Troublemaker: Surviving Hollywood and Scientology Read Online Free PDF Page B

you,” one would say to me before handing me a freshly pressed military uniform. Then they’d lead us to a stretch limousine with tinted windows. I wasn’t sure if Scientology had a flag, but if there was one it’d be flying from the hood.
    Instead, the airport was pretty much deserted upon our arrival, aside from a guy working a floor buffer.
    We made our way down to baggage claim, where I took my suitcase and Nicole took the other two, since my mother was pregnant.
    Mom kept looking around as if someone she expected to be there was missing. Nicole and I followed her out of the terminal. Once we got outside, Mom looked left, then right, and her worried expression began to scare me.
    “Ma, is anyone going to pick us up?” I asked, but she ignored me and walked back into the airport, where she found a pay phone. She fished out a quarter and made a call, but no one on the other end picked up. Nicole and I shot each other a look and stayed quiet. Mom tried calling again. This time she let it ring for a long, long time until someone finally picked up.
    “Where are you?” she yelled.
    “…I don’t have money for a cab…Okay, fine. I’ll get one now, but somebody better be there to pay for it.”
    After a half-hour drive, we arrived at the Fort Harrison, a historic hotel that had fallen into disrepair before L. Ron Hubbard bought it in 1975 with the idea of turning Clearwater into the spiritual headquarters for all of Scientology. The large old-school lobby looked like the kind you see in movies—horror movies. There were marble staircases that descended to a large room with soaring columns, iron chandeliers, a black-and-white-checkered floor, and creepy chairs that looked like they belonged in Dracula’s castle. It was dead quiet until Mom started hitting the bell on the front desk.No one was there to receive us. When someone did finally show up, we were escorted to a cabana room near the pool. We were allowed to stay here, among paying parishioners, until space opened up for us at what was to become our regular berthing, or housing for members of the Sea Org. We were among Scientologists who had flown in from all over the country to do their services and/or upper OT levels (those above Clear on the Bridge).
    Eventually we moved thirty minutes away from the Fort Harrison to what would be our new home. We pulled into what looked like a deserted motel. It was a Quality Inn.
    The motel housed Sea Org members and some staff who worked at the Fort Harrison and surrounding orgs, or churches. This Quality Inn was running very low on quality. It was shabby, disgusting, and depressing. The pool we passed on the way to our room was literally a swamp.
    The Sea Org member who was showing us around said to my mom, “Vicki, you come with us, and the girls are going to the girls’ dorm.” The only way you could get your own room was if you were married or had a baby. My mom’s room was in the back of the motel, while we were in the front. Our room, one that would normally accommodate one double bed, was crammed with three bunk beds, which slept six girls. In our tight acid-washed jeans, cropped shirts, mullets, Nic wearing a puka shell necklace and me with a rope chain featuring a charm that read “Little Brat,” we definitely didn’t look like any Scientologists they knew. After we walked into our room and over to our beds, one of the girls said, “Ummm…you are not allowed to wear perfume. You might want to do something about that. I can’t breathe.”
    Another girl on the far right top bunk blew the smoke away from her cigarette like it was bothering her even though she was the one smoking. It took a second, but then I remembered: the girl from the New York Org! She looked at me tentatively, but in another instant I could see she remembered me too. Sherry jumped off her bunk and gave me a hug.
    From there we were shown the galley, which is where we were to report if we wanted meals. They served breakfast from six to