os Angeles is lousy with Scientology. There is the L. Ron Hubbard museum. There is the fabled Celebrity Chateau. There is the huge glass complex on L. Ron Hubbard Street, right off of Sunset, where a stadium-sized marquee flashes the words, "Things Seem Bad / But There Is Help / Daily Services." Good Christ, there is a street called L. Ron Hubbard! And yet, despite these flashy reminders of Scientology's presence (dominance?) in their city, most Los Angelinos I spoke with maintain a willful ignorance about Scientology -- some dismiss it as harmless, others fear and avoid it like a heart attack.
Not so with Brian. Brian is a friend of Julie's, an entertainment lawyer who enjoys digging around in this sort of mud. Our conversations have become long exchanges of shock and discovery.
"You know who else is a Scientologist?" he says. "Jason Lee."
"Not Jason Lee. I love Jason Lee."
"And Giovanni Ribisi, and Juliette Lewis, and Beck."
"This is so sad. It's like I have to mourn these people."
I tell Brian about my personality test at the Scientology center. About being 95% irresponsible.
"Shut up," he says, which is his expression of disbelief. Shut up.
Earlier this afternoon I emailed Brian a link to the scathing 1991 Time Magazine cover story about Scientology called "The Cult of Greed" (http://www.xenu.net/archive/media/time910605.html) in which journalist Richard Behar -- with formidable evidence on his side -- calls Scientology "a hugely profitable global racket that survives by intimidating members and critics in a Mafia-like manner."
"I like how they bought their own books so they could stay on the bestseller lists," says Brian. "That's hilarious."
"They used to run full-page ads in Newsweek," I remember suddenly, "calling Dianetics the longest-running bestseller ever."
"Yeah, ten million books sold, 300 books read."
"I was like 11 years old, and I used to think, 'Wow I should buy this book Dianetics. It's really popular.'"
In a twisted way, I'm starting to admire the Scientologists. Their ruthlessness, their savvy. Here they are, some "self-help"program whose alleged "big secrets of the universe" involve the discovery that we are made up of thousands of alien particles called "thetans." Their revered founder has been repeatedly exposed as a liar and a thief. They have a long history of legal grief, and every investigative journalist worth his salt would like nothing better than to topple the whole thing. But they don't die; they just keep growing more powerful, the Ugly American way. Make money. Woo celebrities. Sue everyone.
"You know the Cult Awareness Network?" Brian asks. I don't. "It's a hotline you call if you're worried about someone you know being involved in a cult. Well listen to this: Guess who owns the Cult Awareness Network?"
"No."
"The Scientologists sued the Cult Awareness Network, bankrupted them, and bought them."
"That's ... brilliant."

Brian and I head to The Citizens Commission on Human Rights, one of Scientology's many innocuously named (I'm a citizen, I'm for human rights...) front groups. Only they're not harmless at all, and they're not so much for human rights as they are for discrediting the entire field of psychiatry, whose liberal use of prescription drugs can be seen as Scientology's stiffest competition. Outside the CCHR office on Sunset Blvd, museum-style banners show faces of terror in close-up with the words: "Psychiatry Kills!"
"Can I help you?" The woman at the front desk.
"We're just curious about your exhibit. We saw your banners out front."
We're trying to play it cool, but I have to fight to keep my jaw from dropping. There is a wax figure of a woman in a cage: "The Dark History of Psychiatry." There is a wax statue of a pig getting electroconvulsive therapy. The exhibit blames psychiatry for the modern world's every societal ill: apartheid, drug use, the Bosnian-Kosovo conflict, classroom shootings, even the Holocaust. (A book on prominent display is titled "Psychiatrists: The Men Behind Hitler.")
I wanna point and gawk. I wanna slap Brian's arm in frightened disbelief and laugh. I want Brian to say "Shut up." Instead, we walk through the exhibit stone-faced, considerate, reading the professionally constructed panels, watching the video clips of stars like Kirstie Alley and Lisa Marie Presley protesting, "Psychiatry Is Killing Your Children! Stop the Drugging of Our Kids!"
Now, I agree that our country is overmedicated. I cringe when I hear about children on Ritalin, on Prozac, on any kind of prescription drug. But the portion of CCHR's exhibit dealing with this problem, titled "Psychiatry Stigmatizes and Harms Our Children," is so breathless with hyperbole and bullshit that it renders any real criticism meaningless.
One panel reads: "Since psychiatrists and psychologists entered the classroom in the 1960s, SAT scores have plummeted." A huge line graph beside this statement illustrates the dramatic plunge. And yet, what do these two things have to do with each other? And what do they mean "since psychiatrists entered the classroom" anyway? The panel goes on to list shocking, but uncited, statistics about the dire state of American education: A 1999 study showed that 10% of college graduates could not read the back of a cereal box. It drums up experts with fancy-sounding pedigrees to testify on their behalf: "Dr. Fred A. Baughman Jr., a pediatric neurologist and Fellow of the Academy of Neurology, says ADHD and other childhood psychiatric disorders and 'learning disabilities' are 'inventions, contrivances,' and '100% fraud.'" Pictures of child killers like Eric Harris have captions like, "Took Prozac prior to killing 14 of his classmates."
I'm citing some of this stuff from memory. I couldn't take notes; I was, to be perfectly frank, afraid. The building was huge and empty and eerily silent. All these things hidden in plain sight, on Sunset Boulevard. The perfect place for a killing.
"Did you fill out a survey?" The woman behind the counter again. Brian pretends not to hear.
"Oh, no, I haven't," I say. "Do you want me to?"
The woman is blond, attractive, twentysomething, and she terrifies me. An idea: Could "Eyes Wide Shut" be an allegory for Scientology? All these normal people leading secret lives. Could "The Firm" be an allegory for Scientology? They lure you in, they blackmail you to stay. Poor Tom Cruise. Poor rich, beautiful, insanely famous Tom Cruise. What do they have on him? It's got to be more than what we suspect.
On the comments portion I write: "An interesting perspective." I invent a different name, make up numbers for an address and phone number, hand her the sheet with a smile.
"Did you like the exhibit?" she asks.
"I've never seen anything like it before."