Bob called it "Playing Goldilocks and the Three Bears." And he had me play that game with him and his friends in Vegas and other places. Some nights in Vegas, I'd play Goldilocks looking for a good bed with Dean Martin, Gene Kelly, Mickey Rooney (until Kelly was born). Mickey Rooney is, among other things, a pedophile and was afraid of publicly being caught with a child but he felt safe having a slave child. He thought he wouldn't be caught.
Gene Kelly liked to do the ole' soft-shoe for me. He always smelled of a different sort of weird cologne like Au de Bamboo. It was spicy and he'd wear a silk robe and dance around like he was in some musical play, before he sat down on the edge of the bed for me to attend to him. I took off his robe, kneeled down and gave him oral sex while he was sitting up. Half way through I gently pushed him back on the bed with the instructions to, "lay back so you can totally relax and enjoy. That's what my command is for you." And as he came in my mouth, I ate it like it was frosting, as my programming dictated, "good to the last drop," and finally I looked deeply in his eyes and said, "You were delicious."
Nearly asleep he said, "Thank you, please let yourself out." So I did. But I didn't know where to go so I just sat down on the top of the large staircase leading downstairs.
My mom came to get me. She walked up the stairs dressed in a light brown fur jacket and a beige brown knit dress with sandled high heels and took me by the hand and led me downstairs. When I was really out of it she led me almost like I was blind. I can remember hearing her charm bracelet jingling. She often put my left arm under hers and "walked me places." One night Frank Sinatra intercepted her in an elevator while she was walking me back to the room, and roughed her up in front of me, to show us both who was in charge. Due to mind control, my mother still doesn't remember this or any other of the traumatic experiences that were done to her in order to keep us all under control.
Some of the same factions of the Mob that were connected to the Kennedy’s were also connected to President Nixon, Reagan and other presidents. Obviously this faction had become connected to national politics long before I came onto the scene and was already in tight, running a lot of business through the government and taking full advantage of political knowledge, insight, and position. I know because I ran messages from the Mob to U. S. presidents and back again for years.
Key Biscayne was another location where I was connected to the Mob and was told that there was no getting out — or so they said. There was some guy they called «Freddie» and other mobsters who were politically connected. BeBe Rebozo was connected to the Mob and to Nixon and he was public but not as mob-connected as the inner Mob. It was almost like BeBe was an ambassador to the Mob.
The mob guys scared me because for the most part they got what they wanted, any way they wanted and, often, that meant hurting me for information. One time they pinched my fingers to the point of almost smashing them. I didn't nor couldn't respond and so they kept increasing the torture. There were times when they nearly killed me trying to gain information I carried. Usually they lacked the technical knowledge of my codes, keys and triggers and didn't possess the technological sophistication to understand my programming. So, they couldn't get as much out of me as others who knew that I was a robot and could access me in that way.
One time when the Mob was interrogating me they tied me to a chair and one guy slapped me while another guy in a leather jacket asked me questions. I overheard him say, "These bastards are selling their own women. How low can you stoop?" It was incidents like these which told me that at least someone, even if it was the Mob, had some sort of humanity left within its membership.
One time, mob guys put a needle into my eye to try to get me to talk, but it didn't help. The needle must have hit a nerve and my whole body jolted back. They couldn't understand how a woman could endure so much torture and they began to 'respect' me. They just didn't understand that I wasn't really brave, I just couldn't respond due to years of conditioning and sophisticated programming that rendered me completely dissociative and not in control of myself. By the time they figured this out they had already tortured me half to death. I was a total robot, programmed not to respond to pain or torture, and there were many mob-connected meetings in which I was involved in Vegas, Tahoe, Reno, Key Biscayne and other places. By the time they understood more about how to get information from me, my access routes or codes ended up getting passed around. My husband just stepped aside and let them have me, as he was programmed to do. There was never anyone to protect me. The Mob involvement began in my early teens and continued for years.
Sometimes when they would get me into a room in Vegas they would accuse me of "carrying a wire" but I wasn't. They would strip me to check and some goon would end up raping me. They didn't understand yet the level of sophisticated programming that allowed me to record everything I was hearing, via mind files and photographic memory. Later, my programmers would instill messages that were to "kick in" when I was accessed by the Mob. Then, upon my return, I was activated to deliver a message to them and they acted shocked when I would deliver the message. The Mob often thought I was trying to get to some of the rich tycoons that sat at the Baccarat tables. I was usually sent to target someone there but they didn't know who or why. They never seemed to know that I wasn't ever operating from my own agenda. What they had to offer the group I was working for was minimal. The Council was going for higher stakes and most of the time, they saw these mobsters as worker-bees. But they all had their places in the pecking order. Over the years I was known in Vegas by the Mob there. Some mobsters were connected to Bob Hope in Palm Springs and others to Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra.
I used to be afraid that they would kill my children or me, but it will never stop me from doing what I know is right, now that I'm no longer under mind control. Somehow or other they knew everybody and controlled factions of business, politics, and people. Mickey Levinson, said I was «family» now, after my brother Rick and his first wife Leslie (Mickey's niece) were married.
"To be afraid is to have more faith in evil than in God."
Chapter Seventeen: The Rat Pack
"Birds of a feather, flock together…"
I was programmed to stay thin, tan, and silly, and to act like a stereotypical dumb blonde. One warm and beautiful Southern California summer day, I brushed the Malibu Beach sand from my bikini and feet, and jumped into my car to head down Pacific Coast Highway to my next assignment. Clad only in my bikini, a short white lace cover-up and sandals, I headed into the Malibu Courthouse. The woman at the desk waved me through to the judge's private quarters.
Without hesitation, I entered the judge's office and climbed into Judge Merrick's lap — sand, suntan lotion, and all. He laughed, sat back, and enjoyed the attention as I precociously performed my sexual acts on him. I satisfied him sexually and left as quickly as I had arrived. Bob had a joke for me to say to judges as a means for variety of orgasmic experiences. When a judge was orgasming he preprogrammed me to say, "Here come the judge, here come the judge," like they said on Laugh-In, the popular television show of the time.
Bob also had me instilled with top tunes, like a jukebox. I had a personality system that delivered impromptu verses from songs at the perfect time so that they would cleverly fit into a social situation. I had personalities that could sing the songs very closely to the way the original artists sang them. I knew the words perfectly and sang with similar inflections and tones as the singers. Lots of people thought I was very adroit when I cleverly popped a song into a conversation, but I was really programmed to do that.