Sliding Into Home (19 page)

Then, in the winter of 2006, I rolled out of bed, caught my reflection in the mirror, and saw that my face had broken out with a terrible case of acne. It started around Thanksgiving, and by Christmas my face was covered in angry red spots. The Christmas episode, “Snow Place Like Home,” didn’t air until March of the following year, but I knew when they were filming that as soon as it ran I would be seeing comments all over the Internet about it. I was really depressed that whole season about the acne, but filming Christmas night was the worst.

I never had acne as a kid, so I didn’t have an it-happens-to-everyone attitude. I wasn’t even sure where it came from. Maybe it was
stress. Maybe it was all the holiday chocolate I was eating. Either way, my face was covered with pimples, and I wanted to stay as far away from the cameras as possible.

Unfortunately, I didn’t really have a choice. The production crew had put snow all over the front lawn and was getting ready to film a fun holiday party. I was a real bitch about being on camera and complained like crazy, but none of it mattered. The producers weren’t going to let me hide. The show didn’t have a makeup team, so the acne wasn’t going to hide, either. I was mortified.

I started to break down. I couldn’t go to the Christmas party; I didn’t even want to leave my room! I locked the door and refused to come out.

The producers were not happy. They started yelling for me to get out of the room, but I just wanted to crawl under my covers and hide. Eventually Hef came up to my room, and when he walked in I started crying.

“Look how bad it is,” I said.

“They’re just love bites,” he said before kissing my forehead. “You’re still so beautiful.”

I wiped my tears away and smiled. He always said the right thing. When I gained a little weight during my first year at the Mansion he gave me the tough love, but this time he knew it was a different situation. He knew I was down on myself and stressed out. And after just a few kind words from Hef I was feeling better.

I went down to the party. I hid from the cameras at first, but then I loosened up a bit and stopped caring, and I even ended up having a pretty good time. But after that night I continued to stay out of as
many shots as possible. Hef saw how concerned I was about the acne so he paid to put me on Accutane. They say that stuff messes with your head and makes you suicidal, but I was as down as I could possibly be before taking it, so mentally there was nowhere to go but up.

Physically, though, my face got worse when I started the medication. That’s what is supposed to happen, but I still wasn’t happy about it when it did. I had big red blotches everywhere and I was near tears every time the camera was on me. By that point I knew what the producers wanted so I gave it to them as quickly as possible and then got out of there as fast as I could.

When the episodes started to air, people commented on the Internet about my acne, just as I’d feared. They called me ugly, and it just killed me because there was nothing I could do about it.

After about eight months of my taking Accutane, scrubbing my face twenty times a day, and picking at every stupid blemish on my skin, the acne finally went away.

As if getting called ugly on the Internet wasn’t bad enough, as I watched the episodes, I got pissed because I wasn’t in any of them. I complained to the producers that the episodes were all Bridget or all Holly, and they reminded me that I chose to not be in them. We fought back and forth, and in the end the only person I could really blame was myself. I needed the confidence to not care what anybody was saying about me. I didn’t look in the mirror and see my good qualities, instead, I focused on the acne. (I also blamed chocolate. I haven’t eaten chocolate since that winter; in fact, I’ve almost developed a fear of it.)

By season four things were looking up. We got a raise each year, so I was finally making enough from the show to be able to actually do a few things with my money.

I did some research online and talked to a few friends, and eventually I decided to invest the money in real estate. I found a condo in La Jolla that I bought and fixed up myself, with the help of my grandfather. He started to get pretty sick right after we finished, and I felt really lucky that he was able to stay alive long enough to see great things happen for me.

Soon after fixing up the condo, I bought a second house. I let my mom manage both of the properties and take care of the renters. It was such a rush to be doing something for my future, and making smart decisions with my money.

The show remained really popular, and it was cool to feel like a star. I loved hearing that fans thought I was funny or watched the show for me specifically. Who doesn’t love feeling special? But the show and the celebrity that comes with it wasn’t what got me going. It was power. Buying those houses made me feel powerful. Fame was cool, but power was better.

I always wondered what the people from my past might think if they saw me succeed at something. And while it was great knowing that they were watching me play a character named Kendra on the show, I was more curious about what they would think if they saw me buying houses and making a business for myself beyond television. By season four I could finally walk around with my head held high and say,
Look at me now, mother-fuckers!

It was a great year. During filming I got to show off my racing skills from back in the day at the Long Beach Grand Prix (and kick
George Lucas’s butt on the track while doing it). I think that was probably the coolest thing I got to do while living in the Mansion.

We also went to Alaska to see where Holly grew up and nearly died on a floatplane while there, which was not so cool. The engine on the plane almost blew out, and when I smelled the smoke and heard the noises I freaked out. I don’t know why they kept putting me on planes when they knew I hated to fly, but that incident was especially terrifying. I nearly drank myself to death that day because I was so scared.

I also met Brittany Binger, a 2007 Playmate, that year, and we became close friends. She’s a quiet, conservative girl from Ohio—the complete opposite of me—but somehow we got along really well. I taught her things about life at the Mansion, gave her sex advice, and did my best to bring out her fun, naughty side; it felt good to be in a position at
Playboy
where I felt confident enough to pass on some of my wisdom. Brittany was there for me, too, and she’s still one of my closest friends. She’s always helping me to be a better person and to think before I act.

I loved that I was doing well and in a position to help others. That year I paid for a face-lift for my mom, and for her to get her boobs done before
Playboy
’s annual Midsummer Night’s Dream Party. After my dad left, my mom never really put herself out there to meet anyone. She gave up on men, and on some level, she gave up on herself. It felt good to be able to help boost her confidence a little, and I think she became a whole new woman after those procedures. She feels young again—and she acts like it, too. She began to love going to
Playboy
parties, and she even joined Facebook and Twitter. She also started filling me in on other reality shows on TV, and on
all the gossip she reads online. She even goes into chat rooms and talks shit to teenagers! It’s pretty funny, and I’m glad I could help her live a little.

Having money gave me a new sense of freedom and comfort in life. I felt like I was in control of things for a change.

Life wasn’t completely drama-free, though.

Around that time, I was supposed to be in Eminem’s “Smack That” video, and when I found out I was really excited. I was a good dancer so I thought it would be a fun way to show off my dancing skills. Plus, my friend Brittany from San Diego was a huge Eminem fan, so she drove two hours to come with me. The night before we were so pumped that we couldn’t sleep. We drove downtown at six
A.M
. I got my hair done, and then I sat and waited for eleven hours.

During the day, Eminem was nice to us. “You’re from
Playboy
, right?” he said. I was so stoked that he even knew my name.

Then, a little later, things changed. During another break I was sitting across from him and he yelled out something about San Diego. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about but I wondered if he was on something. He got up and came over to where I was sitting and out of nowhere started yelling like a complete psycho and pouring water all over me. I was pissed.

I got up and punched him in his side and yelled right back. “You’re a little bitch,” I shouted. “You’re always picking on girls. You’re not a man.”

I went off, and then I went on MySpace and wrote an angry message about him. I didn’t think about the show or the fans or anything. I just blurted out all my feeling about him. That was a mistake. I was acting like my mom would on the Internet, but really I needed
Brittany Binger to remind me to think before I acted. Where the hell was she?

Then the drama turned to the business world. The agent I had at the time—the one who made those rookie mistakes when booking my appearances—tried to expand my “brand” to include clothing and failed miserably.

He attempted to negotiate a clothing-line deal for me with some guys from Dubai, and it was supposedly going to pay me millions. He kept saying how great this opportunity was, so I signed the contracts. The plan was to put out a line of shirts called K-Dub, and I even hosted a launch party at Pure Nightclub in Las Vegas, where I threw out shirts to the crowd like a jackass. But it turned out that the Dubai guys were complete con artists. The whole deal was fake.

With the help of some lawyers I put an end to it—and severed my relationship with my agent, too. I knew it was time for me to make bigger moves, and I couldn’t do that with him.

Among my more fun ventures that year was when I did a reality show called
Celebrity Rap Superstar
, where I competed against other stars in a rap competition. It was a blast. I was surrounded by all these rappers I grew up listening to. I think hip-hop music was so much better back then, so I was honored to be working alongside guys like Warren G. and Redman.

When the producers called and asked me if I wanted to be on the show, I insisted that they put me with Too Short. In my opinion, he was the best. Too Short taught me how to rap, but he also mentored me about being a celebrity and how important it was for me to treat my fans well.

Even though Too Short was a good teacher, I knew I wasn’t really a rapper, so I figured I would give the people what they wanted. Each
week I just went up there and shook my ass for the crowd. My ass-shaking got me all the way to the finals.

The final week, we had to come up with a rap about our lives, and in a few verses let the world know where we came from. It was quite a task since my life was filled with some crazy stories, but with Too Short’s help I put it all together. It went:

Little girl be you, ’cause I got to be me.

Live your own life, be all you can be.

And if the sky turns gray,

It’s okay.

Just keep working hard, and you’ll shine one day.

This is a story about a Playmate,

You might think my life was always great.

You see me on TV when my booty shake.

But now it’s time to get the story straight.

When I was young, my dad was ghost.

Left me and mom on the West Coast.

Just little K-Dub growing up in Diego.

People doing drugs and I couldn’t say no.

I hit rock bottom. I hit so low.

People tried to help me, I said hell no.

I didn’t win, but I was proud as hell to rap my story, so it didn’t matter. And I didn’t have to shake my ass to get the crowd to feel me. I went out there and said “Enough of this stupid shit; listen to my real story,” and people were blown away. The judges loved it; Hef, who was there supporting me, loved it; and everyone in the audience respected me for what I’d done. I’d never felt so good in my life.

CHAPTER 16