Down the Rabbit Hole (17 page)

I refused. I hated having to conform, especially to this group of girls. I also found his baggy, faded flannel pajamas terribly unflattering. I wasn't granted permission to wear my outfit of choice without yet another argument complete with flowing tears from Hef. (He later apologized for being so upset after he saw the other girls pile around the tree with deliberate markers of their own: a yellow duck beanie, a Pomeranian puppy, etc. I wasn't the only one desperate to stand out.)

Those TV spots were fun, but I was
really
excited when Fox started shooting a reality television show called
Who Wants to Be a Playboy Centerfold?
(The show was intended to be a series, but ended up getting cut down into just a one-time special.) I thought this could be a chance for me to learn more about the behind-the-scenes operations of television, and who knows, maybe even get discovered myself
.
The show was shot mainly in a ranch-style home across the street from the mansion that Hef had recently purchased, which we would later take to calling “The Bunny House.” Twelve contestants vying for a chance at a Playboy centerfold were moved into the house, three or four girls to a room. The girls would participate in several photo shoot challenges as they were eliminated one by one. Finally, a winner would be chosen to be Miss July of that year.

Much to my dismay, Hef deliberately kept his girlfriends far, far away from the production. Desperately bored with my day-to-day life, I became obsessed with learning every behind-the-scenes detail about this television special. I even snuck into the living room during a production meeting to listen in as Hef clandestinely discussed the next round of contestant eliminations with the producers. I casually flopped down into a pile of pillows in the corner of the room so I could secretly hear their conversation.

“We have to keep her! She's the bitch!” a female producer exclaimed after Hef pointed out who he would like to eliminate next. “She makes great television!”

“I dunno, I think she's a little overweight,” Hef grumbled.

“She's right, we need to keep her,” an enthusiastic male voice chimed in. “She's confrontational with the other girls in the house. She adds conflict.”

“Okay, well, we'll keep her for the next round and see how it works out,” Hef slowly acquiesced.

Wow,
I thought. I was familiar with
America's Next Top Model,
the show that this Playmate competition show appeared to be based on, and never would have guessed that contestants were kept on strictly to stir the pot. It made sense, but in the early days of reality TV, viewers weren't as wise to the process as they are now.

Interestingly enough, the girl Hef had deemed “overweight” became a favorite of a
Playboy
photo editor, and her centerfold was so well produced, Hef ended up selecting it as the winner. Since viewers wouldn't be happy with an antagonist winning the competition, the show was quickly re-edited to take out those “pot-stirring bitch” moments and make the winner look like America's Sweetheart. (By the way, I always found the winner to be a nice person. I suppose she was a little more honest and blunt than the rest of the contestants, hence the “bitch” label that people like to throw onto assertive women.)

Anything is possible,
I thought.
Maybe Hef will one day change his mind about my chances of being a centerfold, too.

The television special was just the latest in a slew of media opportunities Hef had begun participating in over the past few years. Two of the most substantial, documentaries titled
Playboy: The Party Continues
(2000) and
Inside the Playboy Mansion
(filmed before my arrival in 2001), followed Hef's new life as a 70-something swinger. Any time a
Playboy
-related program aired, it scored fantastic ratings. Middle America was still buying into the intrigue and racy glamour of the
Playboy
world, made interesting again by Hef's reemergence onto the social scene.

Hef loved the documentaries that covered his life, but he also loved any chance to cross over to a younger audience (he was obsessed with appearing “hip” and relevant), which is how we found ourselves doing press in the middle of a Justin Timberlake video shoot in the mansion's backyard.

“So, do you listen to hip-hop?” the MTV reporter asked.

“Uhhh,” Hef began, seemingly at a loss for words. “Ummm . . .”

In early 2003, Justin Timberlake was at the top of his game. You couldn't spend more than 10 minutes at any nightclub in Los Angeles before hearing a track from his latest album
Justified
(so much so that I
still
can't listen to a single song without being overcome by painful memories). When a request came through
Playboy
asking to shoot a music video at the mansion for the Nelly track “Work It” featuring Justin Timberlake, the answer was of course yes.

When it came time to shoot the video, the director offered Hef and his girlfriends small roles. Because some of the other models in the video were topless, it was deemed too racy for the United States and only aired internationally. During the shoot, Hef sat in his own wooden throne-like chair bobbing along to the beat and wearing black sunglasses, with Nelly and Justin Timberlake on either side of him, while we danced around them in skimpy outfits. After filming wrapped, Hef was asked to do an interview with MTV news. All the girlfriends gathered around Hef, and I took my place at his immediate right.

“Uhhh,” Hef continued to fumble. This nonresponse was completely out of the ordinary. Usually he was a pro at these interviews, able to call upon a laundry list of canned responses to just about any question you can imagine. I listened to Hef rattle off the same answers he'd given a million times before, often word for word. I think I had unintentionally memorized some of them myself. He struggled for so long, it was becoming awkward and I feared the reporter had only asked about hip-hop to trip up the 76-year-old man, so I decided to cut in.

“You listen to it out at the clubs,” I offered, looking at Hef with a warm smile, aware that all eyes were on me.

“Er, um, yes, yes,” Hef said, regaining some composure. “We listen to it when we go out.” He coasted through the rest of the interview on his Rolodex of previously used responses and we wrapped.

When I finally managed to get up to the master bedroom to change out of the red skirt and lace cropped halter I had worn for the video, Hef had beaten me there and was already standing in front of the bathroom sink.

“YOU,” he began loudly when I appeared in the doorway, “have NO answers! You are to keep
quiet
during interviews!”

“Sorry, I was just trying to help,” I mumbled as I darted around the corner into the vanity. My eyes started filling with tears—as they did almost daily back then.

I was to keep quiet,
I repeated in my head. He was treating me like a dog. Sit! Stay! No barking! Only I'd never seen him be so mean towards his animals. I had tried to help my boyfriend navigate a sticky situation and now I was being punished for it, which made the reprimand hurt all the more. Despite his many abuses, I had grown protective of Hef and felt like the interviewer could easily have made him look like a fool. In the few years I'd been at the mansion, I'd never seen a question throw him so entirely off his game. What if the producers decided not to be kind that day? The way he was sputtering in front of the camera, they could have easily made him look like a senile old coot.

But he clearly would rather have looked like an idiot than get help from one of his “dumb blondes.”

When would I ever catch a break?
I wondered.

F
OR THE MAGAZINE
'
S
50
TH
anniversary, A&E wanted to shoot a TV special to air on the network. The program included a party at the mansion celebrating the magazine's iconic run and honoring
Playboy'
s most famous Playmates. As girlfriends, we had no role beyond getting glammed up and sitting quietly next to Hef, but I used it as an opportunity to try to give myself a much-needed boost of self-esteem. I decided to treat myself to something really special: a red, Jessica Rabbit–inspired Baracci gown that cost a few thousand dollars. I never spent that much on clothing, since I was trying to put away as much money as I could, but I felt I finally deserved the treat. I always remembered how stunning the Bentley twins looked in their glamorous Baracci gowns, and seeing as though this was an extra-special event, I figured I could splurge!

“You know, you will look back on this time as the best time of your life,” Mary had said to me after one of my vent sessions. “All the dressing up and things you get to do.” I trusted Mary and always told her how I felt, but if this is the best time of my life,
shoot me now,
I thought.

Foolishly, I'd long believed that becoming a
Playboy
centerfold was the fast track to fame and fortune. Boy, was I wrong. There have been more than 720 Playmates in
Playboy
's history. How many of them can you name? Even if I did happen to score a pictorial someday, it didn't necessarily mean anything beyond validation. More than ever, I had begun to accept that I would never achieve anything greater than my role as “Hef's main girlfriend.”

The handful of Playmates who
had
become famous were all in attendance that night. Playmate and TV personality Jenny McCarthy hosted the event (her beauty is matched by her wit—she ended up being the best part of the show, by far!), which included musical numbers and stand-up acts. Nineties Playmate stars Anna Nicole Smith and Pamela Anderson were also in attendance.

Barbi Benton, Hef's main girlfriend in the '60s and '70s, attended the soiree. While not technically a Playmate, Barbi was featured in several pictorials and on four
Playboy
covers. Hef went out of his way to keep in touch with many of his ex-girlfriends—partly out of sentimentality but also, I believe, as a form of damage control. Keeping in the good graces of his ex-girlfriends was a sort of insurance policy. I guess he figured the regular invites back to the mansion would keep anyone from speaking negatively about him.

Barbi would end up becoming a regular guest star on
The Girls Next Door,
and I ended up really liking her. She was quirky, friendly, and creative. Barbi wasn't a close confidant, though. Despite having dated the same man, we couldn't really relate on that subject. Sure, Hef was much older than she was when they dated—old enough to be her father, though, not her grandfather. Plus, Barbi didn't have to share Hef publicly. He wasn't faithful to her by any means, but she could at least pretend the other women didn't exist. Never was she forced to one side or the other to make room for a gaggle of giggling blondes to line up around him.

It was a surprise to me how mannered and reserved many of the former Playmates were. Despite presenting Hef with a birthday cake totally nude while filming an episode of
Girls Next Door,
Pam Anderson always struck me as incredibly guarded and quite shy. Spending a decade being chased by paparazzi must have made her cautious around people. Like Pam, Anna Nicole was surprisingly quiet and very polite. I met the towering blonde only briefly, but she exuded the charm and etiquette of a real southern belle. Like most former Playmates, they were cordial with Hef, but I don't believe they knew him very well. During the Pam/Anna Nicole era, he was married to Kimberley and didn't socialize with the Playmates much (if at all). Needless to say, those Playmates didn't have to endure the Playboy “casting couch” that existed after the end of his marriage.

I was beyond thrilled to meet 1950s pinup Bettie Page—a living legend! While her hair had long ago turned gray, she still wore it neatly styled with those short iconic bangs. In her later years, Bettie became a born-again Christian and conducted herself like the gentle, churchgoing lady she was. Her name and likeness had become popular again in the '90s, and it was Hef and his friend Mark Roesler who found Bettie and reconnected her with the business end of her pinup past. As a small memento, I gave Bettie a “Miss January” necklace to commemorate her January 1955 centerfold. She later told me she hung it on her wall so she could always “look at it.” When she passed away in 2008, I was heartbroken but grateful that we were able to have met.

Despite the odds, a part of me still held on to my dream of one day becoming a famous Playboy Playmate. And after meeting these iconic women that night, I felt like I should at least
try
to make my dream come true!

“Do you think I could ever be a Playmate?” I squeaked nervously to Hef, my voice coming out even higher pitched than usual.

I held my breath.

After living at the mansion for quite some time, I finally got up the nerve to ask about the possibility point-blank. I spit the question out one evening while he was reviewing Playmate videos in his room.

“I knew you would eventually ask that,” he replied solemnly, his eyes still focused on the video. Finally he let out a sigh and said, “I don't think so, Holly. There are a lot of blondes scheduled for upcoming months already.”

A massive lump formed in my throat.
Okay,
I thought, fighting back the tears.
I can take that. It seemed reasonable: too many blondes.

“Besides,” he continued, now looking directly at me. “You don't have the look. You just don't photograph well.”

“Oh,” I said slowly, careful to keep my voice from quivering. “Right.” I'd always felt that Hef didn't think I was very pretty and that he thought I was lucky to be living at the mansion. But hearing him basically say that hurt even worse than I could have imagined. I had prepared myself for a negative response, but I had thought he would have been more tactful. Luckily, his eyes remained riveted on the TV screens, so I could wipe away my tears discreetly.