I have a photographic memory … and I know this thanks to Mandy Blank
TLDR: Two bodies were found on the same floor within a week of each other. One of them happened to be a celebrity (and a good friend) and her death made international headlines. A little over a year later there was a murder. Two of the three are connected and I’ve had the receipts for over six years. I just couldn’t admit to myself that this was all real.
(This is the second post in the series. Click here to read part one.)
I have a photographic memory.
It’s one of the elements that are under the umbrella of my AuDHD + poly-synesthete of a dyslexic, yet hyperlexic brain that I am very proud of.
When the shit hits the fan, I not only take action, I shockingly know what to do … even if I’ve never experienced something like it before.
I’ve always had “abilities” - I just didn’t know what to label them until events like this happened.
Mandy Blank was/ still is a defining person in my life.
Maestro …
Mandy’s body was found at 1pm on Monday October 29, 2018.
I know this 1) because I have the text and 2) because I had a meeting scheduled for exactly that time and I had to tell my colleague I couldn’t make the meeting.
He said, “Jen, but I thought your neighbor’s body was already ‘handled?’”
“This is a new one,” I said back without thought darting out the door to her apartment.
Standing in my USA onesie, with wet hair, (it helps me sensory wise “de-buzz” before meetings to soak in a bathtub first) I stood at the end of the hallway on the other side of our familiar floor (where Mandy’s apartment was).
I heard agonizing screams of shock and horror as the housekeeper (who discovered her), the maintenance man and on site management attempted to revive her.
Between the breaths I could hear the on site manager on the phone describe her as being in her bathtub and that her body looked purple.
Not knowing if the manager called the building owners or 911, I ran back to my side of the floor to call 911 (just in case).
I sat on the steps closest to my apartment, ready to make the call, pushing the numbers 9 …. 1 …. 1 …. on my iPhone … and as I did I realized I couldn’t speak.
My head, heart, and brain were in the strongest state of shock I had ever experienced.
The movers from the other death (just four days apart - directly across the hall from my apartment) heard the commotion and came out.
“There’s another one,” I said handing him my phone to talk to the 911 operator.
“Someone ELSE died?” he too said in shock … not in knowing either victim but just the surreal nature of what was happening, and I’m assuming wanting to leave not only the floor but the building as soon as possible.
It’s not every day women in their 30s and 40s just suddenly drop dead … on the same floor … less than a week apart.
Considering there are only 10 units on each floor that would be like 20% of residents residing on said floor dropping dead - FOUR days apart.
The mover then told the operator what I had just told him as I heard bloodcurdling scream after bloodcurdling scream.
It wasn’t until last year, that I found out I was the one screaming.
I’m good friends (and was a literal next door neighbor - to the right not the left where the other neighbor’s body was found) to one of the men in the Blue Man Group. I saw his face on the side of a hotel when I was in Vegas last year and obvi reached out. He treated us to the VIP experience of the BMG and then we met up after the show to catch up as he had moved out of the building shortly after this happened.
He was home when Mandy’s body was found, and he said “you were sitting on the stairs … just whaling.”
My jaw dropped as my eyes widened genuinely shocked that that was me.
I had no idea I was making a sound … it sounded like it came from someone else.
The hilariousness of having a professional mime tell me that it was my voice and not someone else’s is not lost on me.
I can’t “unhear” the sounds my body made that day.
The mover handed me back my phone as my brain quickly flipped into action.
I couldn’t let my neighbors experience what I just experienced with walking in and finding out my neighbor was dead.
As much as I couldn’t unhear my own voice, I knew I needed to use it as it was deeply traumatic seeing guys in zip ties “handcuffed” directly at my door.
While it didn’t seem that anyone else was in Mandy’s apartment - I wasn’t willing to take any chances.
Being the organizer of many of our parties, I had the majority of the building resident’s numbers in my phone.
My first call, of course, was to the Flight Attendant.
“Jen, you need to understand how attractive you are,” he said answering the phone to my newly updated ID photo.
Knowing he wasn’t home, but not knowing where in the world he was, I asked if he was sitting down.
I took a breath and said the words I couldn’t say to 911 … “Mandy is dead. She died in her bathtub and that’s all I know.”
The Flight Attendant had commented on how strange it must be to walk out my door and see a coroner’s sticker, and now only a few days later we shared a new bond that neither of us wanted.
This is an actual photo of the seal …
“I’m in LA, and I’ll be there when I can,” he said stoic.
I placed call after call to approximately 30 neighbors.
Only a few answered the phone, the rest I either texted or left as a voicemail asking them to call me (obviously I wasn’t going to leave a vm or text to something this sensitive).
I walked back down the hall as I asked people standing in her doorway if Sparky (her beloved tuxedo cat) was in there.
No, they said.
Without thought, or a beat, I said “I know where he is.”
I then grabbed a friend and drove down the street to where we had picked up Sparky in the ride share (mentioned in the last post).
The homes looked different in the daylight, but I knew which house it was.
Still in my USA onesie … with still wet hair, I knocked on a stranger’s door to tell them the fate of our mutual friend.
A confused woman answered the door holding back her toddler.
“Hi, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this - but Mandy Blank is dead and I’m here to grab her cat.”
“WHAT?!” She too screamed.
“I'm so sorry,” I kept repeating like a chant to my own self.
“I’m so so sorry.”
Sparky came as per his usual running around the corner when he heard his name.
I had never picked him up before, but knew in this moment, I had to take him home.
Where in said home, I had no idea (since part of the charm of how Mandy and I met was around my dog Buster wanting to eat Sparky) - but I couldn’t leave him with someone I didn’t know … and fortunately my own force convinced her to give him to me.
I asked for her number and told her I’d be in touch.
I then went back to the building where the police had finally arrived.
A handful of us sat in the on site manager’s apartment in continued shock.
We tried to piece together information we knew.
I offered up information first.
“She wasn’t sick, I said. And I know for a fact she only drinks tequila and doesn’t take drugs. We had plans to go out dancing later this week - there’s no way she was suicidal.”
One by one neighbors came home (the building is full of creatives with their own work schedules), as we all moved down to the lobby to continue to comfort one another.
ANOTHER DEATH? ON THE SAME FLOOR? Were two of the most common questions asked that day.
They have to be related, right?
How could two people seemingly in good health die just days from one another while also living in such close proximity?
I had last spoken to her on Saturday - she had sent me this text (which she never answered).
Which wasn’t super uncommon, she’d get busy with clients and forget to respond.
The Saturday before Mandy passed was the unofficial Halloween weekend.
Halloween is my Christmas, so I take it very seriously.
I found out the first neighbor passed due to an accidental fentanyl overdose, and I offered my condolences to her family while I happened to be dressed as Azumi from Maniac.
I take cosplay and condolences very seriously.
I’m not sure if my outfit made what i had to say better or worse - but either way she didn’t have a lot of friends in the building, so it was important to me for her family to know she will be missed.
One of our neighbors who lived through the equivalent of the OJ Simpson trial in her native land, said, “we know the first neighbor died of an overdose. Does anyone know if Mandy was on anything?”
I reiterated that I knew she drank tequila (when she would have a drink) and didn’t do drugs.
“Where’s the Flight Attendant,” she asked with her very thick accent?
“I don’t know, all I know is he’s in LA.”
I don’t remember when the coroner arrived, I just remember being in shock when I saw the coroner’s jacket.
It looked like the ones on the crime shows I religiously watch.
It was a COMPLETELY different experience seeing one in person.
I wasn't there when the first neighbor's body was wheeled out, and I had avoided looking at Mandy's lifeless body … so I wasn’t sure how I was going to process seeing the shape of her not on stage, but in a bag.
Moments later, I had no choice, but to accept the reality.
My friend whose art was her body was wheeled out of the same lobby we had countless parties in.
I cried hysterically, eventually allowing myself to be bear hugged from a new neighbor I didn’t even know.
Sometime after she was wheeled out, the Flight Attendant came home.
I ran over to give him a big hug.
“I’m so so sorry.”
“Where is she?”
“They wheeled her out. I’m not sure about anything else.”
“Have everyone come into my apartment. We can use it as a private place to gather.”
I rallied the grieving troops as we gathered in the Flight Attendant’s apartment. The same apartment that five months ago I had hosted his surprise birthday party in.
See, the Flight Attendant’s dream was to be a house husband, so I got a bunch of people in the building to go in on hiring a ManServant for him. (Yes, you read that right - it’s a phenomenal service actually … highly recommend.)
The pendulum swing of some of the best moments of my life, were now paired with some of the worst.
My then boyfriend (now husband) came over hours later.
Mandy passed on our two month dating anniversary.
Earlier in the day I had asked my dad to “find him” after I had repeatedly tried calling him from work.
This was the first time they spoke, and this was also the first time he met this core group of my friends.
Mandy was such a vital part of the community, she wasn’t just a passive neighbor, she was a force.
To make matters worse, our very private moment suddenly became international headlines.
Two days later, I got a text from the Flight Attendant asking if I could help handle the media.
“What media?” I asked.
I quickly googled her before the meeting about her death (that I was asked to attend) and saw the first of many outlets reporting on what happened.
I was pleasantly shocked as I choked back the tears reading the articles out loud.
The headlines included the words of "icon" and "legend" placed right next to her name.
While yes, I was devastated at the loss of my friend, but I also couldn't help how fitting it was for her to George Costanza her own life and go out on top ...
To have a neighbor drop dead is shocking. To have that neighbor also be your friend is even more shocking. To have your neighbor/ friend now regain their (well-deserved) celebrity status in said death was … too surreal to process.
I then went back to the home of the woman whose door I knocked on using my photographic memory, for a gathering of her “inner circle.”
Since the news had just broken that day, E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E had a comment to share … not just of their portion of grief, but of their portion of her now brightly beaming spotlight.
The only person I recognized was the Flight Attendant as everyone knew they were the “closest” so logically he led the gathering.
Mandy’s only next of kin were her aunt and uncle, and I know she only reconnected with them right before she passed.
It was one of the only vacations I knew her to take (outside of the James Bond property mentioned in the last post).
As everyone went around the room to introduce themselves (like kids in a classroom) I noticed the tone was met with anger, and quite frankly resentment.
Mandy was an entrepreneur and artist. She was in the middle of a LOT of deals, and those who were deemed “collateral damage” from her passing had a lot to say.
Now, everyone grieves differently … I get it … I just wasn’t prepared for what I witnessed next.
As we sat in the meeting, the headlines continued to grow.
Multiple people (who again I hadn’t met before) had talked about having her life rights optioned, etc … with of course them being named as producers of some kind. If they couldn’t have “their deals go through” with her in life, certainly profiting off her re-found fame in death makes perfect sense.
As an expert on what it is like to have your life rights optioned (as mine were by Warner Brothers and Jerry Bruckheimer) - I chose to remain silent.
Her body was on ice at the morgue … show a little fucking class, I said only with the daggers in my eyes.
I turned to the Flight Attendant and said I need to talk to either the family or whoever they have representing her officially.
He mentioned an old assistant of hers as being the “media representative.”
Not trusting their level of quite frankly anything … I said yes, but I also have to be on those calls. (I’ve had media training from both the talent and behind the scenes roles.)
Within minutes of the meeting ending, I was then connected to the “representative,” as I said very seriously how delicate the handling of all of this is.
“I need to find out from the family or whoever what she was on.
There’s no judgement here, but transparency is the key. If she was on pain pills for example, supplements, absolutely ANYTHING we can feed to the media so that if her death comes back as inconclusive we can take control of the narrative by providing an official statement. If it comes back as heroin, cocaine, fentanyl, (for example) there’s nothing we can do to protect her integrity. In this moment her life’s work will be remembered and this next step is crucial.”
They then mentioned that she had a back injury, as I crafted the statement for the media.
This is what went live …
As Bryan (the media representative) was speaking, the reporter could tell that he didn’t know her “as well as stated.” When she asked direct questions, I piped up and gave direct and declarative answers. I stated that I was a good friend and neighbor, but wished to remain anonymous.
It wasn’t a lie that Mandy pushed herself. She was INCREDIBLY hardworking.
Do I think her car accident from a million years ago had anything to do with her death?
Of course not, but the media picked it up and the “family” was able to take control of the narrative after such a sudden passing that left everyone feeling out of control.
Even if it was temporary, putting out a statement from the “family” was enough to stop others from chiming in.
It didn’t mean they didn’t try though ….
When I saw the story in “print” (meaning online) … I was surprised at how I felt.
It was again, this constant contradiction of emotions.
I WAS SO HAPPY AND PROUD OF MY FRIEND … but also still shocked, confused, and angry at what ACTUALLY happened.
I didn’t know where or to who to give all this anger that I had.
Just because information was “picked up,” it didn’t change the fact that she was still gone, and I didn’t know why.
WE HAD PLANS THAT WEEK TO ALL GO OUT!!! In my not yet diagnosed autistic brain, I COULDN’T let this go!!!
IT MADE NO FUCKING SENSE. YOU DON’T JUST DROP DEAD AT 42. AND NOT TWO PEOPLE DROPPING DEAD IN LESS THAN A WEEK ON THE SAME FLOOR.
Loyal to the perceived end in my mind, I then wrote her obituary, and designed her memorial flier.
I knew of her accomplishments in both the body building and magazine cover world, but seeing it all written out was still to this day the hardest thing I have ever written. It felt so unfair for someone who was such a champion of everyone to not get to “reclaim that status” one more time. You can argue she had it in death, but she also had so much life … and so much to live for.
We all kept the plans we had that week to go to Breakroom 86 (one of her favorite places in Koreatown).
This is what her “actual” memorial looked like … we celebrated our friend the way we knew how … by dancing our faces off.
I thought by taking action it would help bring closure in some way, but the reality I experienced changed in what felt like … each second.
Our building had a strong community, so whether we wanted to or not, we were alllllll up in each other’s business.
Mandy was what I would call compartmentalized … meaning, she showed different sides of herself to different people. The neighbor upstairs knew her late night or early morning hours the best as the air shaft connecting their units provided little to no privacy on their side of the building.
She had a VERY open relationship with the Flight Attendant as their apartments were almost adjoining sharing part of the same balcony space.
To another neighbor, she opened up emotionally during their workout sessions and breath work … and to others she talked about life after death, dreams, and travel destinations.
Personal trainers are natural vaults in that way.
Each session was very intimate to her and what happened in her space, stayed in her space (despite living in an old historical building).
Shortly after the “official statement” went live, I received a text from the on site manager that she had something for me.
She then handed me a watch, and said this was from the family (I’m not entirely sure that that is true - but I believed it at the time).
I was blown away as I didn’t expect anything in return.
I walked back to my apartment, and then looked down with this “knowing-ness” that this did not belong to me.
I don’t know what overcame me, but I just “knew” and when I “know something” … I KNOW IT.
I texted one of our neighbors Batz that I had something for him and asked if he was home.
“Of course,” he texted back as I quickly ran up the flight of stairs.
I knocked on his door, as I presented him with the watch.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this quite frankly, but I just got this watch from Mandy’s family, and I think it belongs to you.”
Stunned, he asked if I wanted to come in.
Not exactly what I was thinking … but sure, I said.
Batz apartment happened to be one of the nicest in the building.
He used to work in finance, but retired at like age 30 (this came from building lore, not him directly). Batz was the guy I made friends with “in case I ever needed someone big and scary.”
He was a big dude, and one who didn’t like bullies.
While he wasn’t the most popular person in the building, I respected him enough to be in his apartment (and also look around as he had a lot of cool memorabilia that I didn’t know about).
I sat in his living room as he asked if I wanted anything to drink.
No thank you, I said declining.
Unsure of where this was going, I let him lead.
“Are you psychic,” he asked.
I lied, and said “no” confused why he was asking that.
He then opened up about Mandy … and revealed that they were better friends than neighbors “like me” assumed.
“I know, like me, she’s asked you for help with some creepers over the years …”
Yeah, he acknowledged, but it was also more than that.
Not fully understanding the social cues as an undiagnosed autistic woman, I just sat there and listened.
“What gave it away to you?” he said genuinely trying to figure out what I knew.
“Nothing,” I said. I just looked down after I got the watch with this awareness that it belonged to you and not to me.
Have you picked up on stuff like this before? he continued now not labeling it as being “psychic.”
Yes, my whole life, I said confidently. I can’t always explain how (like in this moment now), but when I receive the information, I take action. It’s like decoding things - I’m really good at it.
Knowing how honest I was/am with what I was saying, he then began sharing the details of his inner monologue … connecting the dots on what had happened in our mutual home.
“The first one (meaning the first neighbor to pass) was an overdose. I swear, if Mandy got a ‘hot batch’ I’ll kill ‘em. I’ll find out who it is and I’ll kill ‘em myself.”
She didn’t do drugs, I told him.
I know that the two of them were friends.
Yes, I said, but Mandy was friends with everyone.
No, he corrected me, they actually went out together.
Like socially, I said picking up this cue?
Yes, he said. They ran in similar circles.
I also love that “said similar circle” goes back to my friend Spikey Mikey from Myspace Days.
Defending my friend from what I knew to be true despite a coroner’s report still not being released - again I said, “she didn’t do drugs. This won’t be an overdose. I wish I had more answers, that’s actually why I keep asking so many questions. I thought taking all this action would help, but it’s making me angrier by the day. She might not have been in the best health of her life, but I know it wasn’t ‘bad’ enough to just drop dead.”
How is the Flight Attendant taking it? he said out of genuine concern.
I don’t know. We keep checking in, but he seems a bit detached. It’s understandable, everyone grieves in their own way.
I spent an hour and a half in Batz’ apartment.
I know this because when I came back downstairs it led to a fight with my boyfriend who had no idea where I was, and who I was with.
(I forgot to grab my phone after I texted Batz.)
After EVERYTHING that has just happened?!?! he said extremely upset and understandably justified.
Knowing that I’m not someone who cheats (nor being insecure himself), he logically knew we weren’t “getting it on” … but before I left, Batz did leave me with a message.
“I need to tell something to the Flight Attendant. It is very important, and only he can hear it. It’s about her passing specifically. It’s VERY important.” he said a second time with emphasis.
Once the fumes stopped from my boyfriend’s ears, I then grabbed my phone and texted the Flight Attendant.
Batz has something to tell you, I said. It’s about Mandy’s passing and he said it’s very important.
Okay, he texted back.
Now, this is where (I learned) that not everyone processes a shocking death of a close friend the same way.
If that was me? I would have ran upstairs and asked questions until I was a “blue man in the face” ;) in the hopes of being able to figure out what happened to someone I loved.
The Flight Attendant did not share that same belief system.
The next day, I texted, first to check in to see how he was doing, but secondly, to ask if he had talked to Batz.
No, he admitted then saying he was busy with work.
I then shared his contact info and said, he should call him.
Okay, he texted back.
Now, there are 86,400 seconds in a day, even the President of the United States still has time to make a personal phone call here and there.
The fact that he didn’t message, call, or KNOCK ON HIS DOOR (as Batz was again retired and spent most days at home) was VERY fucking confusing to me. And still something that over six years later registers as “unforgivable” in my eyes.
I saw Batz sporadically after our night in his place. His parking spot was in the garage and frequently I would see him sitting in it with the lights on.
Knowing that certain apartments had less privacy than others, I didn’t really think much of it.
Other neighbors commented on how strange it was.
“Sometimes I just see him sleeping in his car,” one neighbor said over game night.
“He’s epileptic,” I said. “Once shortly after I first moved in, I was coming back from 7-11 and he was walking towards me, and as I said hi he showed me his phone that read ‘I am in the middle of a seizure and can’t speak. I am fine and do not need help.’”
Following Mandy’s death, Batz health went into serious decline.
One afternoon, I was leaving the parking garage and before I walked down the few steps, I saw Batz (who was now at eye level).
“HI,” I said perky as a peach. “I’ve been wondering how you are.”
He was profusely sweating despite the temperature being moderate that day.
“You were wondering how I was” he said choking up in shock?
“Uh yeah,” I said back giving him shit.
“Please ask the Flight Attendant to call me,” he said before walking into the garage.
“I am passionately trying to,” I said frustrated.
Now Batz was no saint.
Everyone knew it. But whatever happened between him and Mandy he took at such a devastating loss that it sent him on a deep dive into drugs and I don’t even know what else.
Realizing that Batz wasn’t going to tell me anything, and PHENOMENALLY FRUSTRATED at the Flight Attendant for not taking action in what seemed like the FASTEST FUCKING ROUTE TO GET INFORMATION … I then decided to try plan B, and call the coroner’s office.
Having never done this before, and not knowing what was going to happen, I googled and clicked the number (slightly terrified).
Pre-COVID the voicemail said, “for the gift shop, please press one, to speak to the coroner’s office, please press two.”
Obvi, LA has a gift shop for the coroner’s office, and obvi it would be the option before talking to the actual coroner’s office.
After weeks of leaving unreturned messages, I one afternoon, finally got the coroner.
“I was hoping someone would call, as this is considered a ‘high profile case.’”
I spoke to Dr. Nicholas Stanzione who to my surprise/ delight was extremely candid.
The first thing we check when doing our reporting is does this person have vital organs. Then, when we identify that they have them, we check their condition.
Makes sense, I thought but didn’t say.
Then, once all of that has been cleared, we check for substances that could have contributed to the death. Was there anything in the person’s system.
This case has been troubling, because I haven’t been able to find anything.
Yes, I said, and I think I know the reason why.
It had been rumored at one point that Mandy was going to start competing again.
There is something that you can take to help the recovery process. It’s not illegal both in terms of the actual law nor in competiton world. It’s apparently pretty common but also undetectable. I have no idea if that could have “counter acted” with something she was doing and or on? I mentioned her herneated discs and the information the family had given.
Yes, I do know about that, and if it is something like what you’re describing, it is going to come back as “inconclusive.” There’s no way I can say definitvely that she had a bad response to that or to anything else.
I mean, it makes sense, I said out of gratitude and still frustration of feeling like I wasn’t any closer to finding an answer.
I then told him about the other death on the same floor that same week. She died of an overdose of fentanyl, is it possible she had something called a “hot batch?” I personally don’t believe she did drugs but two people dropping dead on the same floor in the same week is certainly worth noting in a report.
I can tell you, I don’t think its suicide, and I don’t think it’s foul play.
I know she took a lot of baths as part of recovery post workouts. I have to believe it was something related to working out and recovery … it seems logical based on where she was when she was found.
I’ll take a look at that possibility, and I’ll have the report soon. I really appreciate you calling - this case has been bothering our office for how unusual it is and all the attention.
She was very attention worthy, I said smiling through the phone.
True to his word, on June 26th, 2019 he released the report.
It was picked up by People Magazine (and a lot of other media outlets) two days later …
I’m the friend that is mentioned in his report.
Having the report now in hands, it was still difficult to accept her fate. On the one hand, I knew she hadn’t done drugs - so I was happy in terms of her legacy that nothing illegal came back in her system … but again, I wasn’t any closer to finding out what happened.
“I don’t understand” - I said to my boyfriend, who I had now been dating for around 8 months.
HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU KNOW SOMEONE WHO KNOWS SOMETHING … AND AS HER BEST FRIEND … NOT TALK TO THEM?!?!
Does that mean that:
1) he already knows what Batz knows and doesn’t want to hear it from another person?
2) he didn’t really care about Mandy and just wants to move on?
That doesn’t seem likely … but the barrier to entry here is INCREDIBLY thin.
It’s almost MORE SHOCKING that the two of them haven’t bumped into each other in the lobby and or garage at some point.
“You’re not wrong with what you’re processing, but for as ‘strange’ as you think this is, you have to consider the source.
He also had us all show up to a “surprise memorial.”
OMMMMGGGG, I said back temporarily blocking the horrific memory of a surprise memorial hosted by the Flight Attendant and a former Cult Member featured in the movie Holy Hell.
Just hear that phrase for a moment …
WE WENT TO A SURPRISE …. M-E-M-O-R-I-A-L.
Have you ever heard of such a thing?
NO!!! Why??? BECAUSE IT SHOULD NEVER BE A THING.
NO ONE SHOULD BE SURPRISED WITH A MEMORIAL.
25 days before Mandy had passed, the core building community all got invited to a party at the Houdini Mansion for Architectural Digest. I not only LOVE the Houdini Mansion (it’s one of my favorite properties in LA) but also happen to have grown up in a home featured in Architectural Digest. Our house was built by a student of Frank Llyod Wright.
Either way, I brought my boyfriend as we arrived before the Flight Attendant and our other neighbors.
LIVING for this property, I didn’t care to look cool - I just wanted to spend as much time there as possible.
They had each of the levels of the Houdini Mansion themed with different countries and experiences.
One of the lower levels had a tea leaf reading. Having never done one before, I was curious (and because we were there so early, there was no line).
Guess which cup was mine?
The reader turned to my boyfriend and said “she’s going to need a lot of support in the near future.”
I did not get her card but it is worth noting how UNBELIEVABLY ACCURATE her statement was.
Anyway, the Flight Attendant arrived sometime later, and he had bumped into his ex-boyfriend/ dear friend whom he had always spoken very highly of.
I was excited to meet him, and we were all excited to be on the property.
After the event, we were then invited just the four of us to go to Pace not far from where the Houdini Mansion is.
We had an AMAZING evening … I thought his ex was very well spoken, generous (as he treated) … and while yes, to the best of my knowledge I hadn’t ever met someone who spent decades in a cult … to me that just made him more interesting and have more to offer in terms of stories.
Anytime someone has been through “something” it only makes them more “interesting” in my eyes. Being in a cult didn’t register as a “bad” thing.
It was around a month after Mandy’s passing, his ex reached out inviting us all to a picnic at his rumored “very nice house.”
The Flight Attendant frequently commented on how luxurious and nice it was so clearly, this was an easy decision for all of us.
We in turn made it a pot luck - so everyone brought at least one dish to not show up empty handed. #ConnecticutEtiquette
At first, the Former Cult Member Host, kinda floated around his own space.
It was as to be expected a stunningly beautiful home … and as a group who are now all trauma bonded, we all chatted with each other setting the tables, and arranging the food … feeling very at “home” in his home.
I vividly remember sitting down once everything was set up directly across from him outside.
Being an undiagnosed autistic woman (at the time) - I am HYPER aware of eye contact.
His eye contact was uh, a certain “kind” I hadn’t experienced before.
It was like he was interviewing me to see if we could “be a fit in his life.”
But not just personality wise, like he was studying my aesthetic.
(Which I came to find out is a big thing in the movie I still had yet to see at that point. Highly recommend the film, btw. NOT THE CULT …. DEFINITELY DO NOT JOIN THIS CULT.)
I could tell/ feel him looking at the symmetry on my face, looking for what? I had no fucking idea … but it did make me uncomfortable.
So much so that I got up from the conversation to move into another room (or potential portal).
Sometime later the Former Cult Member Host asked us all into the living room.
He said he had a special surprise for us.
We all gathered in a circle, as this ethereal woman entered with a bowl of some kind.
She introduces herself as “Mandy” as I immediately burst into tears crying into my boyfriend’s arms.
Now, apparently this is a thing in cults … you have the name you were born with and then they give you your “other” name.
Do I think her actual name was Mandy?
No.
Do I think it was some fucked up forced mental mind fuck?
Oh yeah.
The majority of the group didn’t attend Mandy’s celebration of life on November 17th.
Like I said earlier, we did all go dancing, but chose to not participate in the “main memorial” as it had become too much of a shit show with people wanting to exploit Mandy.
Hindsight being 20/20 … I’m not sure what was more exploitative … being open with wanting something for our now famous again friend in her death or surprising those who loved her with what was described as a “healing sound bath” … Meant to help relieve us all from our grief.
Having IMMEDIATE ACCESS TO MY GRIEF, I just bawled my eyes out adjacent to the sound bowl no one asked for.
I have no idea how long it went on for, I only remember the texts from the Flight Attendant after.
“All I wanted to do was hold you,” he texted.
I said to my boyfriend how strange that was.
My BOYFRIEND was the only person I wanted to hug in that moment … it made me question if he knew this was going to happen.
Which was confirmed in the next message that read, “the host just wanted to gift Mandy’s close friends the best way he knew how to help heal us all.”
BOUNDARIES, BITCHES, BOUNDARIES.
CLEARLY, I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE IN THERAPY AT THIS POINT?!?!
Now, if this had been framed as a “get together where a sound bath would be observed in honor of Mandy” - COOL then we can all decide for ourselves what we wanted to do and choose to participate if we wanted.
THIS. WAS. FRAMED. AS. A. PICNIC.
Just to clarify here’s the etymology of the word “picnic:”
pic·nic
/ˈpikˌnik/
noun
noun: picnic; plural noun: picnics
Do you read anything about a sound bath-surprise memorial featuring the fake name of our dead friend ANYWHERE in that Webster’s dictionary definition?!?!?
NO!!! I THINK NOT.
Much like any defining moment, the end serves as a mirror. As death tends to do for the living, it highlights the best and worst in people. It forces us to confront both our strengths and our flaws, our connections and our disconnects.
My connection with the Flight Attendant is about to change dramatically.
But can you truly call it “disconnecting” from someone if you wonder if they had the capability to ever connect in the first place????
