Down the Rabbit Hole (33 page)

The next day, while Hef was working in his office, I went into the master suite for my last round of packing. When I went to grab my things from a shelf near the bed, I noticed one of Hef's file folders sitting neatly in the middle of what was formerly “my side of the bed.”

That's weird,
I thought.

Hef
never
leaves important documents lying around. They're always locked up in his bedroom safe or his office, or being hand carried by him personally. He was a man of routine—and this was entirely out of character.

Curious, I picked up the stack of papers, which were obviously left for me to see. Inside was a copy of his last will and testament. I spent seven years living with the man, so I can tell you on good authority that he would have never have left something this important lying around by accident. It was clear to me that this was meant for me to see.

It carefully outlined the division of his estate. After death tax, his fortunes would be divvied up starting with roughly 50 percent to his charitable foundation and the bulk of the remainder divided evenly between his four children: Christie, David, Marston, and Cooper. No surprise there.

What came next was shocking to me. For the better part of a decade, Hef used money as a means to control each girlfriend. Anything he shared was temporary: a weekly allowance, monthly payments for leased cars, etc. At a moment's notice, he had the ability to pull the rug out from under us.

But it was there, in black and white. The will stated that $3,000,000 would be bestowed to Holly Madison at the time of his death (provided I still lived at the mansion). At the time, it was more money than I'd ever know what to do with.

We had never spoken about his will—and I never expected anything like that. In the past, he had casually mentioned leaving me the Bunny House, but I never took the bait. Disgusted by the gold-digger image the public had of me, I tried to stay away from those kinds of clichés as much as possible in my
real
life. I still held on to a shred of hope that I would one day be financially independent. I had saved enough of my
GND
salary to put a down payment on a Santa Monica condo I hoped to rent out. And once I had started making some money, I stopped accepting the “clothing allowance” that made me feel so cheap.

Eventually, I would go on to find my own success, but I didn't know it back then. My future was a gamble. Despite spending seven years in one of the most expensive homes in Los Angeles, living a relatively lavish lifestyle, I had no wealth of my own—just the illusion of it. Three million dollars was
a lot
of money to me.

But I didn't want it. I actually pitied him for stooping to that level. I couldn't help being offended. Did he really think he could buy me?

I put the folder back on the bed just as I had found it and never breathed a word of it.

During one of our final encounters at the mansion, Hef spotted me as he shuffled down the hallway.

“You're not wearing your bunny necklace,” he said, a sorrowful look plaguing his eyes. I didn't know what to say. I was only glad he didn't know that I had already started the process of removing my bunny tattoo as well.

“No one,” he said, pausing for emphasis, “will ever love you as much as I do.” He enunciated the sentence slowly, as if he were making a grand speech. I had no words. Instead, I gave him a friendly hug in order to avoid actually speaking to him. I know he was trying to sound romantic, as if he were pledging his undying love, but to me his comment sounded like a slight. I knew I deserved better—and there's no way his kind of love was the best the world had to offer.

Through his vain attempts to intimidate, guilt, persuade, and eventually bribe me, the only thing he succeeded in doing was to convince me that I was making the best decision I had made in a very long time.

During those final few months, I began spending more time in Las Vegas. It was a town brimming with opportunities! I met with the producers of the Crazy Horse Paris, a tasteful cabaret show at the MGM Grand. We had discussed me doing a guest run before, but now I was ready to pursue it. Bridget and I were hired to host a Halloween party in Vegas and were brought out early to shoot flyers for the event. And while my trips were primarily business focused, I was finally single and free to date whomever I wanted, so I found myself seeing Criss in my spare time.

Though I was cautious to take it slow at first, over time it was clear he really was looking for something serious and our relationship grew romantic.

When I announced to him that I was leaving Hef and the mansion, Criss opened up his world to me without even a moment's hesitation. He pleaded with me to move in with him by Halloween during one of my trips to Las Vegas.

“No!” I giggled. “That's too soon!”

I didn't want to rush into a relationship so fast. Honestly, I didn't see myself settling down with him quickly. I had big plans, none of which involved living with a man. I hoped to split my time between L.A. and Las Vegas in order to balance both my job at Studio West as well as performing regularly at the MGM. I had hopes of developing my own spin-off TV series chronicling my new life in Vegas as a single showgirl.

Unfortunately, my need to feel loved would win out over my need for independence.

D
URING MY LAST FEW
weeks at the mansion, Bridget was back on a break from filming her travel show. After we discussed the upcoming Halloween party, I had to fill her in on how awkward things continued to be for me under Hef's roof.

“Hef came into my room the other day and tried ‘reasoning' with me,” I told Bridget, sprawling myself out on her large round bed. “He was trying to talk me out of dating Criss and was like, ‘The media calls him a douche bag!' I didn't know what to say!”

Despite everything, Hef hadn't quite given up yet. A few weeks after that fateful night in Las Vegas, photos emerged revealing what appeared to be an intimate evening I spent with Criss Angel in Las Vegas. I remained at the mansion for about two months total after Hef and I officially broke up, in order to fulfill my obligations to the TV series. During those eight weeks, as I waited around to see what sort of final scenes I needed to film for season five, more details began to not so mysteriously emerge in the press about my relationship with Criss (for being an “illusionist,” he sure was obvious).

The media was having a field day with the idea that all three of Hef's girlfriends were simultaneously leaving the mansion for other men. Though Bridget hadn't gotten involved with anyone yet, the media jumped on any sighting of her with another guy, hoping to round out the story of Kendra and Hank and me and Criss. One tabloid article in particular erroneously linked Bridget to a Las Vegas DJ. Since that same article went out of its way to mention that I was whisked away in Criss's black Rolls-Royce Phantom, I couldn't help but think he was behind that article, too.

“Yeah, he talked to me about it, too,” Bridget said. “He thinks dating Criss will be bad for your career.”

Was I seriously going to get career advice from a man who spent seven years treating me like a glorified pet?

“I told him a long time ago that I knew that you were really depressed,” Bridget continued, “and that's why you didn't go to that Lakers game a while ago.”

Months before our breakup and my fateful trip to Las Vegas, Hef, the girls, and I had plans to attend a Lakers game. Slowly, I attempted to get ready, but couldn't gather up the strength to finish my hair and makeup. Like a zombie, I walked back to our bed and tucked myself in for the night. Have you ever been so depressed that it's a struggle just to leave your room? By then I had weaned myself off the antidepressants I had been prescribed back when
GND
first started filming. Between the success of the series and my new career, I had established some much-needed self-confidence and even found some happiness in my day-to-day routine. But in moments of weakness, the depression kept creeping back in. It forced me to realize that it wasn't just in my head . . . it had to be this lifestyle that was draining me.

“I told him he should really talk to you about it,” Bridget offered.

“Well, he never did,” I said.

If I had any doubts about my decision to leave, what Bridget said had just squashed them. Hef knew how desperate, sad, and broken I was but didn't do a damn thing about it. I'd given seven years of my life to a man who couldn't even have a conversation with me.

Kendra's and my final scenes with Hef were a bit less authentic than the good-bye scene the three of us girls had filmed a few weeks earlier. Ever concerned with public perception, Hef had to ensure that the “breakups” painted him in the most positive light possible. He couldn't seem heartless, but he couldn't appear devastated by our departures, either. It was a delicate balance to strike—especially since it was a total farce. When Kendra walks into Hef's bedroom to reveal to him that she's decided to leave the mansion, viewers can clearly see framed photos of Karissa and Kristina Shannon (who moved in as girlfriends in October 2008) scattered around the bed—having already replaced the photos of the three of us.

Hef didn't start dating the Shannon twins until after Bridget, Kendra, and I had all announced our departures, so the framed photos posed a continuity flaw that the three of us girls noticed right away when we viewed the episode. The producers either didn't notice it or didn't care. In fact, it worked out for them quite nicely, because in order to make Hef look like the playboy he wanted to be portrayed as, it was important that him dating the Shannon twins be worked into
GND
's fifth season
before
Bridget, Kendra, and I left. After all, how could the great Hugh Hefner
ever
be single? Even for one day?

The twins are shown moving into the mansion in the same episode we learn to scuba dive (and before we shot our final pictorials). It worked nicely for them because when Hef came to see us scuba dive in the ocean he brought a gaggle of Playmates with him, including the Shannon twins, who were shooting their Playmate pictorial. But the twins were never predatory, never trying to steal anyone's boyfriend. They didn't move in until after the three of us had all broken it off with Hef, despite what he would like viewers to think.

When it was finally my turn to film a good-bye scene, producers asked me to film a short segment with Hef where I was to tell him I'd be heading to Las Vegas to work on a pictorial—it was intended to be my last scene. It felt so forced and inauthentic. The producers always knew how to leave a scene open-ended if need be—if I were to truly leave Hef forever, as I said I was going to, they had an exit scene for me. By asking me to refer to the “photo shoot in Vegas” I suppose they intended that to be where I met Criss. If I changed my mind and came back before the next season began filming (as they hoped I would) the scene could be played off as a temporary departure. In a moment of rebelliousness, I decided to wear a Criss Angel logo hoodie—a blatant flaw in the continuity of the series. The show was setting it up as if I were on my way to meet Criss for the first time, but in reality that wasn't the case. It was my way of alerting savvy viewers that it was all for show. If I met Criss during that “photo shoot in Vegas,” why was I already wearing his hoodie? I thought someday someone might notice and realize that our relationship unraveled much differently than they portrayed it on television. Since the crew didn't notice the jacket, no one asked me to remove it.

The mansion's annual Halloween bash—the Saturday before the actual holiday—was my final hurrah before heading off to the Santa Monica condo I'd recently purchased (and eventually to Las Vegas and Criss). After years of being seated next to Hef at these soirees like a perfect little soldier, I was eager to
finally
let loose! As a nod to my new Vegas obsession, I decided to go as Elvis and immediately buddied up with John Stamos (who was also dressed as Elvis) and his then-girlfriend (as Priscilla, naturally)—and together we all braved the mansion's elaborate haunted house. The two were friendly and down to earth, a nice contrast to the overall feel of this particular party.

As I looked around, I realized that the mansion wasn't quite the same magical place it had been when I first arrived. Like Dorothy, I peeked behind the curtain and saw the frail old man pretending to be someone he wasn't. The mystique had vanished.

But it wasn't just my perception that had changed. Just a few months earlier, the ailing financial state of Playboy Enterprises prompted them to begin selling tickets to the once-exclusive soirees. The guest list ballooned to accommodate the increasing demand—and the vibe became crowded and hectic. The new guest list was less exclusive in every way and a frantic touristy vibe took over the parties. It was easy to get separated from your friends, because it was so crowded and the overwhelming influx of newbies hungry to snap photos of every guest and every detail of the party totally changed the entire feel.

By 2008, everyone had a smartphone and the “no camera” rule that used to be what kept the parties a private and exclusive haven for celebrities was obliterated. Since by that time I had found a bit of TV fame, I spent much of the night taking photos with guests. The slow, sexy elegance of the first Playboy party I had attended back in 2000 had completely vanished.

So much for “what happens in the grotto stays in the grotto,”
I thought.

I decided then and there that the Halloween party was the last mansion party I ever needed to attend.

And it was.

Meanwhile, as I was contemplating how much things had changed, somewhere across the property that very night, history
was
repeating itself and someone else was seeing the mansion through new eyes. While Kristina and Karissa Shannon spent the evening stuck at Hef's side, itching for more freedom, someone else was standing outside Hef's roped-off area, looking in. I imagine the twins didn't want the responsibilities of being the “main” girlfriends, so they had their eyes open for a girl to fill that spot. And it was there that they spotted her, standing just a few feet away from their table, boiling over with nerves at the thought of meeting Gatsby himself.