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from and we don’t know what to do with it. So we overeat, we drink, we feed the flames with drugs, we immerse ourselves in obsessive relationships; anythingto dull the pain, to live with our condition. You see, the fact is, our armor is our prison.”
    Something about the woman’s voice had picked up and carried Holly’s attention from the moment the lecture began. It must be the same for the others, she thought, as the room was imbued with a quality of rapt attention. For the next hour she found herself laughing with the audience at Bobbi’s perfectly wrought ironies, nodding her head at connections she had never made before, and tearful as Bobbi related the childhood experiences of a convicted serial rapist.
    “The point,” Bobbi was saying, “is that we need to consciously become as children again, because underneath the armor that’s what we have been. And it’s only from that place that we can then build in order to become adults in the best sense of the word, able to live responsibly and have real relationships. So, we need a method for becoming children again, and a setting. And, crucial to the process, the setting must be safe, and the method true.
    “The SOL movement, born out of my first book, Saving Our Lives , offers the method and setting required. We use a synthesis of psychoanalytic principles, metaphysical concepts, twelve-step work, and groundbreaking new technology to effect powerful long-term change in anyone who is committed to the process. The intensive workshops provide the framework for the initial catalyzing effect and later ongoing development. Many of you have already been to an intensive. We now have meetings all over the city and in many other states, in which we continue our work and commence to show, by example, how much for the better our lives can change. Thank you.”
    There was a silence for several seconds, followed by an explosion of applause. People around Holly stood, still clapping, until she was the only one in her row sitting. It made her feel conspicuous so she, too, stood.
    Bobbi Bradley remained at the podium with her hands slightly outstretched, palms up, as though encouraging the audience. With a simple twist of her wrists, her palms faced outward and the room fell silent. Holly, like the rest, settled back in her seat.
    “All right, now it’s your turn. Who’s got something to say?”
    At this point Art appeared in the aisle with a microphone. Several hands shot up, and Art handed the mic to a woman a few rows behind Holly.
    “My name is Denise and I’m here to save my life,” the woman said.
    “Hi, Denise,” the audience echoed. Denise was in her late thirties, well dressed and self-assured, Holly thought.
    “I just wanted to share with you that I first came to hear you two years ago because my friend thought it would be good for me. I was in complete denial at the time and perfectly convinced my life was okay.”
    “And was it really okay?” Bobbi asked.
    “Somewhere in your pitch, when you spoke of having to undo the armor, I found that I was feeling scared and angry. I actually left the room. The next day I realized that what I was afraid of was being unprotected, and that you had told me a truth about myself.”
    “So what did you do?” Bobbi encouraged from the podium.
    “I called the SOL hotline and they signed me up for the intensive. My life has totally been rocketed into a new dimension since that experience. It’s not something you can describe; it’s something you’ve just got to do.” The woman sat down and more hands went up.
    Holly listened to more glowing testimonials of the SOL intensive workshop experience. She had the feeling she was being set up for a pitch and was not surprised when two women began passing out flyers. Sure enough, there it was—fifteen hundred dollars for three days at the Malibu retreat.
    Bobbi chose a man in the back. He was attractive, maybe fifty but trim looking, and when he took the mic he said only, “My