Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, and the Prison of Belief(60)

“I’m going to have to tell him,” Edwards replied. “I’m going to have to ask him to borrow it.”

The next time Taylor was allowed to call, Edwards told her that Travolta had agreed to loan Taylor the print, under one condition: that he could see her. The missionaires conferred with their superiors. They decided that as long as Taylor got the print, she could meet Travolta for dinner on the Sunday night after the screening.1

Travolta followed up by sending flowers, which were delivered to Taylor in RPF.

The screening took place on Saturday night in Scientology’s Lebanon Hall. It was a high point for everyone, all the more so because it was followed by a disco dance. Across the country similar dances were taking place, inspired by Travolta’s passionate performance.

Taylor wouldn’t be a part of it, however. As soon as the movie was over and the credits were rolling, several Scientology executives, including Yvonne’s former husband, Heber Jentzsch, escorted Taylor to an office and told her to call Travolta and cancel their date for dinner the following night.

“I can’t do that!” Taylor said.

[page]“There have been all sorts of efforts to recover him, and we can’t let you get in the way of that,” Jentzsch told her. “Call him right now.”

“It’s after midnight!”

Travolta was furious when he heard what she had to say. “We had a deal!” he said.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“How could you do this?” he demanded. “How could you leave your baby?” For the first time in their relationship, he raised his voice. “My mother died, and you weren’t there!”

Taylor began to bawl so hard she couldn’t speak. She recalled that Travolta was asking questions she couldn’t answer, questions she had been afraid to pose herself. He seemed to know what she was going through. “Unless you killed somebody, which I don’t think you did, there’s no reason for you to be where you are,” Travolta told her. He had never said an unkind word to her in their entire relationship, and his frankness was devastating.

“I’m doing this so I can be better!” Taylor sobbed. “So I can help you more.”

Meanwhile, Jentzsch was jabbing his finger at her and mouthing the order to hang up the phone. She quickly said good-bye and set the phone in the cradle. Then she was escorted back to RPF.

All that night she cried and cried, but when the sun came up, she was flooded with clarity. “I am so f*cking out of here!” she decided. “I don’t know how, but I’m getting out.”

It wasn’t obvious how she could escape. She had been placed in RPF in March; now it was September. There hadn’t been time to plan because she was working constantly. She didn’t know where to turn. It didn’t occur to her to call her parents because she was so apprehensive that she might bring shame on Scientology if anybody knew what had happened to her. In any case, she was forbidden to speak to anyone outside the RPF, even to other Sea Org members. And even if she did escape, she realized, she actually knew very little about what was going on in the world. Since she had joined Scientology at the age of fourteen, she had never read a book that hadn’t been written by L. Ron Hubbard.

Taylor managed to slip away to visit her ten-month-old daughter in the Child Care Org across the street. To her horror, she discovered that Vanessa had contracted whooping cough, which is highly contagious and occasionally fatal. The baby’s eyes were welded shut with mucus, and her diaper was wet—in fact, her whole crib was soaking. She was covered with fruit flies. Taylor recoiled. The prospect of losing both her unborn baby and her daughter seemed very likely.

She finally conceived a plan. Explaining to her guards that she had to telephone the doctor, she managed a brief call to Travolta’s office and asked Kate Edwards to meet her the next day at a certain time, giving the address of the Child Care Org. She hung up without even hearing Edwards’s response.

The next day she was allowed a brief visit to the nursery. Taylor put an extra diaper in her purse. She had four dimes, all the money she had in the world, and a toothbrush. Fortunately, Edwards arrived, right on time.

Taylor explained to her Scientology escort that Edwards was her sister-in-law who had come to take Vanessa to the doctor.

“Is this approved?” he asked.

“Oh, absolutely!” Taylor opened Edwards’s door and handed her the baby. Edwards stared in bewilderment as Taylor loudly told her to call as soon as she found out what the doctor said. Then, under her breath, she added, “Kate, when I shut this door, please drive away as quickly as you can.” Edwards nodded, then Taylor jumped in. Edwards hit the gas.

“Spanky, no!” the escort cried.

Taylor hadn’t planned any further than this.

She was still dressed in a man’s black boiler suit, with the sleeves and legs rolled up. Edwards fetched some clothes from her mother that would fit Taylor’s emaciated frame and picked up some diapers for Vanessa, then checked them in to the Tropicana Hotel on Santa Monica Boulevard. Taylor finally called her husband in the Guardian’s Office. Another executive picked up the line. “Spanky! They’re looking for you everywhere! Where are you?” he demanded.

“I want to talk to Norm,” she said.

“You need to come back!”

Taylor said she would call back at eleven that night. This time, her husband answered.