Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

your breakfast routine.
“Hang out here while I get ready,” Lisa demanded while hopping into the bathroom. After she
had chattered on about herself for about 10 minutes, her cake was finally delivered. She thanked the
butler, plopped the tray down on her bed, started shoveling the cake in her mouth, and asked, “So,
how do you like it here so far?”
Finally, someone I can talk to! I thought with relief. Now was a good time to ask a few
questions and confess a few of my insecurities about this wild world I had just entered. I confided in
Lisa that I wasn’t too fond of April, that she really intimidated me.
“That’s okay, the rest of us don’t like her, either,” Lisa stated, wrinkling up her nose. “Hef just
likes her because she’s wild.”
“Oh, wow, thank God it’s not just me!” I sighed, feeling relieved. Maybe April wouldn’t last
that long and then we could all really be like sorority sisters; all on the same team.
Feeling more and more comfortable with Lisa, I thought I would ask her opinion about something
that had started worrying me the past few days.
“Hef hasn’t given me a bunny necklace yet,” I admitted meekly. “Do you think that’s weird?”
Every Playmate and every girlfriend was presented with a bunny pendant necklace from Hef. At
the time, I (along with everyone else in L.A.’s 30-mile zone) thought these necklaces were made with
real diamonds. They had looked so glamorous, glittering on the chests of the chosen ones who flitted
about the Playboy parties, the hottest nightclubs, and the spendiest shopping districts in L.A. (In
reality, the pendants were cubic zirconia, and if you could track down the Downtown L.A. jeweler
who made them, anyone could purchase one for just $100.)
My interest in acquiring a necklace had nothing to do with its value, however. Sure, I coveted
one, but my worry stemmed from what it symbolized.
Hef’s words echoed in my mind: “You can stay for a while and we’ll see how it works out.”
Maybe I wasn’t making the cut. That had to be why he hadn’t graced me with a necklace yet. In the
few weeks I had been there, he had presented one to Charis Boyle, an upcoming centerfold, whom he
had met after me. Somehow I had been skipped over.
“Oh, he hasn’t?” Lisa asked, feigning amazement. “Ohhhh. Yeah, I dunno why that is.” She
purred as she put down her fork and sauntered back into the bathroom.
I felt a knot form in my stomach. That was definitely not the reaction I had hoped for. Lisa’s
sisterly vibe had me hoping she would reassure me that this was normal or perhaps even offer to ask
for me—after all, she seemed so comfortable around Hef and was certainly good at getting whatever
she wanted.
As Lisa readied herself for the day and led me down to her car, my mind was in turmoil. Was my
time here almost over? I had barely been at the mansion two weeks and already I didn’t seem to be
making the cut. What would I do now?
As it turns out, I wasn’t the only one with these kinds of anxieties.
As we wound our way through L.A. traffic down to Target in Culver City, Lisa kept babbling
about herself. I found her stream-of-consciousness narrative fascinating, as her anxieties mirrored
mine. The only difference was that she had been here longer and had a centerfold under her belt.