I replied with the following letter (while I lived at Miami, Florida). I put my phone number at the top of the letter .
I don’t feel that I have adequately thanked you for taking the time from your busy schedule to write a personal letter to me. I was quite shocked to get a letter from you, but now that I am over the shock — I’ve decided to express my gratitude in song. I promise you that I am not singing you any gushy love songs. I’m just singing some Christian hymns. There are about 7 songs on the tape and there are some pauses in between. After my singing I just filled up the tape with some music by Handel and Bach. I don’t care if you listen to this or not. I know you’re busy. Every now and then I get in the mood for music like that, but the music I most enjoy is music sung from the heart (even if there are mistakes in it).
Sometimes I wonder if these “professional” musicians really mean what they sing. I hope you’ll have time to listen. Maybe you could just stick it in your car’s cassette deck. We have one in our car. Be patient with my piano playing and my singing. It is difficult for me to sing along with my piano playing as (you will notice) that my playing is not the greatest. I’ve only had a year and a half of piano lessons, but I’ve been practicing a lot on my own. My piano could use a good tuning, also. People say they love to hear me sing. I used to sing in choirs, did solos (I never volunteered — I get stagefright — the choir directors of the churches would beg me to do it). In fact, I was once a member of a church of about 1,000 people. When the choir director asked me to do solos, I flat refused. I just couldn’t handle singing alone in front of all those people. I have also sung in the chorus for Handel’s Messiah in my high school chorus — that was a long time ago, and I’ve sung in the background for some professional operas at the Miami Beach auditorium. I think I’ve most enjoyed singing for the Handel’s Messiah. Of course, I am my own worst critic, but I hope you will like my singing as well as every one else says they like it. I’ve had very little formal voice training. This is mostly impromptu singing — so you’ll notice a lot of mistakes. I just hope the message of the songs will come across despite my human frailties. I just sing from my heart. God bless you and you are in my prayers daily. Give my regards to Richard Arnold, if you remember. And if you think my singing is any good let him listen. I’d like for him to hear it, also. I think you guys are the greatest!
I signed my name
December 15, 1990
We just found out where we will be in around 4 months. We are going to Seattle! I’m thrilled! Seattle is a beautiful city and I would prefer it over San Francisco or Long Beach. I have been to all three places. Even if we did get stationed in Long Beach, that would not increase my chances of meeting you, because I’m sure you try to hide like a hermit from your crazy fans. Any ways, we prayed that we would be stationed where it was God’s will for us to be, and He chose Seattle.
I just want to let you know that even if you did send me a form letter, I am still very pleased to have heard from you. With all the mail you get that may be the only way you can respond, and just because you use a form letter does not mean that you were not sincere in what you said. I choose to believe that you were sincere. I was wrong when I said that it would make my day and month to hear from you. I’m still thrilled that I heard from you and it has been 3 1/2 months. The reason why, is because you responded with a letter. A letter is much more flattering to me than an autograph picture (in character).
I don’t think you could have worded your reply any better than you did. You must have put a lot of thought into it. If you didn’t, it sure appears that way. I told Richard I would faint if I heard from you. Well, I didn’t faint, I was in a state of disbelief for about 3 days. After hearing from you, I believe that maybe not all Hollywood celebrities are as bad as I’ve been told. Personally, I feel that the average Hollywood actor stinks. I look at those men and wonder what American women see in them. It isn’t that they are ugly, they just don’t have any character. I never dreamed I would end up writing a Hollywood actor, but I fell in love with Data and decided to look you up. Later, I began to figure out that you were not like Data and decided to treat you as a fellow human being.
I’ve learned from my mother that you don’t marry for money, you marry for true love (which is totally different from infatuation). Good grief, I don’t even know you well enough to love you. I just find you interesting and I care about you because God has laid you on my heart. It’s obvious that you understand where I am coming from, by your reply. Your reply was perfect, I couldn’t have asked for anything more. If your reply has been romantic, I would have been sorely disappointed in you because I am a married woman. I don’t respect adultery. If your reply had been an autograph picture, I would have been glad; but it wouldn’t have impressed me particularly. But to send such a kind, sensitive reply as you did; and with such tact and gentlemanliness, was so much more than I thought you were capable of! I am impressed, indeed.
It is wonderful to be married to someone who knows all about you and has seen you at your absolute worst and still loves you any ways. I feel comfortable with my husband. He loves me for what I really am (of course my faults do get on his nerves and his on mine, but as long as we’re on this sin cursed planet things won’t be perfect); but, I know God gave me my husband because only someone God gave to me, would put up with me. One thing bad about marriage is you realize just how bad you really are. You lose all illusions you may have had about yourself. Thank God for a patient husband. He is God’s gift to me. He is a treasure!! And I think you would make a marvelous friend.
Melody Rondeau mailed me Brent’s album Ol’ Yellow Eyes Is Back in June 1991 as soon as Brent released it. I did not plan to buy it. . .
I played Brent’s album Ol’ Yellow Eyes Is Back on June 26, 1991 in my apartment at Seattle, Washington. I heard him sing with longing and from the depths of his soul that he felt so lucky that I chose to run to him in the evening when my day was through, to write him letters of my dreams and thoughts to him. . . I always wrote him letters of deep friendship in the evening. About this time I realized that, “ Oh my God, that man who called me and said, ‘I want to rape you,’ is Brent Spiner.”. The voice and longings of this singer, matched the voice and longings of my mystery caller. The sensitivity and intelligence in the voice sounded like the voice of the lover that I never thought I could have. . .and that I wanted more than anything in the world. He sang that the passing years would show how I kept his love so young and so new.
These words he sung hinted to me that his feelings were permanent, that he contemplated marriage. This star that I’ve written deep friendship letters about once a week has fallen in love with me? A month after I wrote him a letter, he fought for me, so that for the first time, Frontline and Dan Rather’s 48 Hours covered the side of parents like me, who suffered from government oppressors. With “The Drumhead, Part One” & “The Drumhead, Part Two”, he let me know he fought for me. This man who had the courage to expose the child abuse industry for me, loves me? And he said, “passing years will show?” Is he trying to say he wants to marry me?
I suspected Brent made his music album Ol’ Yellow Eyes Is Back to respond to my tape, because he made it right after I sent him my tape.
This tape of my singing, with wrong notes and a hoarse voice, but with a passionate and courageous soul, so stirred him, that now he wanted to marry me.
I’ve never had a man love me like this. I could bask in this for the rest of my life. . . I looked out the window of my first floor Lynnwood apartment and the stillness and peace of Douglas Firs and the majesty of the Cascades floated in my heart. Happiness floated from our tall window. From the window, the stillness of the leaves from the firs and their branches lurched towards me. Birds trilled and chirped from branch to branch, that alighted and jumped onto the green vastness of the grass from our yard into my heart. . .He sings that I’ve kept his love so young and so new. . .and that he’s so lucky to be loving me. . . My God, he loves me! He said, “the passing years will show . .” Oh, and my family is hearing this? How I wish I hadn’t played this now! I never knew a man could sing to me like this . . .or love me like this. . . He sings that he lives in a day dream, that he’s happy as a king, and that I’m every thing to him. . . He not only loves me. . .he adores me. . . How could this be? It’s a dream. .. No, it’s not a dream. . .it’s real. Brent Spiner worships the ground I walk on. Why do I have to be married now?
As I listened to his singing, my thoughts and feelings revealed the beginnings of a deep and committed love.
He loves me for all the reasons I want a man to love me. . .for my womanly qualities, my character, my sweetness. How I wish I could be with him and love him the way he wants me to love him. . .He loves me how I’ve wanted to be loved my entire life. I must make a way for Brent and I to have a special friendship. . .and maybe somehow. . . maybe somehow? Will God kill me for this? His heart’s in the clouds, but I know I’m a good woman and I’ll never break his heart.
He won’t regret that he’s fallen for me. . . even if I can’t be his lover, I’ll be the best friend he’s ever had. . .I’ll make it so that he won’t feel he’s missing too much just because I can’t give him my body.
But . . how I wish I could give him my body. It would be heavenly to be loved like this. . .and how I long to comfort him for all his denial and patience with me, because I’m so proud of who he is. He sings that he’s growing fonder of me, and that even if my friends forsake me, he won’t. . . Yes, he’s singing about me, and I never told him how I’ve been betrayed over and over in my life, but he cares so much for me, he figured it out. And he’s “growing fonder of me”. This means with every letter I’ve written him, his love for me has grown. Yes, it’s true, that I haven’t been able to succeed in anything that matters to me. . .that he wants to give me the break I need.
How could he know all this about me unless he’s delved into my inner soul? He’s scoured every letter I wrote him and every tape I sent him. He just loves me for who I am, even if “I don’t succeed.” I don’t have to impress him, he’s already impressed. I feel I could float on this love forever. Oh Lord, why didn’t you give me a love like this before I married! He sings he wants to give me the break I need. I think this guy is proposing marriage to me! Could it be true? Brent Spiner wants to marry me?
You mean he’s thinking of marriage or a lifelong friendship? Am I that unusual a woman that I’ve made this much of an impression on this man’s heart? I thought I was just an ordinary woman. Why do I feel so free and light? As if my heart floats in nether reaches, as if my soul dances in the heavens and bounces from star to star? As if I’ve been released from prison and I’ve experience spiritual renewals with passions and longings? My heart glows as the sun, and joy and peace water my sanctuaries, and rivers burst within me and surge out new courses and darkness retreats before light, so that all is light and sun and happiness and I see blossoms and flowers and trees and gardens. My heart waltzes blossoms and flowers, and my heart reigns as the sun. I think of him and who he is as a person and how he adores me as I am (with no changes). . .my heart floats with the stars and wanders through mountaintops with dreamers.
The impossible lies within my grasp. I can be all he wants me to be, something within me has awakened, he calls to the greatness within me and stirs it to wake up. My hidden sanctuaries awaken, they arise, they reach out, they shout for existence, they awaken to greatness. These sanctuaries become the sun, to an awakening –to traverse mountains, to firebrand hell with heavenly longings–and . . .these feelings, this oneness will lead us . . .to sanctuaries. . . to God.
Perhaps I’m not ordinary. . .Marriage with this guy seems too good to be true. But the way he sings. . .he worships the ground I walk on. Imagine all the fan mail he gets and somehow, someway I’ve reached into his heart (above all the zillions of women who’ve contacted him) and he adores me enough to worship the ground I walk on?
Perhaps marriage is what he has in mind? Well, if it’s true love, it will last, and I’m going to have to make him wait, and even though I think I’d want him for a husband. I must know whether his heart has the greatness I perceive, has the greatness to revive my sanctuaries to the heights. . .to reach for the sun. I must know if these feelings are real and will last for years and years or if they will wither as the grass under the scorches and deserts of despairs and longings.
How I wish I didn’t have to test Brent, but I don’t want God to kill me.
I can’t allow these feelings to break up my marriage if they will fade with time, if they become a passing fancy, because I must never take marriage lightly and I must marry for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer and forever– or God will punish me for dishonoring His Song of Solomon–for God honors constancy and commitment over thrills and mountaintops. I know what everyone will think if I encourage Brent’s friendship, but I perceive something great in this man and in this love, something that could change destinies, that could change history. . .though I’m not sure why I feel this way, but feelings like this deserve respect and notice.
No, Brent won’t take advantage of me. Not a man who can bring out in me this greatness of soul.
But if I went to bed with him now, how would God feel? I want him more than anything in the world. Why do I have to be married now?
A love like this is so awesome, so beautiful, so honorable–it doesn’t make sense at all that God allowed this to happen to me, when I asked God to break up any relationship that wasn’t His will, when I asked God to only let me marry in His will.
Why has God allowed me to marry a man who does not love me and who could never love me like Brent loves me, when Brent loves me like he does now?
But I’ll find a way to love Brent, there has to be a way. God will do a miracle for us, because God is a God of greatness and of great loves that make the stars glow. Brent sings that he loves me more than I know. So he’s loved me in the secret sanctuaries of his heart, and he hasn’t told me, but he hopes I figure it out. He sings that I need him more than I’ll ever know. . And there’s nothing he can do about it? Oh yes, there is. . .because I’ve figured out that he worships the ground I walk on and I will make a way for him to love me in a way that God will honor. If loving is all I can give him, he can’t live without it. He’ll just take my letters to him, if that’s all I can give him. How I wish I could give him more than this. I’ll make it up to him somehow that I can’t give him my body. . .Oh, how he’d cry, if I got tired and said goodbye, more than I’d ever know. . .
He wants me to keep writing him. He doesn’t want me to leave. I’m going to love this man, even if it kills me. Now that I know, how he feels about me. . .I adore him. . .I feel I could die for him. . .because he’s taken the trouble to read my heart and soul, to delve into my depths and to understand me, even more than I understand myself. He sings that I’m sweet and embraceable and irreplaceable, that my charms bring out the gypsy in him, that he wants his arms around me, for me to come to him and allow him to embrace me, that I mustn’t be a naughty baby, but come to him, my papa, my protector. . .that I’m sweet and embraceable. . . How I wish he would embrace me. . . that I could embrace him. I adore this man and it’s immoral for me to have him?
But I’ll have him somehow, I’ll find a way! He says it’s a sin to lie, that he means all he sings, that he’s not playing games with my heart, that he’s committed to me. . .he loves me, and if I break his heart, he’ll die. . .that millions of hearts have been broken, just because people say, “I love you.” That he’s not lying when he says it. He’ll never regret that he’s fallen for me, because I adore him and I won’t ever break his heart.
I can’t believe he created this music for me. I’m so honored, so moved to sublimity, my heart’s every crevice feels soothed and relished. What depth and sensitivity this man has and how he’s read my heart and soul. . .he feels toward me exactly as I’d want him to feel, exactly as I’d want any man to feel for me. Why do I feel a sublimity, an inner joy that begins to infuse every cell within me? I feel so light and free . . so sublime.
Why does my heart feel so light, as if it could trip through life’s valleys? Why do I feel that my life has a brightness it’s never had before, that I am fulfilled. . . completed . . .infused? He wants to kiss me once and kiss me twice and kiss me again and again and the way he sings it, he sounds just like that mystery man with the tenor voice like velvet who longs for me on the phone. So it’s been a long, long time, and he hasn’t felt like this since he can’t remember when, it’s been a long long time. He must have fallen in love with me over a year ago!
How patient he’s been with me when he hasn’t received any encouragement from me at all for romance. How much time and effort he put into this album. His devotion and patience with me awes me. These feelings will last. . .forever and ever. . . So I’ll never know how many dreams he’s dreamed about me or just how empty his dreams seem without me. And he dreams that he’s kissed me once and kissed me twice and kissed me again and again.
Oh, that longing in his voice on the phone. Yes, this is how he’s felt the past year. I know it. I can tell.
He’s felt for me like this for at least a year and kept it all to himself? I love how he relishes every word to thrill me with his moves and his words. How he talks to me, like a velvet river. . . and the way he breathes into the phone to express his desires toward me. I love his passion. . .directness. I feel so sleek and sexy . . . so womanly and beautiful. How I’d love to thrill him with my body and with my moves. . . so patient with his passions. . .so longsuffering and patient. . .so unlike my husband. . .
Yes, that voice on the phone is Brent and he wants to let me know that he dreams about loving me throughout his day and that he’s dreamed of me for a long, long time. He made this album and is “feeling the waters” because he can’t believe how he feels in his heart, and these feelings won’t leave. . .he didn’t decide yesterday to call me and talk to me with that voice that yearns for me. . . he loved me over a year ago. . .it must be. . . he’s pondered this over and over in his mind for over a year. . . he couldn’t take it any more. . . he had to speak. . .
I know my mystery caller is Brent . . .that tone of voice on my phone, that soul . . .it’s the same as this music, this voice. . .
Brent’s that same voice that called me on my phone and said, “I want to rape you,” with tenderness and longing. It’s Brent Spiner who yearns for me with that voice. All I do now is dream about loving him all day long and night. Oh God, why won’t you let me have this man? Why do I have to be married? Why does a love this awesome have to be immoral? There has to be a way to make this love moral, because I’ve never felt like this before, with feelings from depths that brighten all the caverns of my heart. Depths have surfaced, they float and merge with the yearnings in that voice. . that voice that reaches its fingers into my soul and lifts me from darkness. . .
So it’s been a long long time and I’ll never know how many dreams he’s dreamed about me or just how empty they all seem without me. So he wants me to kiss him over and over again, and it’s been a long, long time. And yet his feelings are light and free, like a butterfly that flitters through Carolina in the morning. . .Nothing could be sweeter than when he meets me in the morning. He wants to stroll with me early in the morning, and all through the day and laugh and joke with me, as his companion of charm and beauty.
He told me on the phone that I was gorgeous and how he longs for me with his velvet tenor voice. What class he has. These songs are so nice, so clean, so wholesome. This music is of a lasting love, of a love that will stand the test of time. This man has Southern class. I love the Texas in him. He’s a gentleman and manly in the way he loves a woman. I love this music. To love him, would be to make love like a soothing and mesmerizing crescendo, where our every move would have feelings, depths. . . sensitivities. How I adore his unabashed courage of expression, in how he glories in revealing every crescendo of his heart and desires towards me, how he expresses himself to me as if every stroke must have caring, tenderness and longings. . and must have passions, dreams and abandonments. How he bares his heart toward me with his velvet voice, with his tenderness of expression, with the moves I sense from his heart . . .of moves and thrills in bed.
I want now to thrill him with every move of my body, to honor him for the feelings and passions he’s brought me in this music, to honor how he adores all the crevices of my heart. I’ve found such sublimity, such inner fulfillment, such peace and happiness. With him, I don’t need to prove myself, I am loved for every crevice of my soul. How I long for oneness with him. to be one with him in soul and a friend for life. . . When I sent him that photo of me in my red church dress, he thinks I look like a princess. . .that’s why he breathed to me on the phone so softly and with such tenderness. Sometimes it seems he’s lazy and doesn’t seem to care, but that he really loves me and always will. . .that he’d hurt me, when I didn’t seem to hear from him, and that when I was in trouble, he turned away, but he that loves me and always will. . .
Why do I believe him? Why do I feel like I’ve found a love that will last forever and will bring me to heights in loving I never dreamed possible? And from a Hollywood star? And me, just a woman who introduced myself to him through his fan mail? How miraculous. How unbelievable. . .he loved me the first time he saw me. . .Did he fall in love with me because of that photo I sent him, where I wore the red dress with my husband and son? I looked womanly and submissive in that photo. So, it’s not a glamour queen he craves, he longs for softness, for womanliness. . .. he has honor and chivalry, because this is what a real man yearns for in his woman. This is solid, lasting, perhaps marriage lasting. . . But I’ve shown him a manly side of me, and he loves it. I’ve been courageous and daring, he loves all the crevices of my soul.
My soul flows with freedom into his arms, with no illusions, no pretenses. How free I feel. How he differs from the stereotype of the Hollywood actor. All I want in a man, and understandsevery crevice of my heart and loves me exactly as I am. My dream lover and I can’t have him.
Oh God, my heart is broken, but You must make a way for me to honor this miracle that has happened to me, this sublimity within me will find a way. I can’t give him my body, but I’ll give him everything I can, that God will allow me to give. What I’ll give him will be better than my body. I’ll love him with words. . .there has to be a way. . .why do I feel as if my life is transformed? As if I’m renewed from within, and I’ve reached an epoch from which I can never return? My eyes and spirit bring sunshine to him, I bring a melody to his heart. I make him want to sing. I put his heart into rhapsody. . .
And when he falls in love, it will be forever. . .or he’ll never fall in love. . .and when he knows I feel the same, he will feel the same. . .he’ll adore me forever and ever. He honors commitment as much as I do. When he gives his heart, it will be completely, or he’ll never give his heart. . . At night he dreams of me in his bed and sings goodnight sweetheart, till we meet tomorrow. Tears and parting may make us forlorn, and he longs to be beside me in his bed, but he kisses me and dreams about me in his sleep, though I’m not beside him, he longs for me. So he’s singing me to bed and his voice sways with tenderness, “goodnight sweetheart” he whispers to me That’s the same voice, with the same soothing and longing that I hear on my phone. He dreams about me on his bed, when he goes to sleep. Why do I feel as if he’s with me in my bed? And why is my heart so free, so stirred, as if I could soar the mountains?
Yes, he sung this for me–because I’m not beside him, and he soars into oneness with me. For a year . . .or longer. . .he has dreamed about making love to me. Now I know and I can make love to him with words, but sadly–not my body. But my words can reach his heart, can relieve his isolation over how he feels, because I love him. I’ll find a way. . .to satisfy his longings for me because I love him like I never dreamed I could love. I never knew love like this could be had on earth. This awesome feeling. This miracle. God has a plan, and yet I’ll need courage to follow this star. . .because of my husband. . .and my son. . .I can’t dishonor God. ..there will be a way to love Brent with honor and God’s smile. I couldn’t bear to lose God’s presence in my life. . .Yet, I couldn’t bear to lose the presence of Brent, now that I’ve found such sublimity. . .I never knew I could love like this. His love will guide me as dreams enfold me, in each one he holds me, just like he holds me in his dreams when he talks to me on the phone.
INTIMACY (1991 to 1993)
Within a few weeks after I arrived in Seattle, in May 1991, I received a phone call from a tenor voiced man with a voice like velvet, who had a real longing for me. He whispered to me on my phone, “I want to rape you.”
I hung up on him.
He immediately called back and let the phone ring about three times.
I didn’t answer. After three rings, the phone was silent.
I thought, “This criminal has some manners. He quit after three rings.”
Perhaps some “nut” at Paramount studios got my letters to Brent. I freaked out. I had just moved to Washington state.
This caller sounded like he knew me. I knew it wasn’t any one in Washington state. It had to be someone at Paramount. I went to the library to study handwriting analysis to analyze Brent and Richard Arnold’s handwriting, because Richard and I had sort of become pen pals.
I decided to check out and read almost two entire books from the Lynnwood public library (part of the Snohomish County library system) about handwriting analysis to try to determine which criminal dared to call me on my phone and say, “I want to rape you.”
After I read these library books, I decided I needed to own a book about handwriting analysis for reference, and went to a bookstore at the Alderwood Mall (Lynnwood, Washington) and bought a paperback book about handwriting analysis. I lost this book, with all the books I couldn’t afford to move from Seattle in 2001.
Richard’s signature indicated an evasive person, not what he appeared to be, and Brent’s had an “A” slant, straight up and down, that indicated a man who controlled his emotions with his head–in other words, the kind of person who would not panic in an emergency. I wrote Melody Rondeau (editor of Data Entries) and shared with her the insights I learned from Brent’s handwriting. Melody found it fascinating.
Brent had strong arcades (arches) in his signature that indicated protective qualities, that he nurtured and protected people. The flow of his writing and the pressure indicated he was capable of strong feelings and commitment, and that he had sophistication and depth to his thinking. Nothing in his signature indicated a criminal mind.
Richard’s signature was what graphologists (handwriting analysts) call a thread. A thread indicates problems and evasiveness. Brent’s legible handwriting indicated a more honest and forthright person, and that he had energy and health. But I only had signatures and signatures only showed how the person presented themselves to the public and not the real person, so I still hadn’t a clue over who my mystery caller was.
To analyze accurately the true persona you must see the handwriting of the person in their regular text (and I had neither of these from Richard or Brent). A signature only indicates how the person wants the world to see them.
I wrote Richard and indicated I had received phone calls that seemed to originate from Paramount. Richard wrote me back to say he could no longer write me and that I wouldn’t hear from him anymore, that I apparently took his letters far too seriously. I decided I’d horribly offended him, and realized he could not be my mystery caller. I enjoyed my correspondence with him and realized that by bringing up these phone calls, I’d scared him off. Upset I lost my friend, I cried, just because I mentioned these mysterious phone calls to him.
My mystery caller called back right about this time (when I cried over the loss of my correspondence with Richard), and said in a calm, caring voice, “How are you?”
“Who’s this?” I said. Then he quietly hung up.
At this time, I felt lost, as if I drifted in a wide sea without a compass, and felt that somehow my new friendships with these forbidden Hollywood people would steer me in the direction of light and love. I felt I needed to explore forbidden vistas, that this would lead me on a journey to find myself. My letters of friendship to Richard and Brent were part of this exploration. So when Richard cut me off, I felt my journey had been extinguished, that I was doomed forever to meander in confusion and darkness.
My mind and emotions withered into darkness and confusion.
Right about this time (June 1991) I went out to my apartment’s mailbox and saw a yellow stuffed envelope from Melody Rondeau (the editor of Data Entries–a Brent Spiner fanzine). Melody and I had become pen friends because we both shared a Christian faith. Inside this yellow stuffed envelope, Melody mailed me a cassette tape of Brent’s new debut album, that I’d read about in Data Entries. I never planned to buy his album because I figured a Star Trek star could sing nothing that would interest me. I expected it to be rock music (that I didn’t care for).
Because Melody mailed Brent’s new album to me (June 1991), I brought it into my little two bedroom apartment and plucked it into my family’s tape recorder (a stereo system with speakers, so that it resonated throughout our apartment).
I listened to the music and realized that the velvet voice with longings on my phone was Brent. Brent adored me just as I was and saw me as beautiful, charming, gorgeous, and an angel (all the things my mother told me I could never be). All my fears that a man could never love the real me vanished as I listened to Brent, as he sung of his love for me –my life would never be the same. All my fears that a man could never love my brilliance, courage and pioneer spirit, vanished.
I never wrote Richard again. Brent eclipsed him. Brent towered over Richard as a person, because Brent with courage bared his heart to me on the phone, at the risk of his reputation and career–something I knew Richard would never do. Brent cared enough to read my heart and soul. When I insinuated to Richard that he could be my mystery caller, he fled from me like a specter. A man, like Richard, so fragile in his commitment to me, would always run from me at danger, and I cried no more tears over him.
Brent’s daring and courage, even if he neglected to say his real name on the phone, awed me. He became my sun. Brent showed me I could be brilliant, courageous and pioneering and still charming, beautiful and gorgeous–because Brent obviously thought me gorgeous and charming even after I revealed to him all my passion, courage, brilliance and innovation! More than once, Brent, with velvet tenderness and caresses in his voice, called me “gorgeous”. My heart glowed and the fire from the glow inflamed it with desire.
I must protect my brave new lover, and must tell no one that he called me and said, “I want to rape you.” So I dropped the subject about my mystery caller to all who dealt with me — to protect Brent.
~ May 7, 1991 — I moved to Seattle, and received a phone call and the man said, “I want to rape you.” It was a high-pitched, soothing and sensitive voice. The man’s voice pined for me, but I hung up on him. He called back right away and the phone rang three times and then stopped.
I suspected the caller was from Paramount studios (because our phone was unlisted) and the Paramount people I’d been writing to seemed the only likely sources. This man sounded like he knew me. I was writing both Brent Spiner and Richard Arnold at this time.
~ May 25, 1991 — The phone rang.
I said, “Hello.”
“Hi. How are you?” he said.
I said, “Who’s this?”
He hung up. I recognized the voice. It was high-pitched, soothing, sensitive.
~ June 7, 1991 — My friend Melody Rondeau (also a Brent Spiner fan) mailed me a tape of the music album Brent just released. When I listened to it, I immediately recognized Brent’s voice as the voice of my mystery caller and in some of the songs, it seemed he sang to me. It was an album of love songs. I wrote Brent a letter and told him I figured out he was my mystery caller. I told him I adored him, but it was against my moral standards to have sex.
~ June 10, 1991 he called.
“Can I come over?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” His voice pined for me — very kind, sensitive, disappointed and soft spoken.
“It wouldn’t be right.”
He hung up.
After he spoke to me, all I did was dream about sex with him all day long. I adored him and told him so. I wrote him every day, but never encouraged him with sex. I told him we must be friends. I sent him videotapes of myself fully dressed and he became my sun. I shared my whole life with him. I hid all this from my husband. I told no one about Brent’s calls to me, especially the intimate stuff. I viciously protected him. I wrote him letters every day. He’d call with wrong numbers and all sorts of things. He definitely let me know he loved hearing from me. His calls to me averaged three or more times a week. I wrote him letters, he read them, and let my phone ring to acknowledge that.
Over the next decade, to my family and most people, I remained mum about Brent–not a word.
Over the next decade the few people (outside of Brent’s friends) who had a clue that Brent called me and said, “I want to rape you,” were Lesleigh Jacobs, around 1992, (a Christian lady who walked with God from my Lynnwood church) and a social worker, July 1993, (this turned out to be a big mistake–see my 1993 chapter).
After the social worker, I became even more mum about Brent.
This frustration, that I couldn’t talk about what had consumed my days and transformed my life (from 1991 and onwards) fueled me to become a writer, to express this sublimity onto the page. This frustration, this desire to share what happened to me, became my novel Silver Skies.
But I never told anyone (until these memoirs) that Brent said to me on the phone, “I want to rape you”, and I only told very few that he talked to me.
The only reason I mention that he said, “I want to rape you,” in these memoirs, is because here I can explain it properly. I understood Brent, but I knew most people would not, so when he said to me, “I want to rape you,” I told no one. I loved him too much to allow the world to tarnish his reputation when I felt his courage and transparency did not deserve this. I had too much honor to dishonor one that had a heart as large as the ocean. My feelings for Brent, that meant more to me than my life, made it that I spoke not a word about what he said to anyone, because nothing, absolutely nothing, must remove his friendship from my life. I felt I’d die for him.
The next day I wrote Brent a letter and let him know that I knew he was my mystery caller. I wrote him that I heard his music album, and believed I was the inspiration for his love songs, and that I adored him.
The next day, after I mailed Brent this letter, my phone rang off the hook, and he asked several times later in June whether he could come over.
“Can I come over?” he’d whispered to me.
“No, I don’t think so.”
With obvious disappointment. “Why not?”
“Because it wouldn’t be right.”
“Why don’t you pull down your panties. . .I can kiss your nipples. . .” Then he’d quietly hang up.
My devotion to God forced me to turn down his offers.
Several times (when I was by myself) Brent called in the wee hours of the morning (2 to 5 a.m.) and woke me up. I picked up the phone, “Hello?”
With his soft voice, full of feeling, he said, “How are you?”
“You know. . “ I rubbed my eyes, still trying to wake up. “You woke me up.”
With real feeling, he said, “I’m sorry.” A pause. “But I just like to fantasize about you. Can I come over?”
“I don’t think so.”
He then breathed into the phone and I heard his breath. Then he’d softly hang up.
The Russian/Japanese side of me saw only beauty in the way Brent loved me. So when he said, “I want to rape you,” I saw in Brent, not a rapist, but a man whose love came from the depths of his heart and who expressed these feelings in his fantasies about me from his bed. I shut off the church-going voices within me that screamed that Brent was a rapist and listened to the beauty of his tone in how he said it and his soft breath into my phone as he yearned for me. My genes took over, and the Japanese/Russian woman in me saw him as a man who expressed his love for me with beauty, sublimity and passion.
But, when it happened, I handled it bravely, I just had a problem with my conscience that I couldn’t resolve. You might say, “If you were so brave, why didn’t you just go off and marry him?”
It wasn’t that I didn’t have the courage. It wasn’t that I was scared of Brent, I was scared of God. I was afraid God would kill me.
You have to understand my background. I devoted my life to God. I was willing to go to the mission field. There were times in my twenties that I asked God to kill me if I would sin against Him. I asked God to kill me so that my mother would be saved. That’s what kind of a Christian I was.
I was a very devout Christian, totally dedicated to God, when I sacrificed and went to the Christian university and turned down an opportunity to become an Air Force officer, I didn’t have any money. I went by faith. I was afraid I’d end up starving to death at that school. I did have one day that I only had a chicken drumstick because I didn’t have money for food, but God took care of me.
I learned to take it one day at a time. But I wasn’t sure I’d live from one day to the next. I remember I was on that Delta Air Lines flight from Miami to Atlanta, and I had packed my bags that night. I was kind of scared on that plane. I thought, “Am I crazy? I turned down a chance to be an Air Force officer. I go against my family. I only have about thirty bucks in my purse. I don’t even have money for tuition at this school. Then God tells me to go on this plane and go up and trust Him”.
So I went. And I was a little scared. I thought maybe I was nuts or something. But I had no doubt that God spoke to me. See, you have to understand that I’m a Christian who came from a background like that. . .and then I was hit with the temptation of my life, with Brent.
I knew God was real. Because I’d had experience in prayer with God. I saw Him miraculously answer prayer for me when I went to that Christian university. I knew He was real and I feared Him.
Coming from a background like that, it wasn’t easy for me to sin with Brent Spiner. Yet I loved Brent, and I didn’t think that was a sin. So it was like a delicate balancing act for me. I wanted to love him and I felt like he needed my encouragement, but yet at the same time I didn’t want the love to tread over into the sin territory. I wanted to make sure I kept my power in prayer, because that’s something I always had and that I treasured.
I didn’t want to lose it.
You may say, why did you keep it secret from everybody? I really didn’t tell anybody. I opened up a little bit to a woman at church. I was very, very good about keeping my mouth shut.
I was in love with Brent. I was afraid that if people knew that he had called me and said he wanted to rape me on the phone, that he would get in trouble. I could tell that he was too big a man, too great a person–that he wouldn’t deserve the unfair criticism that he would get. Because I knew Americans had a lot of sexual hang-ups, so I viciously tried to protect him. That’s why I kept my mouth shut and I never told anybody the whole truth about how extensive Brent and I were communicating, or how much I was communicating with him.
My motive for keeping quiet was to protect him, because I loved him. I loved him enough to die for him. I kept my mouth shut because I knew that if word got out, that it would not be good for him. Because I was a married woman. It just did not look good.
I saw something in him that I knew the rest of the world wouldn’t see, except his close friends who know him. So that’s why I didn’t tell anybody. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of him. I was afraid that he would be hurt, that he would be misunderstood and I could tell there was something big and great about him, something very courageous and generous, and I viciously protected him. I sensed something really great about that man. He was the type of man who would risk misunderstanding, to be great in secret and to take public scorn. I could tell he was like that.
In public Brent didn’t seem to care what kind of impression he made, but in private he was great. He never, ever treated me with the slightest hint of disrespect. In all of his dealings with me, he was the utmost in sensitivity, and always very kind and tender, and extremely generous, and I felt a man like that deserved my vicious protection, and that’s what he got.
I made the choice that I was going to stand behind Brent Spiner, even if it meant my reputation went down the drain. Because I wasn’t concerned about my reputation, I was more concerned about my character, about who I really was. It got me into some trouble.
I knew that Brent was not a bad person. That the actions and the risks that he took with me, where he made himself emotionally vulnerable, that if I was a bad woman, that I could have ruined him. But–I had too much love in my heart. . .and, maybe I had enough greatness in me, that I could not betray somebody that I thought was great. I didn’t judge him to be great because of the fact that he was famous, or because he was a big star. I saw some inner qualities of generosity. . .courage. . .of a willingness to sacrifice. . .a humanitarian heart. I realized that he was often misunderstood by the public, because he often did what he felt was right, even if it meant being scorned and misunderstood. I respected him for that. That’s why I stuck by him so viciously.
I knew that my Christian friends would think that I stood by him because I was enamored with his fame and his fortune. But in my heart, I knew that God knew my heart, and that God understood that it wasn’t his fame and his fortune I was in love with.
Many times I went to God in prayer and I said, “God, one of the biggest reasons I haven’t gone to this man is because he is famous. And if I marry him it’s going to make you look bad. Everybody’s going to think I dumped my poor husband for this rich celebrity. I love this man because of who he is, because of his generosity, his courage, his compassion, his humanitarian heart. I sense greatness in him. It just aggravates me that because he’s famous, because he’s rich, that I know if I go to him that it would bring disgrace to your name, and I claim to be a Christian. I wish you would make a way for me to go to him, so I wouldn’t have to bring shame to your name in the process.” I prayed to God about this all the time. “I love this man so much, that even if he didn’t have any money, and he decided to go to the mission field, I’d go to the mission field with him. That’s the kind of a man I’d want to go to the mission field with, not the one I’ve got now, because with a man like that, I know I’d have a strong marriage.”
I played Brent’s music every day (usually in my car) from June 1991 until June 26, 1996 (when I learned about the girlfriend), because it made me feel his presence in my life and it stirred my heart to climb mountains and to write with resonance, beauty and truth– to honor this awesome love that had come into my life.
The Sutera twins returned to our church for follow-up revival in October 1991. During that time it seemed to me that again God did not condemn me for my feelings toward Brent Spiner, but, in fact, praised me for the time I invested into this man and for the love that I poured into his life. It was as if He reinforced all that He said to me during the previous Sutera revival in May 1991, and that because I truly loved Brent, it was okay–that it’s never a sin to love, but that it is a sin to be proud. In fact, God seemed to encourage me to love Brent and to be his friend, and I found that during the services when I prayed for the services, the Holy Spirit’s presence immediately increased in the services and the people in the services began to move in accordance with the Holy Spirit. To my amazement, God answered all my prayers for the services and I got answers to these prayers within five minutes. For instance, I would pray, “God, please move in this service and allow Your love to penetrate hearts so that we can honor Your great name in this service and show that love wins over all, and that you honor great lovers who strive to love with courage, truth and greatness, and who want to climb the mountaintops as lovers, and that great love on this earth is the most important thing of all. Hold back the forces of hell, and honor the prayers of this sinner who dreams all day of loving Brent Spiner.” And then, all of a sudden, about ten people would leave their pews and head toward the altars with tears streaming down their face. I, the dirty adulterous sinner, could see God move in response to my prayers–this astonished me, and I perceived that God honored the virtue of a great and generous love above the sinfulness of my adulterous longings. I could not understand how I, such a sensual sinner (who dreamed of making love to Brent all day long), could bring about such powerful answers to prayer during this revival service, where I definitely sensed the presence of the Holy Spirit of God–because I did not feel particularly clean and holy to adore a Hollywood star who called me with yearning and said, “I want to rape you” and “I can kiss your nipples”.
Yet, I sensed that underneath Brent’s sensual approach me to was a deep and committed love and I knew this, God would honor. I knew that I adored Brent so much I was willing to risk my life and reputation to protect and honor him. But perhaps, I feared, this meant I put Brent first before God? Would God condemn me, perhaps not for adultery, but for the sin of idolatry? Yet I got no sense that God felt my love for Brent was idolatry, because I had turned Brent down when he propositioned me. However, these immediate answers to my prayers during this powerful revival service confirmed to me that I needed to love Brent exactly as God instructed me during these services. It was as if God told me that because my love and humility were far greater than my pride, He’d use me greatly (in spite of my sin of mental adultery with Brent). However, God warned me that I must not commit adultery with Brent, and if I honored this, He might make a way for Brent and myself. I shared with Brent some of what God revealed to me during these Sutera revival services.
It was at the Sutera revival (Isaiah 57:15) that God showed me that the greatest quality a Christian can have is humility. Brent had humility. He was more concerned about being the genuine article than in appearing to be that way.
That’s why I so viciously defended him, because I respected him for that. Because, in private with me, he was always the utmost in finesse and sensitivity and he was more concerned with giving me emotional support when I was in trouble than he was in his own reputation.
I felt like I’d die for that guy. I didn’t know there was such a guy on this planet. I thought how ironic that this man who gives me such incredible emotional support is world famous, probably a millionaire, probably not a Christian. Yet when it came to emotional support and sensitivity and just being a kind, caring, generous and loving human being–he made all the men I had until him, look sick.
What was even more ironic is Brent didn’t have to give me emotional support. I didn’t promise him marriage. The only thing I could give him was my companionship through letters, tapes and videos. I didn’t promise him sex. I didn’t give him any money. The only thing I could offer him was my companionship through writing, through words.
He didn’t give me any money. The only thing he could offer me was emotional support and a good listening and ready ear.
But I found what really mattered to me were the things the world never noticed. . .the time to smell a flower, to notice the beauty of a sunset or a sunrise. He taught me to slow down and smell the flowers, to enjoy the beauty of life, to express it with my art, to meditate and think on why I’m here on this planet, what my purpose is. . .for living.
I began to feel that my friendship with Brent was some sort of spiritual mission, urged on by a great, powerful and supernatural love from on high. It was this feeling that inspired me to begin my novel Silver Skies in 1994.
I shared all my life with Brent after June 1991, and believe I may have mailed him (in 1991) Jack Chick’s comic books and writings that exposed the Roman Catholic Church’s goal to set up a worldwide dictatorship for the Pope. I don’t know if he received these, because the Jesuits may have sabotaged some of my letters to Brent. Because I mailed to Brent the writings of Jack Chick, is it any wonder that the Jesuits wanted to sabotage my love for Brent Spiner?
When Brent came into my life, I looked past his Hollywood background and fell in love with the person of Brent Spiner, not his Hollywood stardom. In spite of Hollywood, I loved him, unlike the cute blonde, who only loved Brent because of his Hollywood affiliations. The only good thing about his Hollywood background to me, was that I knew he had enough money to support me as his wife. I felt even if he never achieved the stardom of the great stars, he’d always have enough income for me as his wife, because I knew I could make a dollar stretch. I thought even if he left Hollywood, he could put this money into savings and live off the interest. I didn’t need his millions and if I got them, I wouldn’t abuse them. I determined that if Brent ever helped me financially, I’d use the money to support him and to develop my talents and honor his great love for me.
I ended up doing this without his money, because the Jesuits made sure I never got any significant financial help from Brent.
I only yearned for a great love in my life, and found it ironically with a Hollywood celebrity–something I never expected. But I needed a guy whose feelings for me were permanent, because I knew couldn’t support myself because of my health problems and I wasn’t trained in any field that would accommodate my health problems. I told myself that I needed a man to take care of me until, and if, I could somehow gain financial independence.
But, Brent was sensitive and made enough money to survive. Brent spoke to me on the phone with an artistry and sensitivity that no man I’d had before could come close to. I began to feel that perhaps in a field, like the arts, that appreciated a sensitive and artistic temperament, I would flourish.
I had been taught growing up, that artists couldn’t make it in life, that they all lived on the streets. Yet Brent made it, and was the epitome of sensitivity. I often wondered how he retained such goodness of heart in Hollywood. Somehow Brent made it in Hollywood and never lost a pureness or nobility in his heart, never lost the ability to love another human being from the depths of his soul. So I dreamed of being a writer or musician, and thanked Brent inwardly for giving me the courage to appreciate (and not disdain) my artistic temperament, for giving me the courage to be a great lover.
In the early 1990s, when Brent infused my soul by pouring his heart into my life, and as I sought to prepare myself to be this great artist’s wife, I trained myself to be a writer, and found great fulfillment in this training. Writing became a catharsis for me, a way to healing, a way to discover who I really am. I knew I had writing talent.
Now to honor the love of the great and courageous artist, Brent Spiner, who loved me–I determined that as his significant other, I could complement him and help him with his career if I harnessed my writing talent, let it grow, until I wrote my masterpieces, until I wrote like the writers I admired: Charles Dickens or Leo Tolstoy. Yes, I would write something like this to honor my great lover: Brent Spiner.
I knew, like Brent, I had an artist’s soul.
How I admired Brent for his courage and tenacity to honor his artist’s soul and I determined to do the same. So I enrolled in The Institute for Children’s Literature in December 1991 and began my quest to become a great writer, to write something so awesome, to honor this awesome and sensitive lover that had miraculously entered my life.
I wanted to honor Brent for making me realize, that my sensitivity was a strength, not a weakness, that I should nourish it and use it to write a great work of art. How I loved Brent for showing me that my awareness of my feelings and sensitivities were not weaknesses, but assets that could flow into my writings. Now I’d harness and nourish my sensitivities to create a monument to describe how Brent had transformed me and how he’d given me the courage to honor every crevice and undulation of my heart, mind and soul.
So I created a work to allow my heart to reveal all its crevices and crannies, and this work became Silver Skies. I played Silver Skies‘s theme song Apple Blossom Time (by Jewish “Tin Pan Alley” composer Albert Von Tilzer) on my piano, while I (1993 to 1996) imagined Brent as my Silver Skies‘s lead Dor Ben Habakkuk.
When Brent said to me, “I want to rape you,” I saw past his words and sensed the longing and sensitivity in his voice, that mirrored his soul. . .and I adored him, because he relished the sexual experience as his way to have oneness with me, not to rape me against my will, but to rape me to thrill me with the oneness he already felt with my soul and mind. He longed to rape me with thrills and crescendos in the bedroom, and risked his reputation to thrill and cherish me with words. This transparency of his, his desire to thrill me with words of unabashed courage and sensitivity,thrilled me, so that I dreamed of making love to him all day long throughout most of 1991. I recall the words Brent spoke to me at times (in 1991 and rarely in 1992) with a voice like velvet and with yearnings that thrilled me to my core.
His voice, soft and full of yearnings. “Can I come over?”
I paused. . .”No. . .I don’t think so. . .”
With great disappointment. “Why not?”
“Because it wouldn’t be right.”
“You’re gorgeous. .” A soft breath into the phone. .”Let me pull down your panties. ..kiss your nipples. . .” Then the soft click of the phone as he hung up.
How I wanted him to come over. Never did a man turn me on like he did. After he hung up, I spent half the day in my bed, imagining myself in his arms and lost myself in my fantasy lover land. It seemed a sin to imagine anyone but Brent as my lover, and in my imaginations and fantasies I only dreamed of Brent. I scorned all other men I met, none of them could tread onto the sanctuary of my heart for Brent. He towered above them all. I wrote him to tell him how I admired his manliness and greatness. His manliness and greatness made me want to devour him in bed. In all my fantasies, Brent became my hero and I the woman who used my body to fuel him to greater heights as a man. I dreamed of the day I could use my body to nurture his manliness, to fuel him to the heights as a man to make him even more of a hero than he already was.
All other men came nowhere near Brent and regretted I’d married, because I knew that if my husband knew about my love for Brent it would hurt him, and I didn’t want to hurt my husband, but I yearned to have Brent.
My marriage became more and more constricting, so that I felt like I always walked a tightrope, and had to walk on glass not to incur anger.
I wanted my husband gone, because then I could be Brent’s long distance lover without hindrances.
But with Brent, I yearned to make love to him all day long, to express how I adored his manliness and his greatness. I’d cry into my pillow (especially before I became a writer and had no venue of expression). It seemed the only fit way to let him know my feelings for him was with my body and this God denied me.
How I cried into my pillow at night and kissed it passionately (1991 through 1993) to comfort Brent as if his face and lips were the pillow. I sensed his yearnings for me and longed to meet his needs, not just with words, but with body and soul. How I dreamed of making love to Brent. How I dreamed of my Matlock Island (The Thornbirds) with Brent. Like Ralph and Meggie from The Thornbirds, our love was forbidden. Yet it longed to explode into fiery passion, into tenderness and longings, into dreams of oneness and yearnings to soothe and caress our lover, to nurture and fuel our lover with the fire in our bones that wouldn’t die, that needed to stream into the other, to give strength and beauty to our hearts, with a stream that would flow over our island and spread over the vast sea around us, unhindered, unmolested, to flow upward, upward, and upward and over and around us and fly over the sea in currents of joy, jumping over the waves, swirling and swirling toward the skies, and down to the warm sea breezes. Our Matlock Island had no winter storms, no icy barriers, just warm breezes, warm caresses, unhindered, unmolested breezes, jumping with passion and joy, fueling each other with fire and dreams, traipsing unhindered through our hearts, a warm fire where our hearts could rest, and swarm away from the mainland where the clatter and shatter of business, of money, of making a living, of expectations, of rituals, of performances, of religion, of self-delusions, of condemnations, of guilt, of fears of dangers, blowing away, rising higher and higher above our fears, above the world, above the clamor. The mainland a memory shrinking smaller and smaller, so that only streaming love endured and flourished. The mainland a delusion.The only reality the stream in our hearts, with streams and breezes flowing over and above vastness, with feelings so vast, that they shimmer with the sea expanding with the horizon, a horizon looming larger and larger –we join and fuse into that horizon, vast, unhindered, free, free, free. Mingling, flowing, growing into the horizon. Higher and higher, breezes warm with passions and longings, dreams and desires, loving and nurturing, fueling our hearts with fire and dreams. Forbidden me by God, I yearned for him every minute of the day. It killed me to turn him down. Half my days in 1991, I lay in my bed and dreamed of making love to him. The passion I felt for him never died (until June 1996, when I read about the girlfriend). I decided to channel my energies into my writings, because it frustrated me too much that I couldn’t have him in my bed. I studied to become a writer, to make love to him with words, with words so brilliant they’d compensate for the lack of my physical presence in his life. In all my activities throughout the day and in all my thoughts and dreams–he was there.
Brent’s every move and word toward me gushed with feeling and passion. He thrilled me to my core. He’d flaunt the rules, would risk his reputation, if he could thrill me as he spoke–so I adored him.
Sometimes he called me and just talked to me. Though he always kept the calls short.
With calmness and some trembling he’d ask, “How are you?”
“It must be hard for you to call me like this. . .I know it takes guts for you to call me like this. . .”
“It isn’t easy for me. . .but I can fantasize about you. . .” He’d breath into my phone with softness and I’d feel caressed. “You’re so gorgeous. . .so beautiful. . .why don’t you pull down your panties. . .” I heard the soft click of the phone as he hung up.
I then rushed to my computer and composed him a letter and mailed it to him and let him know how I adored him, but that I could not go to bed with him, but that I adored him, and I bared my soul and dreams and longings to him. How often I cried into my pillow and kissed it with every ounce of feeling in me, and he became the pillow. How frustrated I was that this elegant and committed love that had come into my life was not permitted me by God. How angry I felt at God in 1991. How I mourned for Brent that I couldn’t thrill and comfort him in bed with my body when I knew his longings for me matched mine. I longed to give him my warmth and body more than anything in the world. The only thing I didn’t tell him was that I wanted to marry him more than anything in the world.
How could I make it up to him that I couldn’t marry him and give him my body? This tore my heart.
But he may have sensed this, or maybe he didn’t, because I’m sure he thought it amazing that I could feel for him as I did and still turn him down as a lover. So I became his lover-friend and risked all to comfort and love him with words, because I knew God could forgive me for this type of adultery.
More concerned about God’s opinion as I handled Brent than anybody else’s opinion, I felt it my spiritual duty to encourage his love for me, but felt I must do it in a manner that wouldn’t promote physical adultery and often prayed to God for wisdom, because I perceived that Brent was part of God’s plan for my life. So I mailed him sheets and sheets and risked my reputation to love him with words on the page and bared my soul to him and shared all my thoughts, philosophies, and goals with him. To him, I bared all my forbidden thoughts, every little thing I thought or dreamed about.
Then, in September 1992, my phone became silent for three weeks, including my birthday (unusual for Brent). On my birthday (September 15, 1991), Brent rang my phone off the hook. It seemed, in September 1992, Brent had just mysteriously disappeared from my life. Devastated, because I’d bared my heart and soul to him since May 1991, I thought my arms and legs had been cut off. I went to God in prayer and begged God to give me strength to go on. I thought I’d die.
Through my consciousness, recollections return . . . I drove on the freeway (September 1992) with tears streaming down my face (I couldn’t stop crying as I drove). No one would understand my depression, because I kept my friendship with Brent a big secret. I became ill and couldn’t find strength to go to church. Finally, I forced myself to go to church, and my friend Lesleigh Jacobs (one of the one or two people that I’d confided to a little about Brent) noticed me. I found peace about a week later when I decided I’d pray for Brent for life, even if I never heard from him. I still wrote him, even though he no longer responded to my letters with his “wrong numbers” or his rings on my phone. In a letter I mailed him, I told him even if I never heard from him again, that I’d reserve a special prayer spot for him by my window, every day for the rest of my life.
I couldn’t understand how someone as emotionally supportive as he was, and as generous as he was in expressing his feelings, could give me three weeks of silence in September 1992. One of the reasons I was devastated was not so much that I felt sorry for myself, I was worried about him. I sensed that something terrible happened to him, something catastrophic. I was in so much emotional pain, that three weeks in September when he didn’t call me, that I told God that I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to live.
The pain was so intense, that I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t function. I said God if you don’t do a miracle for me, I’m going to die. Through Brent I found completeness, wholeness as a person. He made me feel integrated, gave me confidence. And, all of a sudden, like a split second, he was cut out of my life, for no apparent reason. I felt like the blood gushed out of my body and I was losing all my strength. The only way I could stop the flow of blood coming from my severed arm. . .I agonized in prayer that three weeks. I said, “God, you’ve got to do something for me.”
Usually, when I was in emotional distress Brent called. In January 1992, Brent gave me about two or three days of silence, which was unusual–he was very attentive. No, I think it was about a week of silence. So I wrote him a letter and said, “Brent, did I do something to offend you?”
The next day, in January 1992, he about deluged me with phone calls. My phone rang all through the day. He did not want me to feel that he was losing interest in me.
On February 13, 1992, Brent, along with the rest of the Star Trek: The Next Generation cast appeared on Good Morning America with Joan Lunden. Brent seemed so happy, and I felt I was responsible for the glow on his face.
So I was so puzzled in September 1992 why he wasn’t doing the same thing. “Brent, I’m not sleeping. I can’t eat. I’m so worried. What have I done? Are you saying goodbye?”
Silence. Absolute silence.
“This isn’t like him. Something must be terribly wrong. What’s going on? Is he dead?” I didn’t know what was happening.
I was worried sick about him. You must understand my feelings for him were so intense that I was willing to write a teleplay, where I stayed up until 2 a.m. I pushed myself so hard on that teleplay I averaged five or six hours of sleep most nights. I pushed myself to write a masterpiece for him.
I sensed at this time that my friend Lesleigh was praying for me. I literally felt her prayers.
When I went to church that week, I asked her if she prayed for me at a certain time (the time I noticed her prayers). She said that she had prayed for me at the time I sensed her prayers, that at that time she was face down on the ground with her hands spread out on the floor, for about a half hour in prayer.
This was when I began to realize the power of prayer, because that’s exactly when God gave me peace about Brent’s silence.
The silence broke after I decided I would pray for him for half an hour every day at the window. But I was worried about him. I was afraid that something terrible happened to him. So I decided to send him War on the Saints by Jessie Penn-Lewis.
I talked about everything to Brent. He knew all about my Christian beliefs, all about my beliefs about love, marriage and sex. There were no barriers between us. Total openness. But we were never crude. The man was the epitome in class in the lovemaking department.
Even though he spoke intimately to me on the phone, there was nothing offensive about it. The way he made me feel when he made love to me on the phone, he just made me feel like I was the most beautiful, gorgeous, voluptuous woman on the planet. By the time he was through talking to me, I felt like I’d been tenderly caressed every inch of my body, and that he was making passionate, erotic, sensual and yet very sensitive, deep love to me. I was absolutely thrilled by his lovemaking approach. I thought I never knew there was a man that could be so. . .One may think he was just an expert manipulator. . .
That was what was so different about him. . ..there was a depth of feeling in his expressions.
I could never find a man attractive just because I thought he was a sexual firebomb in bed. I always sensed that with Brent, that it was more than just trying to turn me on sexually, that he had a depth of feeling and a commitment.
He really didn’t win me over until I heard his music album Ol’ Yellow Eyes Is Back (songs of Tin Pan Alley). If you listen to the singing on it, you don’t sense a shallow person. My novel’s theme song “Apple Blossom Time” is another Tin Pan Alley song.
The best way to describe how I see Brent as a lover, is listen to that music album he made, especially the song “Goodnight Sweetheart” (on Vladimir Putin’s secret wife page). The way he sings that song is how he made love to me on the phone.
That’s how he made love to me on the phone. It wasn’t just a shallow, tantalizing bounce in bed type of thing with him. He was committed to me. It was the real thing. He had marriage love for me.
That’s why I couldn’t give him up. I was basking in Brent’s love, and I could not give him up, and I was so proud of who he was as a man. He had a bigness and a manliness that I cherished and adored. I wrote him every day to tell him how proud I was of who he was, of his manliness, his bigness and the greatness that I knew he had within him.
I was so frustrated that I couldn’t give him my body. The biggest frustration I had in 1991, 1992, 1993, 1994, 1995 was that I couldn’t give Brent my body. I said, well, I’ll make love to him with a great love story. So I decided to become a romance writer.
I said, I’ve got to find some way to communicate what this guy has done for me. So I started writing love stories. I started writing Silver Skies.
I typed to him (October 1992) the book War on the Saints. I continued writing him every day. It appeared everything was back to normal. He didn’t tell me what happened in September 1992. And so 1993 rolled around. I was taking care of my child at home. I loved my son. I tried not to let Brent interfere with my mothering duties, tried to be a good mother to my son.
That was another reason it was hard for me to go to Brent right away. I was thinking about the effect this would have on my son. It was a complicated situation. I wanted God to bless any union between Brent and myself.
I didn’t feel it was a sin for me to love him.
But I do remember that he went on the Joan Rivers show, and I would always tape it if he ever made a television guest appearance. I taped it. He seemed real happy. This was around November 1992. He went on the Joan Rivers show.
But Brent was on the Joan Rivers show, and I remember very distinctly he was joking with Joan Rivers at the end of the episode. . .and somehow the topic, he was very witty. . .and I thought that was great because I have a sense of humor. At the end of the show, they somehow got onto the subject of sex. I happen to know what Brent was like with sex. But Brent cracked a joke and I think Joan Rivers asked something about how he felt about sex and then Brent answered, “Oh, you mean on the episode?” It was a joke. It was funny. And she laughed. Brent somehow said that he enjoyed sex. But whenever he made any public appearances, he didn’t want to talk about his private life. I thought that showed the man had some class. I knew I was important to him. I figured that I had something to do with it. He never wanted to talk about his private life. If anybody ever asked him about his private life, in order to evade the subject, he’d usually crack some joke and go onto another topic. But he looked really happy in that episode and I figured that I had something to do with it. So I was pleased to see that it looked like everything was okay.
He never told me why he gave me three weeks of silence in September. I never got an explanation.
So things went pretty much the way it had in 1991 and 1992, except I noticed he no longer called me on holidays. I noticed there was a change in policy. I wasn’t sure how to interpret that, but he was just as attentive as he was before.
But I did remember, that every now and then when I would read Data Entries, I’d hear about the blonde, the cute blonde, and she kept coming up. So, I started wondering if maybe there was something more to her than I thought. I wrote Brent and I said, “I heard about this blonde you’re going out with, but I know you don’t have a girlfriend. You couldn’t have a girlfriend. There’s no way any woman would put up with all the attention you give me, and still be your girlfriend.” So I didn’t worry about it. I didn’t even ask him if he had a girlfriend, because I just knew that anybody who loved me like he did, couldn’t have a girlfriend.
I could tell he loved me. He was giving me far too much attention. Why, no woman would put up with all the attention he gave me, so I wasn’t worried about a girlfriend at all.
I didn’t believe in being possessive with him. I knew that he had women friends. I figured any guy who’s as warm and generous as this guy–that’s just the way he is. He knew how to have the right balance in his relationships with women. He knew how to express the affection, but he knew how to cut if off before it went too far. I had faith in him. Because he was sensitive in his handling of me, that I just knew that he understood women. He knew how to handle us.
You can’t afford to be the jealous type, if you’re in love with a Hollywood star, and I wasn’t. I never got mad at him about this. He was getting about fifty marriage proposals a month. I wasn’t worried about him at all. I sensed he had a very mature, intelligent grasp of the female sex. That he knew how to handle us. So I was a little puzzled about this blonde. . .The conclusion that I came to was that she probably worked for Paramount studios and she was a business associate.
So I just wrote it off.
I figured if she was something I needed to know about, that Brent would tell me about her. I was writing him love letters, and making love to him in my letters, because I was so frustrated. I wanted to marry him; and I felt guilty that I couldn’t give him my body, because he made it plain that he wanted that.
But he dropped off on that after a while. We just settled off into a semi-romantic, semi-platonic friendship where there were no barriers between us. We talked about anything and everything. There was a very warm and deep friendship between us. The exchanges most of the time were very positive.
After I received three weeks of emotional death, that awful three weeks of silence from him in September 1992, when the cute blonde (Loree McBride) raped Brent–God began to show me how I could begin to fulfill His will for me in regard to Brent Spiner.
In November 1992, a little girl in our church (after a long, slow and painful death) died of brain cancer. I decided to go to her funeral, it just seemed the right thing to do–to support this family in the time of their grief–boy, did I understand grief over a loss. While at the funeral, as I heard our pastor, bring the funeral’s message–I realized that God was talking to me through the message. I looked up at the sky and said a silent prayer of thanks. I can’t remember the words of the message, but recall this feeling of peace that came over me, as if God told me that what I suffered with Brent (because morally I was denied him) was a great event in heaven and that God took notice of my sacrifice, and that He honored me for choosing God over the love of my life (Brent). God seemed to tell me that what Brent and I suffered in September 1992 was truly some of the deepest suffering He’d ever seen in all human history and that’s why He allowed this little girl to die, just so He could use her death to speak to me and to comfort me about my love for Brent and to encourage me in my love for Brent. It was as if God told me that my love for Brent was part of His plan for my life and that He encouraged this love, and that He’d make it so that I could have Brent without adultery.
When I came home after the funeral, I put my CD player on the random mode and the first song that played was “Somewhere” from West Side Story, sung by Carol Lawrence.
Unlike the digitally remastered version of the original Broadway cast recording of West Side Story, when I hit the random mode on my CD, the “Somewhere” song started off with a light horn and then a few seconds later Carol Lawrence’s voice sang
. . . There’s a place for us, somewhere . . . with peace and quiet and open air with . . . time together with time to spare . . . time to look . . . time to care.
So, right after I came back from the funeral, I walked into my first floor small apartment in Lynnwood, Washington, and hit the button to turn on my CD player on the random mode. The random mode chose this song by Carol Lawrence.
It was a message straight from God.
I broke down with tears of joy, that God not only did not condemn my love for Brent, but seemed to support it. My CD player in random mode (with the help of God) had chosen this song and I knew it was not a coincidence. I claimed that song, “Somewhere” as a message from God. At this time in my life, I did not know that Loree McBride had raped Brent in September 1992 because Brent told me nothing.
Any ways, when I heard Carol Lawrence’s voice sing the strains of the “Somewhere” song, my heart soared to the clouds and peace blanketed my soul, for I now knew at that funeral that God spoke to me; that this little girl’s slow and agonizing death portrayed our suffering; that God had a plan for us; that someday Brent and I would have time together with time to spare; that love this strong, God would honor. This experience inspired me to write Silver Skies.
Now I felt I had a spiritual mission with Brent and our relationship became more spiritual. I felt less guilty that I dreamed about making love to him all the time. I typed out the entire book War on the Saints and mailed it to Brent, because I sensed something terribly wrong with him, that he needed strengthening against the devil.
July 1993 — I began work on my novel Silver Skies, another labor of love for Brent.
~ July 10, 1993 to July 26, 1993 Brent gave me two weeks of silence. ~ July 23, 1993 my son was in the hospital for asthma. I wasn’t sleeping well, worried about my son and depressed Brent gave me silence during this stressful time in my life. The Vatican found another opportunity to make Brent look like a crud to me. I wasn’t mad at Brent about this, though.
Brent called and made love to me on the phone. He said, “I want to pull down your panties. I want to kiss your nipples.” I was comforted.
The next day at midnight, I got a call; a deep-pitched, exasperated, extremely frustrated and ferocious female voice (probably Loree McBride) scorched my ears. “Hey b—-! What the f— are you doing with my boyfriend!”
I laughed it off as some nut from Paramount, but I wrote Brent about it to let him know. I wrote him every day, though he rarely spoke to me.
While my son was in the hospital, my son’s pediatrician wanted me to see the hospital’s social worker because she felt I looked too tired and insinuated I neglected my son. Actually, the Jesuits used her to sabotage my love for Brent.
So I revealed to a social worker at the Seattle Children’s Hospital my love for Brent under strict confidentiality, though I didn’t use the word “love”. In November 1993, we received something from our health insurance, that stated that some social worker had talked with me in July 1993, and filed a report. This social worker felt I had mental problems because I believed I was having an affair with a Star Trek character. It probably didn’t help that I told the social worker about my history of manic depression. The manic depression was a misdiagnosis, but I’d figure this out years later. I recall the social worker gave me the name of a local psychiatrist, if I decided I needed to see him.
The Jesuits made sure that through the mail, my family got the social worker’s comments (about my love for a Star Trek character). Though I never used the word “love” to describe my feelings for Brent, it appears, the social worker put words into my mouth, or perhaps Jesuits made some things up (typical of them) in this insurance paperwork my family received.
After, it appeared, the social worker failed to keep confidential what I disclosed to him about Brent, I became even more mum about Brent, and didn’t talk about Brent to anyone.
My family sent Brent a letter threatening him with bad press–just what the Jesuits wanted and needed, for their next move. I now mailed my letters to Brent indirectly through his female co-star.
I just let my letters pile up and mailed them to Gates McFadden (Brent’s co-star on Star Trek: The Next Generation) and knew she’d give all my mail to Brent. I mailed my letters off to Gates once a week, instead of every day, and I asked her to give all my mail to Brent. I’d recognized Gate McFadden’s (Dr. Beverly Crusher) and Levar Burton’s voice on my phone once in a while throughout 1991, 1992 and 1993–so I knew his co-stars sometimes talked to me on the phone–though they never identified themselves as themselves.
At the beginning of December 1993, my son came to me and said that someone had come to our Lynnwood apartment’s door (we lived on the first floor) and had whispered my name at the door. I didn’t hear the man whisper my name, but ran to my son’s bedroom window (to see outside) and saw a sparkling new white truck (that looked like a rented vehicle), the engine on and running, parked in the lot right in front of the window where I was. The man inside seemed quite handsome and wore a moustache. He flashed the lights inside his truck on and off several times and I got a good look at him. He looked like Brent Spiner in a wig (with black curly hair) with a moustache. At that time Brent was doing a play and I recalled what I’d read in Data Entries, and believe he may have been in his costume for the play. The truck then whirled back out of its spot like a torpedo, and zoomed out of my apartment’s parking lot. Certain that this man was Brent, I smiled to myself. I’m sure Brent’s audacity to make this appearance at my apartment, horrified the Jesuits, and may explain why I received the letter I did the next month from a Paramount attorney (January 1994), that brought on the Northridge, California earthquake.
About a week after Brent made his “appearance” at my apartment, I wrote a bookstore in Pensacola, Florida and paid for the Revelation slide presentation on video (a video slide presentation of this preacher’s paintings on the book of Revelation set to Scripture from the King James Bible and with a background of classical music). I asked this bookstore to mail this video to Brent at his Paramount fan mail address, which I supplied to them. This was a way for me to still share my life with Brent (even though I was now forbidden to write Brent under threat of divorce).
NOTE OF INTEREST: This video presentation also presents Rev. 17, which is about the Whore, that the presenter believes is the Roman Catholic Church. So this video makes it plain that the Whore is the Roman Catholic Church and has many paintings of a Pope as the anti-Christ. I asked this bookstore to mail this video (that I paid for) to Brent Spiner at his Paramount fan mail address. At this time in my life I had no idea that my enemy was the Roman Catholic Church. I just wanted to mail Brent this video (indirectly–that way if the Jesuit asked me if I still wrote Brent, I could say “no”), because I shared all my life with Brent (including all my religious beliefs) and I felt this video would teach him the Bible in an interesting manner, and I was trying to ground him in Bible teaching, because I sensed he was in trouble.
Because I believed that Brent was a part of God’s plan for my life, I maintained a close relationship with God, despite my passion for Brent. Along with Brent’s ‘Ol Yellow Eyes Is Back, I played another favorite tape of mine in the car all the time. This tape was the London’s National Philharmonic Orchestra and the Amen Choir’s Hymns Triumphant, Volume II, arranged and conducted by Lee Holdridge, and produced by B. R. Hearn. My favorite hymns have always been music a bit on the classical side. I listened to this tape throughout December 1993 and January 1994 in my car as I drove. This music I listened to every day in my car when God sent that earthquake to Northridge, California in January 1994.
In January 1994, our family received a Fed Ex letter from a Jesuit woman attorney at Paramount studios. This letter from Paramount studios claimed to be from Brent (though he didn’t sign it and I don’t believe he had anything to do with it), written by a woman Paramount studios attorney, that threatened legal action against us for harassment if either of us contacted Paramount studios anymore in any manner. I’m sure my husband’s nasty letter to Brent in November 1993 didn’t help. This Paramount letter claimed that Brent had never contacted me ever in any way, except for an autographed photo and that Brent did not desire to hear from me. I recall that the inaccuracies of this Fed Ex letter outraged me, and fumed to myself that what I got from Brent was a letter, not an autographed photo.
Disgusted by this letter, and disappointed in Brent that I received it, and angry at Paramount for it (I did notice that Brent did not sign the letter), I threw the letter in my Lynnwood apartment’s garbage dumpster. I did not sleep well that night.
The next day, from around noon to 3 p.m., I kneeled over our futon in the living room, on the soft pink carpet of our small Lynnwood apartment, and prayed and cried, while I begged God to forgive me for shaming His name by my relationship with Brent. God seemed to tell me never to write or contact Paramount studios again, and I never did.
Twelve hours later (the next day during the wee morning hours), Northridge, California was hit with a devastating earthquake. Around dinnertime on that same day, I was outside and my son came running to me. “Mommy, did you hear about the big earthquake that just hit Los Angeles?”
I knew God had sent that earthquake to answer my three hour prayer from the day before.
It boggled my mind that, I, such a lying, adulterous sinner could get answers in prayer like this from God. This earthquake was further proof to me, that God supported my love for Brent Spiner. In the middle of the earthquake, Brent called–but didn’t talk to me, and I discerned that he had wiretapped my phone (because I heard these strange beepy noises and other noises on my phone that I’d never heard before, and I figured it out).
I would like to state that after these series of earthquakes sent by God in the 1994 and again in 2000 against the Roman Catholic Church, that the Jesuits used their own criminal satellite scientists to create earthquakes, after about 2000 (such as the Bam, Iran earthquake and many of the earthquakes that have hit Japan recently), possibly to create the impression that the 1994 earthquake that hit Hollywood, and the 2001 Ash Wednesday quake that hit Seattle, were not signs of judgment against the Roman Catholic Church, but just events of nature, coincidental in their timing.
This Northridge 1994 earthquake that hit Hollywood had to be from God, because the Jesuits would not create an earthquake that would hit so soon after I received the Fed Ex letter from their Jesuit lawyer, that is. . .from the woman attorney who worked for Paramount studios.
Also, I believe the Jesuits would not orchestrate an earthquake in which the only Hollywood people who died from this quake worked for Paramount studios (which is what I read in the paper). Of course, one must not forget that this 1994 earthquake hit Hollywood about one day after I received the Fed Ex letter written by the Jesuit Hollywood attorney. This Hollywood earthquake hit Paramount studios about one month after I arranged for those at this bookstore (where I mailed the money for this presentation to the bookstore) and instructed them to mail this two volume videocassette presentation to Brent (via Paramount studios).
I would have mailed it directly to Brent, but was forbidden at this time to write letters to Brent Spiner, because of the “slip” by the social worker’s notes into our health insurance paperwork, in which this social worker’s breached his promise to keep secret my confidences about Brent.
I’d mailed to Brent (via this bookstore) a two-volume videocassette Revelation Bible music and slide presentation that portrays what will happen to planet earth in the last days (according to Bible prophecy). In this slide presentation the beast or 666 (anti-Christ) is presented as a Roman Catholic pope.
Because I’ve read the King James Bible from Genesis to Revelation over a hundred times, and because I shared all my life with Brent, including all my religious beliefs, I sent him these video cassettes. Brent never found this threatening, because I didn’t preach at him, but only shared with him how God worked in my life. I wanted him to share in my knowledge about the Bible and in all God had shown me over the years.
By 1994, Brent and I had truly become one in every way: intellectual, spiritual, emotional, and physical. We loved each other through words and artistry.
I would like to state that I feel this Pope or anti-Christ will be a Jesuit Pope and so in my novel Silver Skies, I portray the beast as a Jesuit Pope.
Perhaps this video cassette that exposed a Roman Catholic Pope as the anti-Christ, and that I mailed to Brent (through his Paramount fan mail address in December 1993), so angered the Jesuits, that this was the real reason I received the letter from the woman attorney at Paramount (who claimed my communications harassed Brent Spiner and that I was forbidden to contact him any more or else I and my husband would face legal consequences)!
Of course, we know how God felt about this letter that I received from Paramount studios, because that’s why God sent the 1994 Northridge, California earthquake!
Unfortunately, the nasty letter from my family that Paramount received in November 1993 made it easier for the Jesuits to use their agent, the Paramount woman attorney, to mail me the Fed Ex letter that I received in January 1994 that forbade me to contact Brent anymore or to contact Paramount studios in any manner. This letter also claimed that Brent Spiner had never contacted me in any manner (A LIE), and the Paramount woman attorney signed and wrote it, not Brent.
Why didn’t the Jesuits forge Brent’s signature to the letter? Answer: The shrewd mind-reading Jesuits did not want to anger Brent to the point that he might do something daring to avenge himself against this letter.