Perfectly Clear

by Michelle LeClair

  * * *

  Charley and I flew from New Orleans to New York for auditions for Twist in late June. I was becoming impatient that she was still living with Maria, but she assured me she was taking steps toward moving out.

  The Twist team was waiting when we arrived at the small studio on Forty-Second Street where auditions were taking place. I had met Charley’s actress friend and found her to be not just a talent and a serious businesswoman, but a comedian who had a nickname for everyone. Charley had confided in her about us. The two were as close as sisters. “Sparky, you’re late!” she said, when we walked in. “You and Miss Universe need to stop fooling around in the backseat of cars and get your ass to work!”

  We spent the weekend in auditions. Watching Charley at work was stirring. She was such a talented artist. Our evenings together were bliss. On Sunday evening, Charley received a text from Maria. She looked crestfallen as she read it. Maria planned a surprise visit, she said. “She’ll be here tomorrow.” I asked why Maria wanted to come when their relationship was on the rocks. She said Maria was still in denial about the split. She was probably coming to check out her suspicions about the actress. I had to trust that Charley was being straightforward with me. “If they’re coming tomorrow, let’s make the best of today,” I said, squeezing her hand.

  Auditions started early the next morning. I sat at the table with Charley. Two hours into the auditions, Maria strode into the theater. I felt suddenly insecure about my relationship with Charley. Seeing Maria brought home the reality that Charley was still someone’s wife. Even if Maria was in denial, she was here and acting like she belonged. My heart dropped. She’s not mine, I thought, looking at Charley. I have no business being here. I couldn’t help myself, but as the young woman on the stage was auditioning, I was stealing glances at my rival.

  Maria was a good-looking woman and well put together. She was younger than Charley, but probably a few years older than me. When Charley introduced us, I offered Maria my chair. It was an awkward moment—for me, because this woman was married to the person I loved; for Charley, because she was preparing to leave Maria and I knew how conflicted she was about it. Charley couldn’t bear the thought of hurting anyone. In this case, not just Maria, whom she had been with for a dozen years. She feared her daughter would react badly. She worried about Maria’s son, her stepson, whom she’d helped raise.

  Maria gave me a half smile and took my place at the table. She had an arrogance about her that made her seem mean. I wondered what Charley saw in her. It was pretty obvious that Maria didn’t appreciate Charley. She spoke to her in a dismissive way and rolled her eyes every time Charley made a joke. Between auditions, she grabbed Charley’s notes and began reading them, then took the pencil out of her hand and doodled all over them.

  “Maria, what are you doing?” Charley asked. “I need that paper.”

  Maria hid the pencil behind her back.

  I couldn’t believe Charley tolerated such childish behavior, but she sat back and said nothing. Maria tapped her shoe for the entire next performance, like a kid who was desperately trying to get attention.

  Finally, Maria stood up and summoned Charley aside.

  “You aren’t paying attention to me, so why am I here?” she asked, raising her voice.

  Charley looked embarrassed. “This isn’t the place, Maria,” she said.

  “I’m going shopping!” Maria exclaimed. Charley always carried a wad of cash in her pocket. She pulled out the roll and started peeling off hundred-dollar bills. Maria grabbed the whole roll and stormed out.

  At the end of the day, we all met for dinner at Nobu. The Twist team, my two personal assistants, and Charley and Maria sat around a large round table and ordered drinks. Charley was chewing gum and Maria took out a tissue and ordered her to dispose of it. I was humiliated for her. Charley’s actress friend scolded Maria. “You need to chill out, woman!” she said. “You need to let Sparky be and you need to enjoy yourself. Life is too short!” Maria shot back, “I need to chill out? And who is ‘Sparky’ anyway?” When the evening was over, Charley put me in a cab and headed back to her hotel with her wife. I went back to my room, played classical music and moped. God! What am I doing? I asked myself. Why couldn’t Charley be honest with Maria now instead of waiting for some “right” moment? I can’t do this anymore. I won’t be someone’s mistress. It’s wrong. I love this person so much. Does she really love me?

  A knock came at the door.

  “Miche! Open up! It’s me!”

  I pulled open the door and Charley was standing there. “How in the world? How did you manage this?” I asked.

  Charley said she knew the moment she got to her hotel that Maria was waiting for her in the lobby. She was complaining about the day, the dinner, the people she had to be around. Everything. Then she started tearing Charley apart.

  “I told her I was going to stay someplace else and I left,” she said.

  Charley stayed with me that night, never once answering her phone, which rang incessantly. We made love as if it could be our last time together. Afterward, I cried in Charley’s arms. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so embarrassed. But I just can’t bear the thought of you being with her anymore.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” she whispered. “I’ve never had anyone love me this much.”

  Maria flew home the following afternoon, convinced Charley was cheating with her Twist partner. I wasn’t a threat. As far as she knew, I was a heterosexual mother of four who was just raising money for the play.

  On our last day in Atlanta, Charley promised that when Twist debuted in September, the first thing she would do when she returned to California was find another place to live. After that, she would file for divorce.

  I was okay with that. It gave me more time to figure out how I would break the news of our relationship to the church.

  * * *

  We flew back to Los Angeles together on the Fourth of July. The summer heat was withering that day and I was drained from the long flight from New York and the time difference. With my bag still strapped over my shoulder, I rushed through my house and out to the backyard, where the kids were playing in the pool with Celeste and Monica. I never liked being away from my kids, and I ran toward them.

  “Mommy’s home! Mommmmeeeeeeee!” Sage and Savannah jumped out of the water and into my arms. I hadn’t been home five minutes when, in the midst of wet hugs and happy squeals, my cell phone rang. As much as I didn’t want to ruin the moment with my children, I saw that it was Mary Mauser—and you always took calls from church officials.

  “Mary, hi!” I said, as my children clamored around me. “Listen, I literally just walked in from a trip and I’m with the kids. Can I call you back in a little while? Or is it something quick?”

  Mary’s voice was curt. She was always businesslike, but now she was chilly. “This won’t take long,” she said. “I just have one question for you, Michelle.”

  I could tell from her tone that this wasn’t a friendly call, or even a call to recruit me back “into ethics.”

  “What is it, Mary?” I asked.

  “Are you having an affair with a married woman?” she asked bluntly.

  At that moment, my world froze. Blood drained from my face. I couldn’t breathe. I realized that, in a blink, my journey to happiness had hit a treacherous junction.

  I walked away from the pool and out of earshot of the kids. I hadn’t been ready to come out to the church. I was still trying to figure out how I could without having to choose between love and religion. But Mary ambushed me and I was trapped. I wanted to lie, but I couldn’t bring myself to. What was the use? The truth would eventually come out. I just wished I’d had time to prepare.

  “Mary,” I stammered desperately, dabbing at the trickles of sweat dripping down my neck. “If your question is ‘Am I in love with a woman?’ the answer is yes. I was going to tell
you, but this is very new to me and I wanted it to be on my time.” Her silence was withering. I tried appealing to her sense of fairness. “Mary,” I said, trying to collect myself. “This isn’t what you think. There is a beautiful love story behind this and I want you to hear it.”

  With a sharp tongue, she cut me right off. “I don’t care what your story is,” she hissed.

  “But, Mary, I don’t think you understand!”

  “Michelle! What have you done? You will never be able to go further on the Bridge. The church will never accept it. You will never have a normal life. Your kids will end up getting sick. Have you thought about your family and what this will do? And what about your business, Michelle? No one in your industry will come near you if they know this! What will happen when your business is gone?”

  I felt fear creeping in. Was it true I would never be able to live a normal life as a lesbian? Would I regret choosing love? No! I thought. I am living a normal life. What is not normal is this conversation. Despite everything the church had tried to drum into me, I thought that everything Mary was saying was nonsense.

  “You don’t understand!” I said.

  “Just how far have you taken this, Michelle?” Mary demanded. “Have you taken this from a friendship to a sexual relationship?” Her voice was raised now. “I need you to stop doing this and get back into session right now! Immediately!”

  As I listened, my anxiety was replaced by feelings of power and conviction. I didn’t care what Mary thought of my relationship. What I had with Charley was good and pure and loving and there was no reasonable argument for giving it up. Her bullying was really getting me angry.

  I think what set me off the most was that Mary was making the beautiful love I felt for another person sound so wrong. What was more, this call was keeping me away from my children, who I hadn’t seen in four days. I have to put an end to this insanity, I decided.

  “I don’t know who you think you are, but you have overstepped your bounds,” I said. “I will not do anything other than love this woman and you will not make this dirty. I will have my Bridge to Total Freedom and I will have her by my side and no one will stop me!

  “By the way, how did you know?” I added.

  Mary paused and then stumbled over her words. “Um, someone saw you in Whole Foods and overheard you talking to a woman,” she said.

  I had been at Whole Foods that day. I’d shared a ride from the airport with Charley, and she’d asked the driver to stop briefly at the store. I never got out of the car, though. And no one could have seen me because the Town Car had blacked-out windows. Oh my God, I thought. Someone is following me and reporting to Mary—but who? That’s how she knew to call the minute I got home. Who had tipped her off about Charley and me? The only people I had told were Dror and Virginia.

  “You’re lying,” I said. “No one overheard me talking to a woman in the store. I wasn’t in the store. Now I am done with this conversation. You have crossed too many lines and you are wrong.” With that, I hung up the phone. I had tried to put on a strong front with Mary, but I was shaking inside. My life was changing so quickly and I couldn’t keep ahead of it. Now I would have to tell my friends, my mother, everyone! Where would I begin?

  When I finally got to talk to Charley and tell her what had happened, I started to cry. I was conflicted. Part of me wanted the truth known. To be “out” for everyone to see. But I wanted it to be on my terms, not the church’s. Charley had her own concerns. She didn’t want Maria finding out about us until after they were separated. It seemed as if the church would stop at nothing when it wanted information. What kind of church followed people? she asked. “Miche, I’m really worried,” she said. “This group is not right.”

  Part of me still wanted to defend the church, but I was preoccupied with worry about what Mary would do next.

  I understood Charley’s unease. I was concerned about Mary getting to church executives before I could, and Mom finding out about Charley before I had a chance to tell her.

  It was time to contact the President’s Office for a meeting.

  The following morning, I was sitting with the vice president in his office at the Celebrity Centre. I’d known Greg LeClaire since my early Scientology days. Just as I’d suspected, Mary had already been there.

  Greg was usually very warm to me, but he sat there expressionless as I told my side of the story. “Thank you very much for telling me, Michelle,” he said. “I need to make it very clear to you that the Church of Scientology doesn’t get involved when it comes to relationships, and your decisions are your own. What’s important is that you are working on your Bridge and your programs. Scientology is your own progression. Your own journey.”

  That’s certainly the way it should be, I thought, but who are you kidding? I almost laughed.

  “C’mon, Greg,” I said. “I got my ass kicked for thinking about a woman when I was nineteen, and now you’re telling me the church won’t get involved? You obviously don’t want to upset a large donor, so you’re acting like everything is fine, and then you’ll write a report for my file so I have to be handled in session!”

  “Now, Michelle,” he said condescendingly. “You know it’s not like that.”

  That’s exactly how it is, I thought. I pressed the issue: “So if I invite Charley here and we hold hands and kiss in the rose garden, no one will have an issue? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I’m not saying that,” he said. “I would suggest that if you want to hold hands, be prepared for people to react. But I don’t know that I would necessarily kiss here.”

  “What you’re saying is that Scientology is judgmental and discriminatory,” I shot back. “If it isn’t, where are the gay people?”

  “There are gay people here.”

  “Really? Who? Where?”

  “Well, I can’t disclose who is handling what here, but there is a gay couple in session.”

  I was incredulous. He could think of a single gay couple in all of Scientology—besides, I was sure that they were in session to be cured.

  “Greg, I am in love with a woman and I am a member of the church,” I said. “I came here looking for support, but if you can’t support me, just leave me alone, all of you.”

  Greg made no response, but at least I had put the church on notice, and I was still standing. I left his office relieved that I didn’t have to hide anymore, and still foolishly confident that I could have both Charley and the church.

  * * *

  On July 14, Mary sent me an e-mail regarding our falling-out and backpedaled from our phone conversation. Writing in a conciliatory tone, she recommended I tell only my closest friends about my relationship with Charley and slowly introduce it to the kids, at least until we had a chance to figure things out. She insisted she wanted to continue to be my mentor and help guide me up the Bridge, and suggested I get to Flag to do some work there. Finally, she apologized for her brusqueness and asked for the chance to mend our relationship. She didn’t want one unpleasant encounter to ruin what we had accomplished so far.

  I presumed she had gotten orders to stand down. With a renewed sense of security and power, I responded the same day.

  Mary,

  I got your comm and I know you were blindsided but we really have to figure this out. I know you were not honest with me on how you found out or where you heard it and that’s really not cool. I am also very aware that you have a lie on the line or at least a half-truth and it’s sticking in the universe. . . . If it was a comm from someone then you should say who because obviously you were not given the data in the right way. . . .

  I can’t have an FSM that has any sort of problem with this. . . . I really thought I was this “tolerant” person, but over the last year having a best friend that is gay has really made me look at myself and my true tolerance and understanding of another. She has taught me so much and has made me a better p
erson. I can’t tell you how many times all the girls that work for me or my business partners have said how much nicer I have become or more understanding and compassionate. She brings that out in me. . . .

  We get judged every day because we are Scientologists, but yet we have the right to judge a gay person? There are many that are successful and in long-term relationships, with children who are really doing amazing things for mankind. I’m not talking about the flamboyant, 1.1, pure body/sex people but that is also MANY straight people. . . .

  Whether it is having a black daughter, being a single mom of four running many companies, being in love with a woman, or being a Scientologist, I’m always going to push the envelope. I’m always going to pick platforms that have controversy. That is me! I have been held back for way too long and now I found someone who is exactly like me! We flow each other with so much power, we calm each other, we make money together, we push each other to donate and most of all we make each other better people!

  I know this is hard for you to think about, but I’m not asking for your approval or your advice on how to handle it. I know what to do and how to do it. I am happy to take on and confront whatever it takes and I can promise you that I will be on my OT levels with Charley! I have not one doubt that I can make that go right. . . .

  Don’t be my FSM if you can’t accept me for all that I am because I assure you that this is not a fling or an experiment. . . .

  I will approach this in the right way with my children; I will make sure they are cool. I have zero concern on my business. It has done nothing but flourish since I have been with her.

  I’m not sure whether it was anger or a false sense of security driving me, but when I didn’t hear back from Mary, I followed up with a second e-mail a few days later.

  Mary—

  I was surprised that I didn’t hear from you on my last e-mail.

  I found the definition of a friend that I think is awesome and might give you some insight to where my upset stemmed from: