An über-coiffed businesswoman with an '80s big hairdo takes the floor during the always-iffy question and answer period of a panel discussion and begins making wild, self-important claims, the kind of lunatic assertions that can only be interpreted as a sign of abject insanity.

"I helped bring about the end of the Cold War," she tells the incredulous audience of about 90 Bay Area executive women convening in a posh meeting room at the top of the Westin St. Francis Hotel in Union Square for an evening's discussion on "Moving Beyond Success to Significance."

"My name was rocketed around the world!" declares the Cold War Avenger, showing no sign of relinquishing the mike.

The audience grows impatient. "What's your name?" a few call out. We're all wondering: If you're so famous, who are you?

"Joan Quigley," she replies, regally. "I came here tonight because I need help."

Wait. These aren't the spewed ravings of a mentally imbalanced nobody. Quigley is the world-famous astrologer who spent seven years secretly plotting President Ronald Reagan's schedule according to the movements of the stars. By God, maybe she did help end the Cold War -- if only by reassuring the superstitious Reagans that they had the heavens on their side. She's the star of Stargate, the seer who advised Nancy Reagan on how to protect the Gipper from succumbing to the infamous 20-year curse that had felled every president elected in a year ending with zero since William Henry Harrison in 1840.

But now the famous stargazer is asking a gathering of year 2000 senior vice presidents and directors of strategic planning for help. What could they possibly do for her? More to the point: What guidance can they give her that the stars haven't already?

In a phrase: business advice.

Apparently, seeing the future isn't enough to transform a celebrity astrologer whose own star is fading into a venture-backed Internet entrepreneur. Like other famous names -- Dr. Koop and the late Dr. Spock -- Quigley hankers to channel her talents and notoriety into a dot-com business, an Internet company that will spread her wisdom to the world. So far, the planets have not aligned in her favor.

Maybe it's an indication of just how far the dot-com downturn has gone that the astrologer who once dictated what time of day the president of the United States took the oath of office, flew in Air Force One or held a summit with other heads of state, is now finding that she just doesn't have the pull she needs with Silicon Valley venture capitalists.

Quigley has spent the past two years working on an Internet company that would bring her personalized astrological predictions to the masses, but she hasn't yet been able to secure the $6 million to $10 million she needs to develop her first products -- a personalized daily, monthly and yearly prediction service, for which she expects to charge a $15 a month subscription fee. She may have helped end the Cold War, but all the hints that the heavens can provide have not been enough to crack a venture capitalist's coffers in this cooling market.

"Really, I should have known," she confides to the roomful of female executives. "Struggle has been in my charts."

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