OVERWHELMING CIRCUMSTANTIAL evidence from Star Trek: The Next Generation that Brent Spiner & Gail Chord Schuler had/have a relationship (1990 – 2018).

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Here is a short story I wrote in 2000, which I submitted to the Writer’s Digest Writing Competition, and which, of course, did not place, because the Jesuits blocked that. I titled it Emerald Towers. It took me five months to write it.

I will never give up on Brent. God gave me a song, which played on the random mode on my CD player right after I came back from the funeral of a little girl who died from cancer. God told me that the suffering Brent and I endured for our love was as great as the pain of that little girl who died from brain cancer. He promised me in 1992, that there is a place for us (me and Brent), a time for us (me and Brent). Then Jesus Christ personally showed up in 2012 to tell me that indeed, it was He, who gave me that promise in 1992, and that he also would officiate my wedding to Brent Spiner in the millennium. Here is the song and the exact rendition of it that I heard:


I started writing Brent at Paramount Studios in 1989. I wrote him about once a month, until the time he called me in 1991. After I knew Brent called me and made love to me on the phone, I wrote him every day from ~ June 26, 1991 to ~ Nov./Dec. 1993 (when my husband threatened to divorce me if I wrote Brent). When Loree McBride and the Jesuits at Paramount sent me a letter forbidding me to write Paramount, Brent got a wiretap on my phone and I talked to him on the phone almost every day, by dialing my own number, getting a blank, and talking to Brent via the blank on my phone. We had a phone communication from Jan. 1994 to ~ May 2001. I did most of the talking and Brent was a great listener. Most of these letters to Brent have been thrown out. All letters I wrote him after I recognized his voice to me on the phone (June 1991 to December 1993), I did not keep copies of, due to a very jealous husband who threatened to divorce me if I wrote Brent. I composed them on the computer and printed them, but did not save them to files, since my husband would be able to retrieve the files, even if I deleted them.

If you click on the images below, they will open up to another page.


I received this at my Miami, Florida address on Sept. 11, 1989. After watching the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Pen Pals” in August 1989 on CBS in Miami, Florida (it was a rerun of a previously aired episode) I had this desire to write the actor Brent Spiner, because I saw in his performance a greatness of heart and soul that I admired. I admired the courage and integrity Data showed as a man who was willing to go against the social justice warriors, to do what was the right thing to do, to honor his conscience above respectability. I watched it with rabbit ears. We did not have cable in Miami. The “Pen Pals” recording below I did after we moved to Seattle in May 1991, and I caught it during Star Trek: The Next Generation reruns and videotaped it. I talked my husband into getting us cable when we lived in Seattle, cuz that seemed the only way to get most television stations in Seattle and secretly I wanted cable cuz Star Trek: The Next Generation aired from Tacoma and we did not get good reception of KCPQ where I lived in Seattle (Lynnwood). So cuz I had cable I could set up my timer to record every Star Trek: The Next Generation episode. Even though I didn’t start watching Star Trek: The Next Generation until its second season (1989-90), I eventually saw every Star Trek: The Next Generation episode through reruns on KCPQ in Seattle. My husband was often out to sea and though he banned Star Trek in our house as a demonic New Age show, I watched it in secret when he wasn’t around.

I would tape the episodes and decide if I wanted to keep it to add to my collection. I wasn’t too impressed with most episodes after the third season, so most of what I have is from the second, third and fourth seasons. I confess that I am not a Star Trek fan and the ONLY Star Trek I have liked is Star Trek: The Next Generation, which I feel had the best writing of any Star Trek series. I haven’t seen one episode of any Star Trek series after Star Trek: The Next Generation. I sensed that Jesuits infiltrated Star Trek after Brent fell in love with me and they ruined Star Trek after that.

The two posts below are from screenshots of Jesuit websites.


I always saw Brent as Brent Spiner and not as Data when I wrote him letters and with my genius emotional I.Q. I pegged him right from the start. That may explain why he fell in love with me after reading my letters. Because he worked for Star Trek, I offered free critiques of all their episodes, which I told Brent he could pass onto the Star Trek writers. I did not like Brannon Braga’s writings. I could tell he wrote some episodes to poke fun at me and they were quite derogatory about me. I also thought he was a horrible writer and only made it cuz he had Jesuit connections. I especially hated “Phantasms” which featured Brent prominently, but had a character that I could tell was patterned after me in Ensign Tyler who had a crush on LaForge and was portrayed like a Star Trek fan who had an obsessive crush on LaForge. Cuz I became a writer to honor Brent and I felt I was a better writer than Brannon Braga, especially after seeing this sorry episode by Brannon. Brannon knew that any episode that featured a lot of Brent, I’d watch, and he made sure to insult me in this one. Brannon had phone rings a lot in this episode (inferring how I always picked up the phone when Brent called me). When this episode aired, Brent had wiretapped my phone (Jan. 1994) and Brannon was trying to make our phone relationship seem unhealthy. Brent often called me (at least once a week) and had his co-stars fake as someone else, but I recognized their voices. Though Brent called me, he never spoke to me anymore after 1993. He often used his friends to pose as someone else and I got a lot of “wrong numbers”. Brent and I had to be careful, cuz my husband was very jealous. When I saw “Phantasms” I realized that Brent and I had enemies at Paramount and that Brannon Braga was one of them. I always saw my relationship with Brent as awesome and Brannon tried to make it appear sick. I despised Brannon Braga after I saw this episode. Not so much for his insults on me, but for just being a sorry human being. Cuz I saw him as a shallow man who could never understand that my love for Brent and his for me belonged to the heavens. I felt our love was so far above this cruddy Brannon Braga, that he treated it like dirt, cuz he was evil like Satan, and like how Satan hated the awesome Jesus, Brannon was a dirt bag. The episode convinced me that Brannon Braga was deep into the occult and an evil man and opposed me cuz I was a born again Christian. I felt like the love between Brent and I was so awesome that Brent and I should be examples for the world to follow. His portrayal of my Brent made Brent seem like a vulgar person. Ironically, Brannon’s portrayal of Data reminds me of the vulgar Brent Spiner clone (who was probably secretly in existence at this time). Our love was so awesome, that the ugly, greedy people of the world, who could never understand love, found it a threat, cuz we would not lower ourselves to their level to accommodate evil people. I told Brent that I thought Brannon Braga was a sorry writer and only made it cuz he had connections and that he seemed jealous of me as a writer and a very petty person. I don’t think Brent liked “Phantasms” either. He knew that Brannon wrote it to insult our relationship. The episode had a lot of images that seemed to insult my relationship with Brent at the time. At this point in my relationship with Brent, we communicated solely through the telephone. I feature “Phantasms” on this page as CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE that Brent and I had a relationship, cuz it obviously interested Brannon Braga enough to write an episode to insult our relationship. The parallels between images and characters in “Phantasms” and my relationship with Brent at the time are too many to just be mere coincidence.

UPDATE: I have noticed there is a scene where Brannon Braga put Spot into the scene and Data had to give Spot to Worf cuz he was scared he might injure Spot when he loses control of his mind. Eerily similar to what really happened to Brent, Spot and Loree McBride in Sept. 1992.

I know that Brent worked in Threshold in 2005/2006. But that was many years later and perhaps at that time Brannon (Threshold producer) lost interest in me, cuz from Sept. 26, 2001 to Feb. 2006 I was obsessed with Vladimir Putin. It’s interesting that Threshold got cancelled in the same month when I reinstated Brent as my primary brain to brain lover in Feb. 2006. LOTS OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE HERE.

Right before my divorce in 2001, I mailed to my mother the videocassettes of my favorite Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes that I had taped off of KCPQ Tacoma WA, cuz I feared my husband would destroy them to spite me during the divorce proceedings.


I had a pen friendship with Melody Rondeau, who gave me lots of behind-the-scenes information about Brent Spiner at the time. I subscribed to her newsletter called “Data Entries” at the time. Melody and I developed a bond because we were both Christians.


At the same time, I developed a bit of a pen friendship with Richard Arnold, who worked at the same studio where Brent worked. I recalled thinking how humble and down to earth this man seemed and I was tickled that he was willing to write me letters. I have lost what I wrote to him. I think my husband was too jealous, so I did not keep it.


Melody was a very nice lady, and she actually published my first piece of writing, the teleplay “Lal” I wrote for Brent in 1993 & 1994.melody1-022590.jpg


The pamphlet Melody was referring to, was a gospel tract I left with her. She let me know that she is a Christian. I was actually feeling kind of guilty about writing Hollywood people, due to my very strict Baptist church that taught that Satan ruled over Hollywood as the Hollywood cesspool of evil. So I justified my friendships with these heathens by seeing my letters to them as a sort of ministry for Jesus to reach them for Jesus. I figured if I could lead Hollywood people to Jesus, I would give Jesus some valuable disciples with influence. I can assure you that nothing I wrote to Brent was of a romantic nature (up until the time he called me and made love to me on the phone in May 1991) for this reason. But I felt like I needed to branch out and broaden my views, which were my REAL MOTIVES for writing Hollywood. This seemed like a good way to do it. I was stretching my wings and trying to find where I belonged. Brent’s fame did not phase me. I did not care about that at all. It was his artistry and creativity and his courage to be true to his vision that intrigued me. I admired him for taking risks and being willing to follow his heart to be an actor and I believe I wrote him this. I respected him for being unconventional. To me, this indicated he was a pioneer, a visionary, and courageous. I was right about this, by the way! Even as a rigid Christian, I still had genius emotional I.Q. I am not saying that all Christians were rigid, but that at this time I was a rigid Christian, influenced by the rigidity of the church group I hung out with. So while I did comment about Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes and what I thought about them to Brent and Richard, I would throw in my own spiritual perspectives about it all and indulged in some small talk about life and philosophy, trying to find a way to witness to these guys about Jesus.


I actually got kind of attached to Richard. He was so personable in his letters to me. I felt like these Star Trek folks helped me to find another part of me that I was denying to myself. At this time, I sent him a photo of me with my husband and son and I believe at this time, I sent a photo to Brent of me with my husband and child, too. I wore a red church dress with my husband and son next to me, and it was taken in our Miami front yard.


I let Richard know that I had not heard back from Brent in July 1990. I started writing him about Sept. 1989. I think Brent did send me a autographed photo, but Jesuits or my husband intercepted it. I had send Richard a gospel tract and this was his response.


Actually, I agreed with a lot of what Richard sent and when I read his open and transparent response to me, I could relate to a lot of what he was saying. Like I said before, I had to convince myself that I was only writing him to mentor him into Christianity, but I was actually on my own spiritual exploration, feeling a bit constricted in the very strict Baptist church I attended. I loved Jesus but felt my church didn’t have him quite right and I was right about this, too! I was going to a very strict church, that believed in the King James Bible only, though they were unconventional in some other areas, which I admired about them. I have always admired originality. But I did not respect their rigidity.


This is the photo he sent me. Even though he told me Brent had written me a letter, I wasn’t sure it was true. But I wasn’t mad at Brent or anything. I figured with him being a big star, he was just too deluged and busy to write me, which Richard mentioned in his letter.

In early September 1990, I went to my mailbox and noticed a white business type envelope, with a hastily slapped postage stamp in the upper right corner, no return address and an Atlanta postmark. My heart jumped, because I thought it might be from Brent. It was mailed to my previous Miami address and forwarded to me at my new Miami address. Here is what the letter said. It was on regular white typing paper, with Brent’s signature. This really impressed me. It was like Brent knew that I didn’t really care about getting an autographed photo, that a letter would mean much more to me. Perhaps Brent feared if he sent an autographed photo that it would be intercepted, like what he had mailed me earlier. I would also like to say that at this time, I was getting phone calls, about once a month from someone who called me (I had given Brent my phone number in my letters to him) and who was silent on the other end when I picked up the phone and said, “Hello?” I recall picking up the phone thinking it might be Brent, then laughing to myself and saying, “No way!” So I didn’t make too much of the calls. I actually believe they were from Brent, now.

August 1990

Dear Ms. Schuler (Gail Chord Schuler),

I apologize for the lateness of this reply, but due to my schedule on Star Trek: The Next Generation and off, I’m behind on my mail.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.  They were read with appreciation.

Thank you for your comments about my portrayal of Data.  They were read with interest.

I hope you continue to watch and enjoy the show.


Brent Spiner (he signed his first and last name)


I threw out the 1990 letter Brent wrote me in 2000 when I divorced my husband, so that my husband would not drag Brent into the divorce, but being the sick Jesuit husband that he was, it did not work. Makes me wish I kept the letter now.


I stayed up all night to make this album of hymns for him. I was so honored that he wrote me a personal letter. I never expected him to fall in love with me as a result of this.


I wrote down the names of some of the songs I sang on that tape. It took up about a half hour I believe.


As you can see, I was not after Brent for romance. At this time, I was really stressed out about possibly losing my son to the state and I let Brent know about it. Notice the date of the letter. It was written in Dec. 1990. Melody let me know that Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes usually aired about 2 months after they were filmed.


Brent was reading my mail at this time and picked up on the fact that I almost got an ulcer dealing with the state about my son. I actually believe that at this time the Jesuit Order may have been trying to take my son from me cuz with their mind reads, they determined that Brent Spiner was falling in love with me. You see, they knew that he was behind the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “The Drumhead” which went into production at the same time I was writing Brent letters about my persecution from the state over a mistake. “The Drumhead” was all about an innocent young man who was being tried for a serious crime over a “mistake”. Also, when “The Drumhead” aired indicates it was in production about a month after I wrote this Jan. 1991 letter to Brent, cuz Star Trek episodes aired two months after production, and it aired on April 29, 1991. I recall that I was SO PROUD of Star Trek in 1991 for doing this! That would give the Star Trek writer Jeri Taylor about a month to write a script before production started. So production was probably in February. The script was excellent, by the way. I was SO impressed with that episode.

How Loree McBride has ruined Star Trek since she has become the Jesuit leader (2017 to now).


He was part of my exploration to find myself, but as you can see, he wasn’t interested in participating in that. Looking back on this, I laugh. Ironically, the one person who I was sure was not interested in helping me find myself, Brent Spiner, was making a music album for me at this time!


I believe I sent Richard a tape of hymns. I can’t remember if I sang in them or not. Richard was wrong about Brent, though.


I convinced myself that I was only interested in having a spiritual influence on Brent and Richard and not using them as part of my own spiritual journey. This was how I justified to myself my interest in writing them. Though, honestly and truly, I was NOT looking for romance. Being a married woman at the time, that would have been a real NO NO.

Three days after I wrote this letter to Melody, “The Drumhead” aired on Star Trek: The Next Generation, and I knew Brent was behind it because of what I wrote to him in my letters. I was SO HONORED. I wrote him to let him know, but do not have those letters. I may have been afraid to keep them cuz I always tried to protect Brent from my jealous husband. THE TIMING OF THE RELEASE OF “THE DRUMHEAD” DEFINITELY INDICATES IT WAS A RESPONSE TO MY LETTERS TO BRENT SPINER AT THIS TIME. ALSO, THE TIMING OF BRENT’S FIRST MUSIC ALBUM INDICATES HE MADE “OL’ YELLOW EYES IS BACK” as a response to the music cassette I mailed Brent in Sept. 1990.


Right after I moved to Seattle from Miami, I received phone calls from a man with a tenor voice (Brent Spiner) who made love to me on the phone. I suspected the caller was from Paramount Studios and went on a quest to figure out who my mystery caller was.

I told NO ONE about the calls, though. It was my secret quest. I did not want my husband to know, cuz I feared he would blame my Hollywood correspondence and I did not want to lose my Hollywood friends. As part of my quest, I went to the library and checked out books about graphology (handwriting analysis) to try and figure out if it could be Brent or Richard, though I had no idea who it was at this time. I had Brent’s real signature in the letter he mailed me.


I sent Richard a form letter asking him if he understood that I only wanted to be his friend, trying to figure out who was calling me on the phone. That ended our correspondence. I realized after getting his letter that he was not my mystery caller and I became quite upset that I lost my pen friend. It was like my journey to find my new spiritual self had been cut off and I was stuck in my rigid religious world. Brent called me right after I got Richard’s letter. I think I wrote him and let him know that Richard cut me off and he said, “How are you?”

“Who’s THIS?” I answered.

And then he hung up.


I still had not received Brent’s music album “Ol’ Yellow Eye Is Back” from Melody yet. I was about to get a BIG SURPRISE.


I received the album around June 26 or 27th, 1991. When I listened to the music, I figured out who my mystery caller was. I wrote Brent and told him that I figured out he was the one who made love to me on the phone. My phone then rang off the hook and Brent would blow his breath onto the phone sometimes like a caress when I picked up the phone. I’d get so turned on, I’d masturbate all day. I was feeling really guilty about this, though. I was furious at God that I had to turn Brent down cuz I didn’t want for our awesome love to be adultery. And yet, one part of me felt like I was being liberated. Brent was transforming me and I was finding out who I really was.


I LOVED the cover photo Brent used for his album. He seemed to be looking right at me. I was convinced that he truly loved me and so mad at God that I couldn’t have him. I realized when I listened to his music, that if I was free, Brent loved me enough to marry me.


I sent Melody a tape of my singing as thanks for sending me Brent’s album. I didn’t tell her that I figured out he was my mystery caller. I really loved Brent and wanted to protect him from my jealous husband, so I told NO ONE ABOUT HIM AT THIS TIME. I mean I told no one that he had made love to me on my phone.

I wanted to see my Brent find Jesus, so I opened up a bit about him to Dr. Peter Ruckman, who I greatly respected at this time. Though I said nothing about Brent’s phone calls to me and just played that he was a Hollywood actor I wanted to win to Jesus. At this time, I noticed that the networks were covering the child abuse industry and exposing how the state abused their power and tried to control the family. I knew Brent was behind this and worshiped him for this.


These letters reveal how much I loved Brent. I saw him, not as the big star, but the intelligent, sensitive man who loved me from the depths of his heart and who I could not have in marriage or I’d be in sin. I recall one of our conversations.
“It must be so hard for you to call me and talk to me. I mean it takes a lot of guts.”

“It’s not easy,” Brent said. “Yes, it does take guts. I adore you. You are so gorgeous.”

And then he’d hang up. I loved him so much and I still do. The love has lasted from 1990 to now. When I found out about Loree McBride I was confused, until God told me in 1999 that she was a Vatican agent used to try and destroy the love between Brent and me.

I led Brent Spiner to Jesus in Sept. 2011. He has met with Jesus Christ almost every day from 2012 to now. He is now studying for the ministry at Dallas Theological Seminary. I am so proud of my awesome husband Brent Spiner! When it is God’s time, I will be with him, living with him as his wife.

The Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Ship in a Bottle” (below) hinted at my relationship with Brent. The Moriarty character was patterned after Brent and his love interest who had dark hair like I did at the time was patterned after me. The Moriarty character was left handed like Brent. His love interest was described as brilliant and beautiful. These Star Trek writers saw my amazing teleplay “Lal” which was an amazing accomplishment for a one month old writer. I was very proud of it, especially since I was such a young writer at the time and felt, and still do, that it would have made a great episode. Because I felt this way and felt their rejection of it showed prejudice against me, they insulted me a bit at the end of this episode by saying I was proud. If you’ll notice the actress who portrayed Regina looks uncannily similar to me. I sent Brent a lot of videos of me, so he and his Star Trek friends knew what I looked like. Rene Echevarria wrote this episode and he ended it that they had a new born star to study, very much like how I ended my teleplay “Lal”. “Lal” was a sequel to Rene Echevarria’s “The Offspring” and Melinda Snodgrass’s “The Measure of a Man”.

I submitted my rejected teleplay “Lal” in July 1992 to Paramount Studios. It was rejected around the end of July 1992. It appears that Brent was sorely disappointed that my teleplay was not accepted. I think he was personally delivering the teleplay to the writers as I did rewrites and submitted them to Brent. I wanted Brent to have the very best teleplay to act in. I gave him a lot to do. Perhaps Star Trek had Rene Echevarria write “Ship in a Bottle” to try to make it up to Brent that Paramount Studios allowed Loree McBride to drug rape Brent in Sept. 1992. My teleplay “Lal” begins and ends with a star about to go nova, and that’s how Rene Echevarria ended this teleplay. It appears he wrote it right after my teleplay was rejected. It aired Jan. 23, 1993, which means it was in production about Nov. 23, 1993 and was probably written Aug. to Nov. 1992. Very shortly after this, Loree McBride would come back into Brent’s life as Loree clone #2. When I saw it, I thought it was a good episode, but I wasn’t sure what to make of it, in terms of its depiction of Brent and me. I laughed to myself, that they apparently had read my teleplay and thought me an arrogant upstart of a writer. In fact, the disturbed and tired look on Brent’s face during “Ship in a Bottle” seems to indicate Loree clone #2 may have just popped back into Brent’s life at the time “Ship in a Bottle” was in production. With this episode obviously made to honor Brent and Gail’s love, is it any wonder the Jesuits chose this episode to bring back Loree?

See the amazing parallels between me and the woman Countess Regina in the episode. I always conducted myself with class around Brent, so I’m not surprised that they portrayed me as a Countess. Loree McBride is the complete opposite of me in that respect. I have never been jealous of Loree. I have always considered her cheap and trashy and beneath me. I knew Brent never loved her. I just thought he was a coward and had her in some sort of weird studio business relationship – until the Lord told me she was a Vatican agent in 1999.

Brent was filming the episode called “A Fistful of Datas” when Loree McBride was drug raping him in Sept. 1992. So while he was filming the above episode (https://ishare.rediff.com/video/entertainment/tng608/2383024), Loree was raping him (below). Though Brent is a brilliant actor, the trauma he suffered from Loree was so deep, he couldn’t hide it.

Watch the movie I made about what she had to do to become Brent Spiner’s “girlfriend”. Brent Spiner has NEVER wanted Loree McBride. She had to drug rape him and make him believe he was making love to me to gain her entrance.


FINAL QUESTION: Why was Star Trek: The Next Generation cancelled at the HEIGHT OF ITS POPULARITY in 1994? Could it be that the Jesuits did not want more episodes like “Ship in a Bottle”, “The Drumhead”, etc. that made it a bit too obvious that Brent and Gail had a relationship? In fact, everything that followed Star Trek: The Next Generation was inferior to it. Also, Gene Roddenberry died shortly after Brent started making love to Gail on the phone in May 1991. The Jesuits apparently waited until Texan Gene Roddenberry was dead to attack Gail, cuz they knew with Roddenberry at the helm, that they could not use Paramount to extort Loree McBride onto Brent Spiner. Roddenberry died Oct. 24, 1991, very shortly after Brent called and made love to Gail. Jesuits knew they had to get rid of Roddenberry before they could introduce Loree McBride into Paramount studios. That manly Texan would never tolerate Loree McBride drug raping one of his stars at the very studio where he worked! Brent had his first sexual encounter (drug rape) at the studio in the GREEN ROOM with Loree McBride. WHAT A STRANGE PLACE TO START A RELATIONSHIP! You mean he didn’t take her out on a date? The date was the GREEN ROOM?!

Gail Schuler
written in Jan./Feb./March 2000

(copyright 2000, considered part of gabriellechana.com and copyright information for this is on the first web page of gabriellechana.com. Available as an audio book: https://www.amazon.com/Emerald-Towers/dp/B00ZLVZ184). I inserted the year that the verse pertained to, as an extra that was not part of the original piece, to show that this was about my relationship with Brent as I saw it in 2000. The only part that is fiction is I was never diagnosed with breast cancer. However, I did get a biopsy for breast cancer twice in 2000. Both biopsies came back negative. To read Emerald Towers click HERE.

You can also read Emerald Towers below.

I will never give up on Brent. God gave me a song, which played on the random mode on my CD player right after I came back from the funeral of a little girl who died from cancer. God told me that the suffering Brent and I endured for our love was as great as the pain of that little girl who died from brain cancer. He promised me in 1992, that there is a place for us (me and Brent), a time for us (me and Brent). Then Jesus Christ personally showed up in 2012 to tell me that indeed, it was He, who gave me that promise in 1992, and that he also would officiate my wedding to Brent Spiner in the millennium. Here is the song and the exact rendition of it that I heard:

Gail Schuler
written in Jan./Feb./March 2000

May-June 1991: “I want you.” The voice yearned for me, and I searched for it. His eyes had poetry and his face astuteness. The wig and mustache (how Brent looked when I saw him through my son’s bedroom window when he visited my apartment complex in Dec. 1993) could not camouflage his elegance. . .a star.

“Oh, my God, I know you. . .” Streams of light burst through Douglas Firs. The air was pure oxygen. A lush of rainfall from the stream, nodded an entrance. “Please. . .I’d like to be your friend.”

“Can’t we be more?”

“Oh, God.” I crushed my head into my fists. “I can’t, I want you more than anything — but I can’t.”

Nov. 1993: My husband detected us one day and degraded me with divorce threats, so I bared my soul to my friend at watersheds, parks, lakes, Seattle’s Pike’s Place. . .

In private.

1990: Divorce. I’d functioned as a mother and homemaker, dependent on my husband for five years.

I rummaged all news items about my friend, and ached for, not fame, but his presence. I avoided the spotlights.

1993: Three years later, a news item jumped at me: a description of a woman who emerged with him in public. Two more years slid by. Her description jumped at me once more and then a few more times. Probably a business associate.

June 1996: But in the newspapers today, a photo affronts me. He’s with her, and she glares at me. Her occupation: Publicist (Loree McBride). The caption blasts: Star hosts lavish dinner for his girlfriend.

July 1996: Girlfriend? My bed, which once flowered with dreams, suffocates with tears.

Across my stage, she struts her stuff; and I grapple with anguish which ravages my sleep.

Her dazzle flies at my face; I feel embezzled. She flaunts her colors. . .her head: a peacock. Girlfriend.

“She’s your girlfriend? Why do you need a girlfriend? Have you gone to bed with her?”

July to Dec. 1996: His eyes became cats, shifting and jumping. I remembered the day. . .when I’d leaped into the dark and shot some letters to a star (Jan. 1991), inviting him to expose corruption. . . never dreaming he would.

Sept. 1991: “You think you want to write?” My friend smiled. “Do it.”

Overwhelmed with love, my heart poured to the page.

“You’re wasting your time,” my husband said.

1991 to now: But with warmth, my friend nourished me, and I blossomed; he reined music into my heart.

“Since I can’t give you my body, I’ll give you my soul, I’ll write for you.”

“What will you write?”

“I want to write something that will make you feel I’m with you always, because more than anything. . .that’s what I want.”

He grasped my hand.

June 1996 to Dec. 1999: And now. . . when I railed at my friend about her, he remained; and though he bore her, his ears jumped to my every word. Why had I dreamed of marriage? To him? I avoided the spotlights — and he paraded with this woman in public, as if I’d never bared my soul to him, as if he’d never heard all my secrets. Paraded. . .in public. And because he bore her, I convulsed with tears for a month.

June-July 1996: “My husband will kill me over you and you’re not mine.”

He simpered in silence.

“You’ve spoiled her and now she laughs at me.”

The next morning, I limped through the papers: Star and girlfriend may contemplate marriage.


On a bench, he glared.

“What’s the matter?”

His eyes glazed. “I can’t visit you anymore.”

“You don’t seem happy.”

“I do care about you.”

July 1996: “You’re a coward. Make your choice.”

“It’s better we pretend that we’ve never met.”

“What’s going on?” I swaddled my sweater around me, the circle of moon draped in blackness and the dew chilled me.

His eyes raged. “I can’t bear to leave you.”

“What do you need her for?”

Like I’d uttered nothing, he stared; and then, his hands graced my shoulders and I deplored the spirit of his soul: steel and desperation. He stared.

Seattle 1999-2000: Rust, gold, and oranges shimmered from the mountains; my hands froze when I fumbled for my keys; the wind blasted ice; the days dragged on; the leaves flittered away. . .until trees, once full of life, bounced as sticks.

1989-1993: I offered tokens, and through letters, confessed my life to him. And at that park where I absorbed him last, I roamed. . .deliberated on the bench. . .My feet crunched on pebbles and gazed at the Cascades.

God would torch for me. On the cliffs, snow encroached; but the evergreens, the emerald towers of the mountains, gripped their leaves and persevered green through the winter.


Three years fogged by (1996 to 1999), and his girlfriend (Loree McBride), who flung my heart to the wind, parades with him. I still bare my soul to him: but I’ve banished him from my dreams.

1997 to 1999: Criminals stampede me and the police, who should flame against crime, make appearances.

Some doctors, rather than heal, deliver torment. To patch the damage, I rummage other doctors for months.

It seems, though I drive with deliberation, I dare not drive ten miles past the speed limit, the police lurk in every corner.

My food, medicines, and life are a plague which contaminate me. I meander through a maze to evade illnesses, but they creep upon me and inundate me.

Jobs elude me, creditors and husband harass me; everyone shouts for money.

2000: “I need money. Why don’t you help?”

“Here, I’ll give you some, but if I give you too much. . .” My friend’s eyes evade me. “I’m so sorry.”

It seems the whole world pursues me.

Though I stumble to protect those I love, they, too, suffer pain. (Jesuit bullies harassed my son so much at school, he became sick a lot and failed sixth grade during the 1999/2000 school year in the Mukilteo school district at Harbour Pointe Middle School. I did not know it then, but one reason he was so overwhelmed by all this is that my ex-husband had also sexually abused him while he was growing up.) My marriage becomes an empty shell and annihilates me. Medical costs inundate me. My health falters, my husband drowns me with sermons, obsessed with the sin of debt. He points fingers at me, shouts accusations, forsakes me.

2000: Compressed by a mammogram, my breasts and neck flinch. The x-ray room haunts me with specters. The radiologist’s features seem an apparition; he nudges me with suggestions of surgery: general anesthesia and the knife. And sprinkles cold water on other choices. Cancer, death’s fingers, he flutters before my eyes. Repulsed by this spook show, I shove it aside.

The snows thaw.

A pain lingers in my breast. Could she conspire with doctors to induce cancer?

Impossible. My breast compresses again. Another radiologist. . .another time. ..A routine bother pervades the room; the recommendation is a needle biopsy: the diagnosis turns out positive.

Cancer, death’s fingers, grip my throat.

He never married that woman, though she paraded with him many years, and I think he took a crack at getting rid of her; then. . . a week later, bullets (2000) shattered my window.

The hospital slated me for surgery. The walls of my room, the I.V. in my arm, echoed images of my existence, my departure. . . Whispers hushed from outside my door, heads glimpsed into my room, but vanished. . .when my friend came to me. He rested his head on my lap. . .and through my sheets, I felt his tears.

“Tomorrow’s my operation.”

He wandered to the window.

“I want to marry you.”

I laughed. “What will your girlfriend think?”

“I’ve always hated her.”

“What did you say?”

His eyes drifted. “Are you afraid you’ll die?”

“I’ve thought about it. . .” Would he make it if I died?

“I arranged for you to have a single room.” His gaze locked on mine. “Everything about me. . .and her. . .was — and is — a big lie — I’ve wanted to marry you for eight years.”

“What did you say?”

“She forced herself on me and I told myself it was alright, because I protected you by keeping her.” His eyes leaked anguish. “If I tried to expose her, she’d harm you. So I hired a lawyer to protect you. It was useless. She wanted you to think I’d betrayed you, so you’d despise me — and kick me out of your life.” He crunched a fist. His eyes searched mine, they shadowed and unsettled. “Whenever I dreamed of intimacy, it was you. . .always. . .you.” Over his face flickered a twitch. “She tried to seduce a friend of mine, I still kept her.” His shoulders slumped and his face limped. “She insisted on attending public events with me, I played her game. If I wanted to help you with money, she threatened to tell your husband that we had sex. I couldn’t let your husband know about us, because then I wouldn’t be able to check on you. I was horrified what she’d do to you, if I couldn’t keep you.”

“She could have said we had sex anyway, no matter what you did.”

“I told her if she did that and your husband dumped you, I’d marry you. But. . .I couldn’t give you the money you needed. I know they bankrupted you — God knows, I wanted to help. . .but it would make you look like my whore.” He chuckled. “It would have been a mess. I mean — your husband –“

2001: “But after my husband left, you should have helped me more. . .”

“She told me she’d tell your husband that I caused all the damage your family received. If I didn’t keep her, she’d harm you. I played her game. But she double-crossed me. She still harmed you. I’m so sorry. . .Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” A quiver staggered over his mouth.

“The photos you saw in the papers. On the Internet. They were (photoshop) frauds. She changed our expressions. She pasted heads on bodies. It was all fake. . .”

A fog lifted from me, but a monster towered over my body and the ceiling glowered.

“Oh, my God. . .”

This woman (Loree McBride). . .whose eyes lacked astuteness, schemed labyrinths. This adolescent, this peacock — at a prom.

Hadn’t I, nine years ago (1990-1991), invited him to expose corruption of a Church? Did their labyrinth ferret me out; and then, weasel like snakes to crush me?

I plunged into darkness.

When I’d researched for my book, I discovered evidence that with presidents and prime ministers, a Church (Roman Catholic Church) conspired; and like Machiavelli, these hucksters retreated before nothing to wield a path to dictatorship. Behind the scenes, they’d financed and supported Adolph Hitler and his war machine. These creeps, these butchers. . .corrupted doctors, lawyers, police departments, schools, employers, preachers, and the world, to crush me. They knew I could influence my friend, who hovered over me, and who might sway the masses against them. My friend, a sitting duck, had fallen into their contrivances. Publicity — bad press, obsessed them.

She’d peacock as a girlfriend, but struggle as a publicist — for them, a guardian at the gate, to avert any bad press this Church could sustain — from the scandal. A publicist. A distractor. To veil the real enemy: the richest Church in the world. They commissioned that woman, who strong-armed her way into my friend’s life: to break us up.

Why couldn’t I understand? Rocks had blinded me to the truth — the truth, that he loved me like the sun, that he kept her, for me; my eyes became rivers; tears came, oh, tears came. All those years (1996 to 1999) he needed my warmth. Oh, the coldness I tumbled to him — and I’d banished him from my dreams (1996 to 1999). He suffered a truce with her (1992 to 2018), for me.

Dec. 1999: “I asked you to expose that Church. Nine years ago. Remember? You’re famous and I know too much and she doesn’t seem smart enough to scheme these brilliant plots. You see, that’s why, when you cage her, I’m still harassed, because you can’t cage the one who directs her — that Church. That Church. They think that because of me, you’ll give them bad press. That’s why they hired a publicist to be your girlfriend.”

His features paled. “My God. . .”

“Please forgive me. I had no idea what you’ve gone through.”

“My God. . .” His fingers crunched through his hair. “My God. . .”

“You love me. You poor guy — you love me.”

Like an apparition, he stumbled to a chair.

“My God — A When he bolted to face me, fire leaped from his eyes. He slunk toward me.

His head drifted to my lap.

My bowels ached for him. I yearned to assuage him. . .to comfort him.

He laid beside me, smoothed fingers through my hair, and kissed it. His voice sighed in my ear. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Are we alone?”

On my forehead, his lips smothered my skin. “Of course.”

“We’re really alone?

“Of course.”

“But what about the I.V.?”

“If it bothers you, let me know.” Around me, swooned his arms, and over my face, flooded his mouth. “Is it alright?”

“Please. . .don’t stop.” My pain thawed. . .into my pillow.

A haven that healed my fears were his kisses. Flames were his embraces. I needed to love him, to nurse his wounds. Dreams floated about me and, on me, he abandoned himself.

Over me, waves blew. My heartaches smoothed, my pain eased, because of the feel of his skin; with tenderness, the bed burst. For years, I thought it only a dream to have with him: intimacy. But against me now, his skin was warm.

He smiled and clung to me, swirled my heartstrings; and swayed me like a baby on a lake which cradled; my eyes were relished by his kisses. Sweetness and tears reared me to oblivion — and I drowned.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he whispered.

1990 to now: “Oh God. . . I love you.”

The words lingered.

In the morning, my ears perked to the creaking of wheels, and walls slid by me.

Oblivious to the I.V., I drifted. Today’s operation seemed a blur. I dreamed sunbeams; joy hovered above sadness and waltzed through my bed. The walls slid by — a symphony, because tomorrow. . .my eyes would awaken to his presence.

Morning. . .sunbeams. . .on my windowsill. . .sunbeams. I recollected this room. . .heads which glimpsed through the door and whispers in the corridor. . .then, his eyes shadowed me and glanced down at a ring with a jewel which shimmered with emerald sparkles.

“I know I should have bought you a diamond, but an emerald is your soul.”

I ached to kiss him, but overwhelmed with weakness, I couldn’t rise; but his lips found mine and lingered. . .

“You never quit on me,” I said. “You’re so brave.”

A month later, I visited the doctor and a drift of isopropyl alcohol sifted through my nose: “Your cancer’s gone.”

My heart swelled. We married under a (Jewish) canopy. Yes, an entrance. . .A beginning. . .

The tabloids blasted me: Star (Brent Spiner) betrays girlfriend (Loree McBride) and goes off with fan (Gail Chord Schuler).

Pain. . .and music. . .and flowers. . .Yes — pain could be a symphony and walls, trees, and flowers could sing for me. . .it was time to heal. . .

2018: Maybe our love will expose their treachery and maybe it will help save our nation. My friend, who once dragged in torment, can pounce like a lion. . .his eyes no longer stare, but sometimes. . . they soar. . .so. . .how can I stay sad. . .when I have a man who loves me like the sun? Each day his love enshrines me. And he — who I banished from my dreams, has claimed, his emerald tower.

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