Ravishing: A Memoir

Acknowledgements

Prologue

•  •  •

Every attractive girl has to find a way to cope with the ruckus her looks cause. I’d learned to effectively tune out everything around me. Blinkering myself like a racehorse enabled me to proceed without having to be aware of onlookers. As an adult, I’d been able to stave off many men’s advances with my formidable size. No one had even dared pinch me in Rome. Walking along the piazzas, I overheard denizens whisper, L’Amazzone, as they moved aside to give me a wide berth.

•  •  •

Why don’t we find a quiet place, where we can be alone? said the small, sharp featured man.

I recognized him at once. The maestro was revered worldwide as a cinematic genius.

He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me into another room. He shut the door, insisted I sit beside him on a powder blue, silk divan and offered me a flute of cold sparkling wine. The liquid seemed to evaporate on my tongue.

I knew the maestro’s pregnant wife had been murdered a few years earlier. I recalled her being cast in Valley of the Dolls instead of me and that a photographer had once told me I resembled her. I thought, there but for the grace of God go I.

CHAPTER ONE

Rosebud

•  •  •

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.

—Robert Herrick

The second bravest thing I ever did was to dive into the black cave of my subconscious.

The bravest was being willing to tell the tale about what I found there.

I didn’t have any idea I was about to embark on such a quest, when I sought help for TMJ (temporomandibular joint disorder) that affects the chewing muscles connecting the lower jaw to the skull. I was at the end of my tether, having endured the associated pain for years. By the time a friend recommended a local hypnotherapist, I was willing to do anything to alleviate it. I called her for an appointment.

On the day of my session, I drove under a vaulted arch of redwood branches, along the narrow road that led to a shingled cottage, which housed her practice. I was nervous walking up the stairs to the hypnotherapist’s office. The way hypnosis is depicted in movies made me wary. I wondered, would she make me do something humiliating?

When she welcomed me at the door, I noted her classy ensemble of tan slacks and camel hair jacket. Behind bifocals, her eyes were the clear blue of a Dutchman’s shirt.

She smiled with her whole face. While admiring the chic style of her silver hair I decided, this is someone who’s been doing this a long time.

The therapist gestured for me to sit down on a plump, ultra-suede couch, with a paisley cushion tucked in each corner. Despite her reassuring, maternal demeanor and the cool room temperature, rivulets of perspiration ran down my arms.

She sat in a chair opposite me, leaned in closer and smiled, looking directly at me. Her kind eyes had lines webbing from the corners, like a gull’s footprints on wet sand.

Alena, how can I help you today?

I was thinking, my condition is so bad, I’m willing to try anything, even hypnosis, but I said, I’ve tried every conventional way to solve my TMJ. Nothing’s worked.

How long have you been dealing with this?

For as long as I can remember. But the pain has gotten progressively worse.

When you no longer have this issue, what will your life be like?

I won’t hear my jaw crack when I eat. It’s so loud sometimes, I’m sure other people can hear it. And my teeth won’t be ground down any further. Though I also considered adding something about my dentist’s warnings ‘this can escalate and cause debilitating migraines and jaw inflexibility,’ I didn’t.

Have you ever had hypnosis before?

No. I took a deep breath, and after a moment of hesitation, I decided to tell her the truth, I’m concerned you’ll make me reveal something that’s embarrassing, like in a Las Vegas stage show.

Placing her hand on my forearm, she whispered, Alena, trust me. You will be in complete control of the session. There aren’t any negative side effects, and you won’t do anything that’s outside your value system. Okay? Are you warm enough? She reached behind her chair, lifted a chenille throw off the back of it and said, I’ve a blanket right here to put over you, if you’d like.

I didn’t tell her I was burning up as she continued speaking softly, Now take a few slow, deep breaths… close your eyes, and visualize golden light pouring over and through your entire body.

I had the oddest sensation—although my body was relaxed and felt heavy, my mind was keenly aware.

"Now Alena, you’ve been having pain in your jaw, so when I count down from three to one, your subconscious mind will take you back to the time that’s the source of this difficulty and create a condensed movie of your life’s events. The primary scene will be the occasion when this pain started; and the movie will include other incidents, which reinforced the issue, as well as negative beliefs you adopted because of what happened.

A short reel began to play behind my eyes.

It’s nighttime. I’m about nine. I’m in my bedroom, with walls the color of vanilla ice cream, alone except for a new babysitter. I’m wearing my favorite flannel PJs with a pink, rosebud pattern. The sitter is even taller than my dad. I notice one of his eyes is smaller than the other. There’s a glimpse of a tattoo showing above the collar of his black, leather jacket.

Gesturing toward the other bedroom where Craig’s asleep in his crib, the sitter says, Wouldn’t you like to have another baby around, like your little brother?

Oh sure, I would love that. Craig is so cute.

He flings my favorite stuffed animal, Donk, an Army mule that Daddy gave me, onto the hard wood floor. The sitter pats the blanket on my bed and says, Come here and sit down beside me.

The way he tossed Donk away frightened me, so I do as he says.

He moves closer so his leg is next to mine, That’s a good girl. You’re pretty big for your age, aren’t you?

Yeah, I’m younger than most of the kids at school, but nobody is taller than me.

He reaches into his coat, pulls out a knife and presses the blade against my neck.

The metal is icy cold, and I flinch.

If you don’t do what I say, I’ll kill you, he hisses.

I believe him. No one has ever talked to me like this. He puts down the knife to undress, never taking his eyes off of me, but I can’t move. I’m frozen. The thick, dark hair that covers his naked body reminds me of a picture of a gorilla I saw in my folks’ National Geographic Magazine.

He pulls off my pajama pants and pins me down on the bed. I’m frightened this simple bed Daddy made will break. He smells awful, like my dog Beau, when he got skunked that time. I can barely breathe.

I turn my head to see Donk on the floor below, with his legs splayed under him in every direction, like they’re broken. His head is twisted to the side, and he’s looking up at me with one brown glass eye. I love this grey, felt mule. He’s been my best friend since we moved to this new place. When I was little, he helped me stop sucking my thumb. I held him instead. But now he’s too far away to help me.

The sitter presses himself into an untouched part of me. I’m ripping inside—a place I can’t reach. It hurts more than anything—more than being thrown off a horse, or chipping my front teeth on the concrete.

I don’t make a sound though, because I’m terrified of what he might do next.

He groans and pulls away. After getting up and dressing, he sneers, If you tell anyone about this, you’ll die. If you weren’t such an evil, sinful girl, I wouldn’t have wanted to do this to you. If you tell your father, he’ll kill you.

I vow silently to never let this secret out and pray, God, forgive me, for whatever sin I committed, that you’d punish me like this. I bite down so hard my jaw hurts.

•  •  •

Other life fragments kaleidoscope inside.

In this clip I’m eleven, in our living room, sitting on the lap of a guy from Dad’s office. When he’d asked me to sit there, it seemed like a funny thing, but I’d been taught to obey my elders, so I did.

Dad walks in the room. His face is red. I feel scared and confused. Why is he looking at me like that, I wonder?

Get off him! yells Dad.

I do what he says. I don’t have any idea what I’ve done to make Dad so angry. But the same feeling comes over me: I’m bad. A good girl wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have such things happen to her. It must be me.

•  •  •

There’s a slide of me. I’m in my twenties this time. An Englishman steps into a Spanish hotel elevator with me. We’re alone, except for the cloying scent of a former guest’s cheap perfume. Without a word, he grabs both my breasts, with only a layer of chambray shirt between my skin and his large hands.

What did I do to deserve this?

•  •  •

Somewhere I feel my arms are too heavy to lift under the chenille blanket. At the same time, there’s an outtake of a balding man sitting next to me, while dining at an exclusive restaurant in LA. He reaches under my navy blue, pleated skirt, fondles my left knee and slides his hand up my thigh. I maneuver my leg so he can’t reach any higher, yet I feel a twinge of guilt again.

•  •  •

Another freeze frame is of an East Indian yoga instructor. When I’m alone in the dressing room, after a class, he grasps me around the waist, and kisses me on the mouth. I push him away, but there’s that same sensation of feeling responsible.

Shame, stirred together with guilt and self-loathing, whirl through me.

I nodded, to let the hypnotist know that my movie’s complete.

Now your subconscious mind will start at the last scene in the movie, then move backwards through every scene, faster than a DVD player at 100 times reverse, and pull the plug out of your negative feelings. When the unpleasant feelings are gone and you remember events in a more neutral way, nod your head.

Time seemed elastic. After an interval of uncertain length, when I felt a great deal calmer and more comfortable, I nodded.

Now your subconscious mind will create a movie of your life which contains pleasant and resourceful events, especially before any of this happened. In addition, it will reveal what you learned from those experiences. Nod when that’s complete.

Internal snippets of happy times when I felt good about myself floated to the surface.

I recall in crisp detail living on a military base when I was eight. I’m by myself in an old, abandoned church, standing behind an oak pulpit, giving a rousing sermon to an invisible rapt congregation.

There’s a moment when I run to the row of pine trees behind our house and sing Tammy, from my favorite movie. I hope the song will reach my 3rd grade boyfriend, Johnny, who I’d left, when my dad got transferred to this new base. I’d agreed to marry Johnny, because he promised to buy me all the dogs in the world.

And I remember a day when I’m asked to sing, We are Climbing Jacob’s Ladder, in front of the whole Lompoc Elementary school.

A night when my folks have gone out, I try on Mom’s formal gowns I knew she’d worn dancing with Dad at West Point. My favorite is a flesh-colored, floor-length dress, with a black lace overlay. Though the hem gathers like a deflated parachute around my bare feet on the floor, to me I look like a princess.

With these sweet memories of a time before I was nine fresh in my mind, I nodded again.

Good. Before we finish, is there anything you want to ask?

No, I don’t think so.

She counted, One… two… three… four… and on the next number I count, Alena, when you open your eyes, you’ll be restored to your adult reasoning mind and see yourself in a whole new way… five. Then snapping her fingers, she asked, How was that experience?

As I took inventory of my body and particularly the lower half of my face I said, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relaxed in my life. My whole face, especially my jaw, feels more soft and loose than I can remember.

Nodding with approval she asked, Are there any insights you have from the session?

Understandings flooded inside. I never sang again after I was raped. It’s small wonder my jaw got so tight. It was as if it was wired shut. I didn’t dare tell my mother about it, because I thought I might die.

One time, my liquored-up dad wove crazily around a mountain road’s hairpin curves, while Mom yelled, ‘help’ over and over again out the passenger window. He threw a punch intending to shut her up, but as I was on the front seat pressed between them, he bloodied me instead.

I believed I’d done something unforgivable and I thought Dad might punish me for this mysterious sin. After that night, I became fervently religious, praying that God would forgive me for a sin I couldn’t define."

I knew these weren’t buried memories, as I’d analyzed the impact of them with a talk therapist before, without much success. Yet the hypnotically-induced analysis proved more effective, because it convinced me that I bore zero responsibility for the abuse by the babysitter, and I could forgive myself one hundred percent.

Out loud I said, I was afraid Mom would tell my dad, and he’d kill me.

Looking into the therapist’s eyes I said, "I’d never blamed my parents for hiring that man. Ours was one of only five families living on base. The sitter was our next-door neighbors’ 18-year-old son, who looked after my brother and myself on multiple occasions, while my folks went out. For the first time, I hold my parents entirely accountable for their