Read Online Movie Star By Lizzie Pepper by Hilary Liftin - Free Book Online Page B

which parts of his confidence came from the Studio, and if and when he would invite me into this part of his life.
    Now that I was paying attention, I noticed that sometimes Geoff picked Rob up in his Maserati (to my credit, it never occurred to me that high-ups in an organization famous for group meditation in burlap robes would drive bright red sports cars. Only in L.A.), and, one time, he came for dinner with his girlfriend, Patricia. That night, Geoff didn’t talk much; mostly he exchanged sucking on Altoids for chewing food,but after dinner he and Rob went out to the balcony, leaving me with Patricia. I tried to pry conversation out of that husk of a woman while she wordlessly knit a dreadful sea-foam green scarf. Finally, I just went for it.
    “I know this is ridiculous, but I only recently realized your connection to the Studio. I’m so curious about that part of Rob’s life. I’d love to hear more.”
    Patricia didn’t look up from her knitting, but she did finally speak. “Love and self-understanding go hand in hand. Both require a commitment to the whole, in spite of its flaws—even in your darkest moments, even if it means great sacrifice. We are imperfect without, but we can always strive for balance within. This is a challenge one must choose to undertake. Rob would no more tell you to take up our practice than he would tell you to love him.”
    Wow. That was a lot from Patricia. I understood her message, or so I thought at the time: Rob was privately hoping I would join him in his practice, much as he hoped our relationship would succeed. Loving him—knowing him—meant doing this, and I resolved to try.
    “I want to learn about One Cell,” I said to Rob later that night. “It’s so important to you—will you share it with me?”
    “I’d love to,” Rob said, “but don’t do it for me. You have to come to it yourself.” It was just as Patricia had said. The effect of Rob’s mildness, his seeming ambivalence, was to pique my curiosity. I had to know more, to be a part of it, to be wanted. My desire for Rob and my desire for One Cell mingled, intense and inseparable.
    “I’m ready,” I said.
    What I didn’t think about at the time was the rest of Patricia’s cryptic comment. What were these “dark moments” of being and love? What kind of sacrifice was required? Only looking back do I see that she was trying to tell me something. Trying to warn me.

    A few days later, after almost five months of dating Rob, I found myself entering the mysterious gates of the great emerald One Cell Studio on Wilshire Boulevard. Nobody knew what actually went on in there, but there were plenty of rumors. Group meditations that went on for twenty-four hours, nonstop. Brainwashed actors chanting in unison to land each other lead roles. Families that joined the Practice and seemed to disappear into a black hole. There was so much speculation about what went on inside this impenetrable fortress that it was impossible not to feel special. Those mysterious doors were about to be opened for me. I texted Aurora,
entering the studio. stand by for intervention.
    dying
, she wrote back.
tell all asap.
    will do
, I promised, then shut off my phone. One Cell policy.
    Instead of pulling into the circular drive out front, our driver turned into an alley and dipped down into an underground garage. He dropped us off at an elevator bank in the far back corner. Finally, I was entering the exclusive retreat. I pictured doors with immense locks and secret chambers lit by candles. A bit overeager, I reached to push the elevator’s call button, but Rob grabbed my hand.
    “Easy, girl. Follow me.”
    He opened a door to a bare metal stairwell. I wrinkled my nose.
Really?
We were going to walk up the seedy, airless garage stairs? (Not to be a diva, but I kind of have a phobia about being trapped in a stairwell—by an earthquake, fire, a stalker fan—the standard stuff.)
    “Trust me,” Rob said. He stepped around the stairs to