and then soft lavender to hold the good.

"If nothing else, I've taken my mind off being angry or feeling critical of the other person for being angry. And chances are the other person would have calmed down as well.

"One time I got a bad earache, couldn't get to a doctor and was in such pain I couldn't sleep. Bessie and Millie made a color plume for me, and the pain left. Bessie and Millie are such angels. They're normal humans but they seem just to have so much more room in their hearts for love and patience."

Hal said, "How do you know this isn't just the power of suggestion?"

"Faith can a lot to do with it," I agreed. "Nevertheless, we know color works because we've used it and proven it."

"Is there a scientific validation for this?"

"We know color is a measurable vibration in the electromagnetic spectrum, expressing matter moving at varying speeds and densities; color is light, vibration, energy, visible and invisible essence.

"There've been many scientific findings on color in recent years. We know that radiant pulsing, spiraling color energy emanates from man, flows and extends outward in the form of photons, moving at up to 200,000 cycles per second, forming the aura, and that this energy field is a primary communicator between living species. We affect one another through our auras -- we're aware of `chemistry.' When two auras are harmonious, the chemistry is there; inharmonious auras lead to discord."

With a sly grin, Hal asked, "Are our auras harmonious?"

Why did I know this was coming? I preferred to ignore the remark, not taking the cue, keeping things on an abstract spiritual track. "If we use color, there's no reason for any auras to be inharmonious," I said evenly. "Color is a catalyst or change agent; application of positive rays transform negative conditions. Color rays of generosity -- soft grey-green streaked with lavender -- applied faithfully to greed -- ugly brownish green -- will melt its selfish grasp.

"Color rays of love -- soft, warm rose, and life's harmony -- baby blue blended with cobalt with streaks of lavender -- help wipe out hatred -- ugly henna red -- and jealousy -- olive henna with a smattering of dirty orange streaks. The color rays of joy -- pale shell pink -- and happiness -- clear yellow -- have the power to lift depression -- blue-grey mixed with brilliant blue with a yellow-ocher midray.”

But Hal wasn't leaving things at that. His next comment was, "Would a man you were involved with have to espouse your beliefs?" It seemed such bad taste to put it on personal terms with sexual overtones.

"I don't refer to this as `beliefs,'" I said, trying to choose my words carefully. "It's more a way of life."

I was rescued by Flint ringing the bell. Hal looked disappointed we were no longer alone. "Hal and I were just talking about the classes," I told Flint.

"One of Susan's favorite topics," Flint remarked, sitting down on the couch with Hal.

Hal visited for a few more minutes, asking more questions about the planes and our night work in the temples on the other side. Flint explained, "The spiritual part of you is lifted up above material forces, the bodily part remains inert."

"Isn't this dangerous?" Hal wanted to know. "When you travel out of your body, couldn't you come unglued or get stuck?"

"No, it's perfectly safe," Flint replied. "You travel on the silver cord, which is attenuated when you go out of your body and severed only at death."

"There must be something to all this," Hal admitted, rising as he prepared to leave. "I feel so much better than when I came in here, more at peace. Your niece is a very interesting lady, Flint."

"That she is. And a real enthusiast when it comes to the teaching."

"Well, as I've said before, I have respect for all religions," Hal said, "just as I respect Dawn being a `Completed Jew'. She wants to believe in Jesus, be my guest, if that makes her happy. Hey, I even bought her a cross. All of us need something beyond the here and now."

Hal kind of gave me a strange look as he was exiting, which Flint noticed right away. "You know, honey, I think that man has a bad case of the hots for you."

"Oh, come on, Flint. He's fifty-nine years old, and besides, he has plenty of other action -- he's got a girlfriend and an ex wife in his life. He doesn't need me."

"Don't be too sure."


16
"Have you ever thought how it would be if I weren't married?" Adam asked, then instead of waiting for an answer, continued. "I don't know where we fit into the scheme of things," he said, shaking his head, distressed. "What role do we play in each other's life? You're not my wife or mistress, not really a girlfriend either, because those roles are all out front, everybody knows what's going on. Why is it celebrities can be out front with their affairs, they can cheat openly, yet you and I have to sneak?"

"I don't have to sneak," I pointed out. "I'm only doing it to accommodate you."

Adam rolled over on his side. We were lying in bed, the curtains drawn. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. Soon he'd have to get back to the Human Bean to start lining things up for the dinner shift.

"Well, sneakiness is one of the characteristics Wilhelm Reich cites as impeding orgastic potency," Adam said, reaching over to the night table where he'd placed his contact lenses. "If we want to achieve emotional health and become genital characters we have to eliminate it. So I feel pulled in two directions. I don't want to give up what we have, and yet I'm doing my marriage a disservice, because how will I ever get healthy if I persist in being sneaky and devious?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're in the wrong marriage."

"That's just it. Nobody I know is faithful to their spouse, male or female. What is a marriage, anyway? Just a setup, a convention, and all the good stuff is out there somewhere else." He was standing at the mirror, struggling with his right eye.

"Marriage is a compulsive system formulated to prevent chaos from breaking out -- that backfires and makes everybody miserable. And a propos of your remark, nearly everyone is married to the wrong partner." He turned back to face me. "Why do we force ourselves to think we should be faithful? And why do I feel guilty? My marriage is a farce. From inception, I was never faithful, and I never felt wrong about it. But here I am with you, feeling guilt."

"Why do you think if you always cheated and never felt guilt, you should start feeling it now?"

"Because I'm enjoying it more."

"Why?"

"Because you and I have a healthy sexual relationship, we have the kind of relationship I should be having with my wife, and as long as I have this with you I'm not going to have it with her."

"And you think it would be possible with her?"

"How will I ever know if I keep on seeing you?"

"Are you trying to tell me something, Adam?"

"Maybe I am. But I don't want to stop seeing you. So for the time being, let's not worry," he concluded.

Although the waiting for Century to return was endless, at least we had the assurance the deal was definite. Even so, I was on the edge of my seat.

Hal reassured, "He's very eager. Not to worry."

Dawn added, "And all my psychics say it's a go."

Finally, Century was back. The next step, he told us, was for his attorneys to begin organizing a structure.

At this, Karl balked. "No way. No structure, nothing on paper. We can't have a public situation, run like a shareholder company -- "

"Now, just a minute," Century interrupted, raising his voice. "I'm a businessman, my investors are businessmen. We require things in writing."

So Century and Karl became locked in a Mexican standoff. Although I still disliked the fatuous Century, nevertheless, I was on his side in this one. How could Karl possibly imagine anybody would do business without a written contract?

While Flint was trying to talk sense into Karl and Hal was dealing with Century, things were getting scarier for me: cash reserves were fast dwindling. Not only was I going deeper into the hole on rising credit card payments, but there were unanticipated extras like car repairs, I needed dental work, and I was robbing Peter to pay Paul. Having nothing to replace the money I'd been earning with Dr. Gary Fredericks, I was really feeling the pain. How much longer could I hold out?

Linda, who without my telling her had recently divined I was in a relationship with Adam, said, "You should get Adam to help you."

"He couldn't do anything."

"Come on, Sue. He's rich. This is what married men are for -- are you an idiot?"

"Adam has financial problems. He's in no position."

"Says who?" Linda scoffed.

Phone calls went on back and forth, everybody filling everybody else in on what Karl said, what Century said, with Flint and Hal continuing trying to appease their temperamental counterparts. Both Karl and Century remained intractable; neither would budge.

Flint said, "I told Karl he can't have things his way. Century's holding the cards. Without Century we have nothing. I told him look, Karl, your trouble is you want to run everything, but you'll end up with a formula and piles of sand lying idle if you don't give an inch."

"What did he say?"

"He goes on about this cloak and dagger stuff, how we can't let the world know what we're up to or they'll close us down. And I told him, Karl, I said, just go along with Century for now, compromise on a couple of points, let's open this plant, do what we have to and over the long haul you'll come out ahead -- but at this stage, you have to give in."

"You mean Karl actually thinks people are going to fork over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, no questions asked, purely on his say-so, nothing in writing?"

"I told him you might as well get used to doing business the way it's done in the real world. I hope I talked sense into him."

After class, I asked Millie if there were any colors we could send to Karl to make him less arrogant, more understanding and easier to deal with. Millie gave me a plume which included the royal purple of faith; the plum of depth of love; the 10th of red, coral-rose with flesh pink center, which hopefully would turn Karl into a kind, considerate person thoughtful of others' needs -- and a few other colors. I thought I'd try this plume on myself as well, to help me to be less resentful in my dealings with Karl.

"This is the greatest opportunity that's ever likely to come Century's way," Hal said, "but let me tell you, he's not going to be steamrolled by Karl Robinson. Would he bow out if push comes to shove? Yes, he would. And I think we all agree he'd be right."

We couldn't lose this deal, it had to fly. With the goal in mind of pleading our cause, Flint and I visited Karl at his apartment on Harvard Street.

Harvard Street is located in an old section of Hollywood. While the area is clean, neat, and not the slums, it's old, tacky and rundown, you might even say downtrodden. You step on Harvard Street, it feels like you're in a Los Angeles of a half a century ago, populated by leftover residents from the 50’s plus a group of newly arrived ethnics who can't afford a better neighborhood.

I noticed Karl's car, a battered fifteen year old Ford Galaxy, was parked on the street. The car was littered with a quart bottle of Micrin, several magazines, a pile of unopened letters, paper bags, wire hangers, weights, a bulging laundry bag, a plastic container emptied of apple juice, The Portable Torah, two jock straps, and a Los Angeles Dodgers cap.

The first thing one noticed about the apartment Karl lived in with his friend Ray was its clutter: mainly books, which Karl devoured in quantity, and tv sets piled all over the place. Supposedly, to make money Karl was moonlighting as a tv repairman, but I wondered why so many of these sets were still boxed in their original packing, looking as if they'd never been opened.

My eyes swept the bookshelves: another Torah, the Koran, the Christian Bible, the Ohapse Bible, the Aquarian Bible, the Mormon Bible, the Alice Bailey books, Madame Blavatsky's books, the collected works of Shirley MacLaine. A man with an open mind. On the couch were The World Atlas and an empty cigar box – a little peculiar, since Carl didn't smoke. In the distance church bells were ringing out a hymn, "Lead Kindly Light." A hammering sounded from the street. Upstairs, someone was playing Ravel's "Bolero" –- badly -- on an annoyingly out of tune piano, and the high-pitched whiny voices of children drifted up.

Karl playing the role of high priest, launched into his usual number on his institute, helping his fellow man, and so on, how he didn't have that much longer to live, and how important the few remaining years were.

"Karl, how is any of this going to be a reality unless you agree to a structure?" I asked. We were alone. Flint had excused himself to go to the john; saw palmetto notwithstanding, his frequency of urination was getting out of hand again.

I never made any secret of my opinion of Karl. Granted, I can be a tough critic, but I resent people being up on a spiritually arrogant perch, and Karl could be really aggravating. He was patronizing and manipulative, he insulted people's intelligence with his institute bullshit and with his attitude about money. I always said despite all pretenses to the contrary, Karl wanted to control people, and that he was motivated from his outsized ego. I never really did trust the guy.

Amazingly, he was a whole lot better today. Could it have been the color? Or maybe it was me, that I was being more tolerant of Karl's foibles. At any rate, Karl was like a pussy cat, and wonder of all wonders, he said he'd concede!

"Flint, I haven't meant to be hard on Karl," I said later, when we were driving away. "I don't doubt the gold process, and I'm ecstatic Karl's seen the light, but I do still have mixed feelings -- I still find the guy an insufferable phony."

"Don't be put off," Flint said. "I know Karl can be hard to take, but he has the process. We go with him, we make our millions, and after that, there's another process I know about -- invented by a fellow in Mexico City -- after a time, we break away, we develop our own system. So just hold on, honey. It won't be long -- besides, we don't have to like Karl to do business with him," Flint pointed out.

"I know," I acknowledged.

"Anyway, if you want to know what I think, I think Karl's got the hots for you," Flint said.

"You say that about every man who breathes, Flint. But if you're right about Karl, he better get that idea out of his mind. Ok, he has the process and we'll do business with him. But there I draw the line."

The structure was proposed: it would be a limited partnership linked up with a subchapter S corporation, the latter which Century's attorneys wanted for tax purposes, saying we all stood to make more money this way.

Karl agreed to the structure providing the true nature of the venture was not spelled out in the contracts. Century was unhappy with Karl's request, since he wanted a full, truthful disclosure, but Karl kept insisting this was impossible, it would be inviting danger. "Inside one year's time, each and every one of us named in the legal documents would be dead, I can assure," Karl argued. "Trust me. Under no circumstances must there be full disclosure. The true nature of the endeavor must at all costs be hidden."

The eventual deal worked out was thus: the California chartered S corporation, which would own 95% of the business, was to be named International Silica Corporation, (ISC), its stated purpose being the manufacture of silica. Nor was this a lie, Karl pointed out, since silica, one of the by-products of the ore, did have intrinsic value in and of itself and could be sold to the fibre optics industry for use in telephone wires.

This silica business would provide a highly effective screen, similar to the one Karl used in his old Arizona smelting plant, where they allegedly were making nickel when the real product was platinum. In fact, one of the world's leading precious metals producers, United States Nickel, is also on official record as manufacturing nickel when its number one business is in reality platinum. Only the cognoscenti knew.

Flint, Karl and his partner Ray Rodriguez would each control 25% of the corporation, the remaining 25% distributed to Dawn, Century, Hal, myself, and the limited partnership, the latter who would have 5%, (Hal and Century, as general partners, would each own an additional 1%, the investors, 3%). This basic structure was spelled out to satisfaction at a meeting in Century's attorneys' office in Beverly Hills.

Only now there was another fly in the ointment: Century and his investors wanted to see the formula, in order to know what they were buying into. Karl balked again, insisting this was impossible, and once again, it looked like the deal was going to fall apart. Flint tried to pacify Karl, who was annoyed by Century's "unreasonable demands."

"Karl," Flint insisted, "you can't expect people to throw two hundred and fifty thousand into a deal without being told what they're getting. It's unrealistic. They're entitled to know."

"They have my word," Karl maintained.

"Your word doesn't mean shit," Flint retorted. "Give these people the information, Karl, or we don't have a deal."

At the same time, Hal was appeasing Century. He joined us later at a health food restaurant for a post luncheon glass of apple juice and dessert. He'd been with Century for an hour following the meeting, had calmed him down, and said things were under control.

He said, "I told Century I'm with him 100%. Karl will have to recognize our position. These scientific geniuses don't understand business. Businessmen are a threat to them. But I think, by the same token, that Karl trusts me, and with Flint's help, he'll listen to reason. Century has to be handled with kid gloves. He was saying who needs this crap, but I've gotten him to agree not to walk. I really had to mollify him."

"You mean he was definitely going to turn his back on the deal?"

"He wants it -- but he won't be dictated to, and he has a short fuse, that's the bottom line -- Century would cut off his nose to spite his face."

"Well, all of us are in Century's camp on this one," Flint said. "Karl's expectations are out of line and he'll just have to come down to earth."


17
The magnificent looking blond approaching on horseback was another of Flint's collection of beautiful women. She was Kathy Barton, cantering on one of the seven horses she owned and stabled at her mansion near the park. Cunt like a pepper pot, Flint said Kathy had, by reputation. Kathy was something else. She looked like Lady Godiva with clothes -- flowing, waist length hair, strikingly beautiful, a drop dead gorgeous knockout with a tantalizing smile, probably around thirty, but could pass for eighteen, with one of the all-time great faces and a body that didn't quit.

Kathy was notorious. It was hard to believe all you heard about her. Actually, though she professed to be a "commodities broker" by profession, that was a subterfuge for her real activity: she was secretly on the payroll of a big corporation that paid her a base salary of $250,000 a year plus commissions, expenses, fringe benefits and mouthwatering perks in exchange for being a sort of madam cum party giver and hooker.

Kathy made all competition look small potatoes. She didn't just operate in the entertainment industry, but spread herself around to various professions, which kept her on the go, setting up sexual activities all over the place, being rewarded with a generous cut for each trick she arranged. Her girls commanded big, big prices, and there was a ten thousand dollar minimum for any hour's vaginal, anal or oral activity involving Kathy herself. Daily rates started at twenty-five grand. Nothing was too kinky for Kathy to fix or participate in -- male, female, animal, child, corpse -- she did it all without blinking an eye.

Among her clients she also numbered friends of the corporate executives, including prominent judges, lawyers, accountants, doctors, athletes, recording and film luminaries, and so forth. The creme de la creme. One famous judge paid Kathy $3000 a clip to give him an enema. Another guy, a police lieutenant, sprang for a grand for the privilege of 5 minutes of licking her toes. Still another admirer, a prominent businessman, sent her $800 checks for 5 minutes of bi-weekly corcophilia over the telephone. Then there was the Hollywood producer who came across with $3500 twice a week (charged on his American Express card) for a 10 minute blow job during which he noshed on coconut covered dates and talked over the squawk box to his invalid mother.

It was said Kathy had the entire southwestern sex market cornered, along with California, Nevada, Oregon, Washington State, Alaska and Hawaii. Then, additionally, she was involved in side deals like Alaskan frozen fish, middle east cement, Ras Tanura Saudi light crude, and so on. Round the clock, Kathy never let up. She was wheeling and dealing all over the globe. Recently she sold some ERISSA insurance to seven Florida hospitals, for which she would allegedly receive an annual commission of 50 thousand apiece. She also owned a jeans company in Hong Kong.

The money kept rolling in from every corner, but Kathy wasn't letting go of her bread and butter operation, sex. It was stupid, Kathy said, not to sell your body and anyone else's you could lay claim to and market effectively. That was her philosophy.

She was presently in the process of vacating her Riverside Drive home at which she kept the seven horses for a larger (8.5 million dollar price tag) spread in Toluca Lake, with stables for 20.

The last time we'd seen Kathy, not long ago, Flint had taken us to lunch. We'd tied up the horses at Kathy's Los Feliz place, then gone to Hagis Bagis, where I noticed Kathy asked me a lot of questions. In the ladies' room she presented me with an engraved card and told me to call her some time, she'd like to talk. Flint said he thought she was on steroids or cocaine, that was the secret of her eternal sparkle. He also said he thought she might be aiming to proposition me into getting involved in her business activities.

Now Flint and I stopped to chat with Kathy a few minutes. Even though Kathy said she was in a hurry, she seemed to look me up and down quite thoroughly, then once again, she reminded me to give her a buzz sometime. As Flint and I rode off, I said, "Listen, Flint, how about Kathy? I mean if we can't reconcile our differences with Century and Karl?"

Flint said we might consider it, though I could tell he was reluctant. I thought about Kathy, her dynamite looks and killer personality, her pipelines into the power structure of the country, her material success. I guess for a moment I was envious, only in the sense of thinking she's got it made, doesn't have to worry about a thing, whereas my life is so precarious. When would we ever settle things and get going, once and for all?

"Anyway," Flint said, "we're holding a good thought, and we're going to make this thing work, honey. Just keep sending out that royal purple, the color of faith."


18
My shopping cart with Eric riding in it practically rammed into Hal's at the Alpha Beta market.

"How about a coffee?" Hal invited, so we found a small table together.

"Jugo, jugo!" Eric exclaimed when Hal asked for his order. Hal bought Eric a large orange juice and me a sugarless oat bran muffin, then joined us again. As yet there was no update on events between Century and Karl, but Hal was confident things would resolve soon.

He switched the conversation to spiritual matters, asking about the Pasadena classes. "My keynote is F natural, my keynote color alice blue," I replied in answer to his question. "The meaning is `an old soul, very curious, kind and self -sacrificing, who will come to understand his dreams and visions.'"

"How do you know this?" Hal asked.

"We're given them in our Night Work on the 5th Plane at the Temple of Bells, where Bessie takes us in our sleep every Wednesday night," I said. "If we ourselves can't bring it through to consciousness, Bessie will do it for us."

"As I understand, the Other Side is where some believe we go after death. What about your late husband? Do you know where he is now, what part of the universe he's in?"

"Yes. Bessie told me Jim is an 8th plane soul."

"How does that fit in? Is it high or low?"

"To give you an idea, the group of heavenly teachers who administer to our class are said to belong to the 200th plane. Most dwellers on our planet are not yet even 4th plane souls; by comparison, Jesus, our teaching says, was a 2000th plane soul. He didn't have to come here but chose to as a special mission. When most of us complete our present earth cycle, it would be a remarkable achievement to graduate from the 20th plane, which is as far as earth can take you in development; past that, we return here only with a special mission.

"Had Jim lived longer, he would have had a fuller opportunity to work out his destiny -- who knows, he might have made it to the 20th plane this round. So Jim, as an 8th plane soul, is higher than most on our planet but very low in terms of what we're all aspiring to be eventually."

"How does one keep progressing?" Hal wanted to know. "How long does it take?"

"Many ages, many lifetimes. All of us have a long way to go, and in our teaching, color is a gentle, effective way to arrive there. But there are many paths -- the important thing is that whatever your orientation, a change in ourselves is necessary. We have to put our attention to that on a constant basis, continually `watch;' and in relationships: `love thy neighbor,' never criticize anyone till you've walked a mile in their shoes, and never offend -- even though others offend you. And you have to take responsibility for your actions."

"I suppose since not everyone practices this, it must be hard dealing with people who don't," Hal remarked, sipping his coffee and watching Eric slobber juice all over his shirt.

"True, but more and more, people are waking up. We’re in the New Age, the Aquarian Age, when the planet is becoming increasingly spiritual. A stepped up energy is sweeping over the globe, so people are evolving; they're ready."

"One thing I find interesting is that your group apparently has been operating for several decades. One tends to think of the New Age being a phenomenon of say just the past twenty or thirty years -- but this goes back much further."

"If you traced the roots, you'd find it goes back thousands of years."

"Hmm. Interesting. So you do find people of like minds, then?"

"All the time. It's really a beautiful thing to see this energy take hold, beautiful to know what human relationships can be when people are both into development. Look at Flint and me. We have a perfect relationship. Over the years, there's never been a harsh word or misunderstanding between us. We're attuned to the perfection in each other. I'm lucky -- Flint is one of the greatest blessings in my life. Flint and my son." I reached to wipe Eric's mouth.

Eric was squirming. "He's tired," I said. "His nap is overdue."

Hal rose. "Let me help," he said. Then, after we'd gone through checkout, he saw me to the car and lifted the grocery bags into the trunk for me.

"Can I help with these at the apartment?" he asked.

"Oh, that's ok. I can manage."

"I insist. You have an active young man here and it's a lot to do."

Eric fell asleep on the short trip home. Hal carried him to his crib and then brought in the shopping bags. I was actually grateful -- it was a lot of work; Eric was getting so heavy. We put the groceries away, and then Hal sat down. He was looking at the charts on the wall and wanted to talk more about spiritual matters.

"Tell me more about the other side, about these temples. What are they exactly? What goes on in them? Who goes there and how?"

How to condense twelve years into a few short minutes? I gathered my thoughts and said, "Before I can begin, Hal, let's establish that we live in two worlds simultaneously -- visible and invisible -- that it's `one world without end, amen,' as Flint's sister, my teacher Bessie says; and that the `other world' is as close as our hands and feet. We access it through what Bessie calls `fourth dimensional consciousness,' in an uplifted state, in love and awareness. We also commune directly with it by visiting the planes of the heaven world in our sleep."

"But how is that done?"

"By traveling out of our bodies," I said. "Night travel is nothing new -- it's been around thousands of years; Indians, Tibetans, Persians, Egyptians, Greeks, Hebrews, and others, all embodied it in their teachings. You're familiar with Mozart's opera The Magic Flute? Mozart was a Mason, an esotericist; he brings the Temple of Wisdom into the Marriage of Figaro, for one -- "

"Really? What happens in these temples? How do you get there?"

"Well, our spiritual bodies are connected to our physical bodies by the spiritual cord -- also known as the silver cord. You can go to the planes of the heaven world either with a heavenly or earth teacher, by traveling on the silver cord. One of Bessie's gifts is the ability to take us out as a class."

"How does she do that?"

"If I could answer, I'd be in Bessie's shoes instead of my own," I said. "I do know it's a spiritual gift that not every teacher has. All I can tell you is Bessie calls us forth, picks us up, and that we -- our souls, spirit bodies -- travel on etheric lodestones, one behind the other, in a line."

"And you're aware of it? What's it like?"

I thought a moment, then said, "Like a glittering chain of vivid light composed of magnetic circles that are all looped together -- "

"And you remember this? When you wake up you know it's happened?"

"Sometimes. Maybe not totally, maybe just partially, sometimes immediately, sometimes only later. The important thing is a chemical action is taking place in you, and it makes a difference in your development; you become aware of new insights. Each person recalls in a different way, but we all receive the quintessential difference."

Hal peered closer at the maps and charts, reciting names. "Temple of Balance, Temple of Inspiration, Temple of Creative Silence and Rhythm -- what goes on in these places? What do you do?"

"Well, for instance, every night last week the class went to the Temple of Spiritual Responsibility. We entered on this mesa," I pointed on the chart, "received a bath of our keynote color, followed a guide to the forecourt. See? Right here is like series of beehives, these alternating spirals of rope like stone. You see one large dome and several smaller ones? The interior is all rainbows of lavish color. Alone, you face yourself, your life in relationship to responsibility, you see where the broken threads can be mended."

"What broken threads?"

"All kinds. It could be a love that can no longer be expressed on the physical plane, a person close to you whom you didn't do right by when they lived; it could be the difficulties of trying to take care of one's physical needs here, like breadwinning, child rearing, all kinds of problems we face on earth. This temple is especially helpful when you're trying to find solutions to problems, when you're faced with fears, bad luck, setbacks."

"So they show you how to deal with all this, then?"

"Definitely, yes. But that doesn't mean we're given instant solutions. For some reason, we humans are treading a very slow path. We don't absorb the lessons instantaneously -- development's a long process -- but spiritual work accelerates it."

"You've mentioned the word development before. Is that a kind of key buzz word for you?"

"Yes. I guess you've heard it said before, but Earth is a school where we come to pass a grade; awakening is the reason we're here; the purpose of the work on the planes is adjustment, the means of ongoing, to give us what we need to take the next step in the here and now."

I explained how after being given tests on the heavenly planes, a parallel test would always follow in the physical world. "Each plane has many temples," I said, "and in each temple are lecture halls, testing areas, chapels, and rooms in which one's entire life is gone over before the heavenly teachers. You see yourself clearly through special mirrors, see the mistakes you've been making and how you can change your life.

"Black mirrors reveal your detriments, clear ones mirror your positives. We deal with memory patterns buried in the subconscious, like guilt, fear, anger, criticism, resentment. All these qualities have to be faced and eliminated before we can progress. On the examining planes, you wonder where did they get this information, and you almost feel like they're spying, they seem to know so much about you.

"We're given many different fire, water and air tests: the fire tests deal with physical purification, water tests purify the emotional body, and the mental body is cleared in air tests. Our states of consciousness are given healing so we can do better next time. There are lots of water tests on the 9th plane, ‘tests on the steeps,’ we call it, in faith, humility, sacrifice, dedication -- we're been doing a lot of that in our night work this year."

"Hmmm -- very, very interesting. Go on."

"You see here the Temple of Illumination, which goes from the 7th to the 9th planes. You move in it like on an escalator of faith. We just had a series of air tests here -- see this rope ladder that goes over these chasms -- part of a test we had there was stepping out -- Bessie says it takes a lot of faith to go to the chasm and walk at the edge, then to enter the Court of Reception and receive the fruit of initiation. The windows in this temple were created 20,000 years ago.

"Here you see the Temple of Life, which is to the right of the Temple of Reverence. The upper part is called the Area of Expansion. See those five pools?"

"For water tests, no doubt?"

"That's right. We're given treatments there before we're allowed to see the Temple of Life. Then in the Temple of the Seeker, you see contradictions, your faults are revealed in an especially painful way. It's up to you to find the causes and erase them. After you find the source of conflicts, then you go to the Temple of Corrections, where we're shown how to avoid past mistakes."

"And here -- what are these? Seven Stations on the Steeps?"

"Those are places of cleansing and learning -- what's emphasized here are pride and humility, selflessness, compassion, motivation and purpose, compatibility, and justice."

"Ah. And the Area of Divine Will? What is that like?"

"Like a bustling city of great diversity. It's a place where God's plan for your life is revealed in form and color."

"It's like a cosmos in itself. Very defined and delineated."

"You're right. Then here -- the Temple of Spiritual Wisdom on this plane is like a spider web, through which one moves to the center. The temple contains divine truth of the wisdom of all races. The esoteric Christian area which our class goes resembles a crystal cathedral. It has a chapel of mother of pearl with a rainbow at the neck from which you look out and down. At the center is a raised dais where the hierarchy sits."

"The hierarchy? Who or what is that?"

"The Hierarchy of St. John, our guides. After we're given spiritual initiations by higher guides here on the right side," I said, "we return back on the left. The drawing doesn't really capture the temple's unusual brownish rose marble with mottled cream, the sycamore trees, the bridges and hills.

"Inside, gazing into special octagonal mirrors enables you to realize life in terms of forces rather than form, and you're given deeper insight into cosmic law, especially an understanding of opposite poles."

Hal shook his head. "This all fascinates me," he said, "although I can't claim to really understand it."

"It's a lot to absorb. It takes time."

He was standing a bit too close to me, and I moved away. Then he asked, "Where does a person like me go if they don't go to the temples?"

"To the Land of Nod," I answered. "The Land of Nod is mentioned in Bible, by the way. In fact, most of the Bible's claims can be substantiated in the study of the Planes, if you accept the Bible and need that verification. And even before that, in Egypt, thousands of years ago, they mentioned communication between two worlds, earth and the Other Side."

"If I have no teacher like your Bessie but I want to visit a temple, could I?"

"No one is denied. Just pray, and a teacher from the other side will take you. Ask and ye shall receive."

"Who are these heavenly teachers you keep referring to?"

"Beings who've evolved ahead of us -- maybe thousands of years ahead -- who help in our advancement. By the way, this was a part of all major religions -- a teaching that was later suppressed and hidden."

"What about people we knew on earth who've died, like our family members? Where do most of them go after death? I mean, your Jim was into this, but not everyone is. Do you ever see people who are not in the teaching at night too?"

"We might. Many of them eventually join us in the night work, come on the path because of a tie with us. Love is a big impetus in development."

"But where do these people stay or live, if indeed they do? I guess what I'm driving at is what happens to them after death?"

"They gravitate to whatever level their development is -- usually somewhere between the third and fourth planes; some could be higher; it depends on the person. `For in my father's house are many mansions' -- you've heard that Biblical saying."

"Just what exactly takes place when a person dies?"

It seemed like this question was troubling Hal, as it troubled many who hadn't been exposed to the teaching. I told him, "The silver cord is severed at death, the etheric body or spirit, that is, the eternal part of us, departs. Heavenly guides accompany the soul to the River of Life, which flows through all the planes. The entrance is a primitive forest. You step down to the river, you cross it and emerge washed clean. You climb, then arrive at a landing field. You're met by a sponsor and by loved ones, taken to registration, and shown your credits in the seven mirrors."

"By credits I assume you mean one's good deeds, the things you did right. Go on. This is fascinating."

"The first seven days are a grace period of love and understanding, in which everything is truly blissful and beautiful. You're in a land of pure enchantment, sumptuous in its delicacy, a place of nectar and ambrosia, where magnificent flowers bloom year round, never wilt and never die.

"And the fruit! Exquisite! Sweeter and more delicious than anything you've ever tasted on earth. If you pluck a fruit it's immediately replaced on the tree. The beauty of this world is intense and luminous, everything is clothed in light: leaves shimmer as though made of jade and emerald, colors dazzle the eye. Exotic birds fly overhead, singing melodies more captivating than any you've ever heard before. Everything radiates an aura that heightens its tone; you hear the music of the spheres.

"Then the soul reverts to the same consciousness it had at death, and you begin to look at your earth life under close scrutiny. Your entire life appears before you -- infancy, childhood, adolescence, adulthood, old age -- every detail of every day you lived. We're accountable for all our acts from the age of seven on. You go through clearing over and over."

Once again, Hal was standing too close to me, breathing down my neck. I moved. "All this sounds intriguing," Hal said, seeming not to notice I'd moved away deliberately. "However, I was raised to believe that if life after death exists, we shouldn't fool with it. Who knows what kind of evil entities one might hook up with. The Jewish faith discourages that."

"Negative areas do exist." I pointed out hell and purgatory on the charts. "But we bypass the lower astral realms. When we're in The Channel, we're protected. The Channel is our spiritual connection between the earth plane and higher states of consciousness, and while in the Channel one is never exposed to negative forces."

"You've mentioned the Channel before -- I take it this is another important facet of the teaching."

"It's central to the teaching," I confirmed. "Here, you see it in color."

"How does the Channel work?"

"Well, before we can expect enhanced consciousness, we have to create real changes in our spiritual bodies, so we refine and balance our chakras, our minds and emotions with daily use of the Channel."

"Just how do you use this Channel?"

"In meditation, for instance, to get answers to questions, to create a new chemical order of the body. We work on the spiritual body first, then our other `bodies' will follow suit. The Channel is our heritage; it's innate in everyone. We develop it by working with it -- and climbing it at any time, but especially before we go to sleep."

"How does one climb the Channel?"

"Would you like to climb the Channel together?" I asked.

"Yes, I would. Do I have to do anything special?"

"No, just sit there and be receptive."

"All right, I'll try."

I had him sit quietly, palms up, eyes closed. I told him to let the action take place gently; if he visualized color, fine, if not, just to allow the words and impressions to come in.

I began: "We stand in the royal purple of Faith and mount to the grey lavender of the Holding Force of Patience; uplifted into the pink lavender of Inspiration, we travel into the rose lavender of the Spiritual Voice ..."

I could sense power building in the room. "... From the blue orchid of Prophesy, we cross the delicate yellow bridge of Enlightenment, which lifts us to the brilliant rose orchid of the Message Bearer, and on to the stunning red lilac of the Holding Force for the Band of Teachers; and once more, we cross a yellow Enlightenment bridge, arriving at the peach of Union of Mind and Spirit ... from the light blue orchid of Brotherhood we mount into the blush orchid of Serenity... and then, from the pale green bridge of Desirelessness, onto the rose bisque of Grace, we come to the light blue lavender of Peace ... And now we stand at the Fount of Supply ..."

The room was utterly still. I could hear Hal's breathing, relaxed and even. We lingered at the Fount of Supply, meditating together in harmony, as one. Some minutes later, we both looked up at the same time.

Hal smiled. "That was beautiful," he said. "I feel incredibly energized. Amazing. I can't believe what a difference I feel in myself."

He rose, and held his arms out for me to come to him. It was a classic misuse of spiritual energy, something that can happen when two people are on the same spiritual wave length, but not the same emotional and/or physical, and one of them doesn't realize it. This can be awkward and embarrassing. In this case, luckily, I was once again saved by the bell.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Flint making his way up the walkway with his half jaunty, half arthritic step. I shot up like a rocket. In seconds, I was at the door, rushing to open it. Flint lifted his hat with graceful reverence, saying, "How do?" Hal looked crestfallen.

I complained to Flint, "I can never get the landlord to make repairs around here. The toilet's stopped up."

"Let me have a look," Flint said. "Maybe I can fix it, honey." I was sure he could; Flint was great at odd jobs and there was nothing he couldn't do around the house. By now, Eric, hearing Flint, had woken up and was running out of the bedroom.

"Fint! Fint!" he screamed happily. "Como stas?"

Flint scooped him up. "Young man! How's my big fella?"

"Muy bien," Eric replied, hugging Flint and giving him a big kiss.

"How about saying that in English?" Flint hoisted Eric to his shoulders.

Eric replied once again, "Bien, bien."

By now Hal looked like he was feeling out of place. Preparing to leave, he said, "I hope we can do this again, Susan. I feel good about today. You've given me lots to think about."

He looked lost and confused, enveloped in sadness. I felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to want to encourage him.


19

In an effort to get Karl to be openminded and flexible, Flint and I sent him color for another week, hoping he'd cave in to Century's demands. We sent a cerise spiritual healing ray and a red purple wisdom ray; cobalt for emotional control; a purple blue green and lighter blue ray designating a humanitarian aspect of life understanding and spiritual enlightenment; an opalescent Christ ray composed of beautiful yellow, purple, blue, rose and green, which was a divine healing ray; and an azure blue opal ray that meant spiritual union -- a channel of ascent to the spiritual body and link between the physical mental emotional and etheric bodies.

Finally, Karl gave in! He agreed to commit the formula to paper, providing it was put in escrow to be seen only by Century's attorneys. Offer accepted. Following the end of this major battle, checks came pouring in; the money was there, but not to be touched for the escrow period. I went about my life with feelings alternating between exhilaration and calm faith, knowing that in just a couple of short months, I would no longer have to worry about my future ever again. For now, I'd live one day at a time; soon my life would be so occupied with new excitement that any and all problems would drop away.

Days were full of euphoric plotting, phone conversations, plans for the future. Conference calls extended over hours. Even Karl began to look good, as my opinion of him grew in tolerance; he did have his good points. He could be interesting and charming, he was well-read and well informed, not merely in science and engineering, but about a number of other subjects. So it wasn't going to be all that bad to be associated with him.

Yes, it was happening; all was well. By March at the very latest we'd be rolling in money. First we'd pay back the investors, and everything after that would be gravy.