The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling the Dice, and the Road to Reinvention (28 page)

“So, I got some bad news today,” I told Hannah after I found her at the flagstone bar in the backyard. The view of the Strip and the mountains beyond the pool and golf course was breathtaking, even in the daytime. “My TV show got canceled.”

“What the fuck? Why?” she asked, wrinkling her forehead as I filled her in on why and how bummed I was.

“I’m so sorry. That fucking sucks. Woman, you need a drink,” she said shoving a vodka shot at me.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll see if I can’t change their minds or revive it some other way, then I’ll tell everyone else as soon as I know there’s no hope.”

“Don’t stress,” Hannah said, throwing her arm over my shoulders. “You’ll find something else to fill that space in no time.”

Even Hannah knew how desperately I needed a full schedule.

“Thanks,” I said, not feeling an ounce of the confidence that Hannah had for me. I envied her lack of insecurity.

Lindsay showed up and grabbed the lounge chair next to us. Hannah and I had already gotten comfortable, she in a black string bikini and me in a white tank top and denim skirt.

“Oh my god, you guys, check this out!” Hannah gasped as she scrolled away on her phone’s screen.

She flipped the phone around so we could see the bright pink blog page set against black, the unmistakable look of her favorite local gossip site. What was unusual about this particular entry was that the photo featured was one of Nancy accompanied by her latest instant bestie.

I couldn’t believe the headline I read, as it was particularly salacious and scandalous.

“What?” I exclaimed, grabbing the phone from Hannah as Lindsay leaned in to see what it said.

I was silent as I scrolled down and saw the flood of comments that
had exploded on the blog since it was posted only a few hours ago. Cruel posts flooded the page, and I winced at reading particularly hurtful ones. It appeared that Nancy had pissed off a lot of people, far more than just Lindsay and me. As I read the comments, it was clear that these people seemed to know her, at least casually. Some described what her apartment looked like inside; others mentioned her pets by name. I felt awful for Nancy. I knew too well what it was like to be torn apart in a public forum where any of your haters or frenemies could pore over it and laugh. I wanted to reach out to her, but was hesitant. Would she think I was secretly gloating if I tried to express empathy? Nancy had never been one to talk about her feelings.

“Jeez, this is heavy,” I said, passing the phone back to Hannah. “I wonder if any of it’s true.”

“I dunno.” Hannah shrugged. “But she’s obviously aware of it. I just went to find her on Twitter, and all of her social media is gone. She deleted everything.”

“No way!” I gasped. Lindsay and I both searched Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook for any sign of Nancy. We couldn’t find a single one. It was as if she disappeared off the face of the planet.

“Someone should text her, make sure she’s okay,” Lindsay suggested.

“I agree. Do you still have her number?” I asked, looking at Hannah. I still made a habit of deleting the contact info of people I no longer wanted as part of my life. There was no need to be tempted back into conversation, whether for friendship or feud.

“Not her new one,” Hannah replied. “She tweeted that she was changing her number about a week after you guys had your falling-out.”

“Sometimes I miss her.” Lindsay sighed.

“Me, too,” I agreed. I couldn’t help but be angry at her for breaking up this amazing little family we had created. “We had a lot of good times. It’s like she ruined all of those memories by turning into a giant shithead.”

“She was
always
a shithead,” Hannah grumbled. “I suspected it the
very first night, after the show! She got major attitude when you invited me along. Nancy was mean to everyone. You avoided her wrath the longest because she always hoped you would put her on your show or something. And when she realized she couldn’t get anything else out of you, she turned on you, too.” Hannah shot me a look that said
You know I’m right
before turning her attention to her maroon metallic nails. “Anyway, where are the boys?” she asked, looking around at the suddenly female-dominated pool.

God,
I thought.
Was Hannah right?
I had focused so much of my energy trying to ward off any guys who might have an agenda that I didn’t even think to look at my own friends. I guess I just didn’t want to be that cynical. The thought made me feel so stupid.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by the thunderous clap of a bright red firework blooming in the sky. In the distance, we could see the brilliant display exploding over the Strip. I was starting to feel antsy, like there was somewhere better I could be or something more productive I could be doing . . . but what? Aren’t you supposed to spend holidays with your closest friends? And here I was, with Hannah and Lindsay . . . so what else was missing?

Plenty,
whispered the creepy little troll in the back of my head who was never, ever satisfied.

Instead of having an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, I constantly heard a critical, overly ambitious, always unhappy voice that was fueled by all the online haters, by the toxic manipulators in my life, and most of all, by me.

Lindsay yawned dramatically, announcing she was ready to head home, and Hannah had wrapped herself around her boyfriend, so I took that as my cue to leave, too. The night still felt young and I wasn’t very excited about going home to my empty house, but I figured it was probably for the best.

I called a cab, said good night, and waited on the brick stoop in front of the Tuscan home. The night was dark, but still as hot as if it were
midday. The bricks burned my legs as I sat, but I didn’t care. In moments of stagnant frustration, I didn’t mind anything that made me feel alive or snapped me out of a funk. The cab pulled up and I directed the driver to Southern Highlands.

I don’t want to go home,
I lamented to myself in my head.

As I gave the friendly, talkative taxi driver directions through the twists and turns of my suburban community, I wondered if I could be happy growing old in this house alone.

What if I never found anyone? What if all my friends moved on and settled down, building families and new lives of their own, and I was still a lonely workaholic until the day I died? Could I be happy? Could work, pets, and a few friends make my life feel complete, even if I never got married and had kids? I know plenty of people choose to live their lives that way and love it, but deep down, that didn’t feel like what I needed. I wanted a balance between the personal and the professional. I realized, though, that at the end of the day I might not have a choice.

Had spending my twenties at the Playboy mansion spoiled my chances? Had I missed my chance to meet “the one”? I wondered if setting Mark aside the way I did spoiled my karma as well. Perhaps I was in for a world of hurt because I had so carelessly hurt
him
. I made the decision then and there that if I was lucky enough to ever meet someone like that again—someone I had amazing chemistry with who was smart and fun and treated me the way I wanted to be treated—I would NOT take him for granted.

When we pulled up to the seemingly lifeless house, the driver cheerfully announced our arrival.

“Here we are!” he exclaimed as I handed him the cash I had carefully folded in my hands and thanked him for the ride.

“Hey, thanks, miss!” he said. As I trudged up the cobblestone walkway, I dug around the bottom of my bag for keys.
Why do I always have to burden myself with a bottomless purse?
I wondered resentfully.
I need to get
my shit together
. I’d spent a few minutes on the ride over carefully selecting the right amount of cash for the driver. Why couldn’t I have thought to pull my keys out of this mess too?

Shit,
I thought. It was too dark to see what had hooked onto the fabric inside my bag, so I tugged and tugged until I felt it finally spring loose, in the process turning my entire bag inside out all over my porch.
Perfect. Just the perfect end to the perfect day
.

I looked up and noticed the taxi had already turned around in the cul-de-sac and was speeding off before I could even begin to open the door.
Even the driver, who had seemed so friendly a moment earlier, doesn’t care if I get inside safely,
I thought, half-jokingly.

As I searched the overcrowded chain for the front door key, it didn’t immediately register that tears had begun to fill my eyes and drip down my face. With the right key in my hand, I went to unlock the door, but my arm dropped limply to my side.

I felt so alone—so
very
alone.

Suddenly I felt heavy and allowed my body to crumple to the ground. I curled myself into a ball, pulled my knees to my forehead, and had a good cry.

Had I spent so many years desperately trying to prove my value for myself or for others? For the people who told me I wouldn’t amount to anything? Why did I care so much about what they thought? As if anything I could do would change their minds.

When would I be satisfied?
I asked myself. When would I feel like what I had was enough? I knew what I had achieved . . . so what else was there?

I was so confused. I couldn’t even explain what it was I wanted or needed in order to fill the massive pit that was inside me.

I thought I should have been happy, with this nice house I bought for myself, but it felt like an empty shell.
What was I thinking, buying a house with so many bedrooms?
I scolded myself.
I had no need for a house this big
. Part of me just assumed, I suppose, that the rooms would somehow get
filled up.
Why did I buy a house so far away from the Strip?
I continued. I felt disconnected, lonely, and abandoned in the quiet suburbs, surrounded by people I never saw.

My dreams had been realized. Hadn’t they? Wasn’t this everything I wanted? The world I had worked so hard to create around me was growing and changing, as things always do, but I wasn’t ready for change. At least I didn’t think I was. I was panicking because I didn’t have a precise idea of what my next step would be. Without knowing exactly what I wanted, how could I ever move forward?

One thing was certain: I wouldn’t find it sitting here crying like a baby on my front porch.
I’ll think about it tomorrow,
I told myself.

Exhausted from the long day in the heat, I pulled myself together and made my way inside. I flipped on the crystal chandelier in my entryway and heard manic barks and the clicking of doggy toenails across the travertine floors. At least someone was happy to see me!

“Hush, my dear,” he said; “don’t speak so loud, or you will be overheard—and I should be ruined. I’m supposed to be a Great Wizard.”

“And aren’t you?” she asked.

“Not a bit of it, my dear; I’m just a common man.”

—L. Frank Baum,
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

O
uch!” I yelped as Lindsay shoved a bobby pin behind my right ear.

“Sorry!” she shrieked.

I laughed as I wove my fingers through the blond knee-length braided wig, carefully helping Lindsay position it on my head.

“There,” I announced, pointing to a spot near the crown of my head. “Can you stick one in right there?”

“That’s what she said,” Hannah deadpanned.

With surgical focus, Lindsay, in a black tutu, navigated the large pin through the wig. Summer had transitioned into fall, taking with it the oppressive desert heat. It was Halloween and I was set to host the annual
“HollyWeen” costume party at Studio 54 in the MGM Grand . . . a venue (and resort) that held a lot of memories for me.

As I began tucking a handful of colorful blooms down the braid, Hannah, a “sexy zombie” clad in a ripped dress and fake dried blood, popped a bottle of champagne. Lindsay, as a picture-perfect Black Swan ballerina, began idly flipping through one of the books on my end table.

The book she was holding was a Vegas guidebook I had written after spending my first year in the city. It included a bit on my first trip to Vegas, which happened to be with Hef and his girlfriends. The volume lauded the luxury of the trip (private planes! exclusive hotels! bottle service!) but omitted the behind-the-scenes drama that had made the trip almost unbearable.

“Can you believe I’ve still never been inside the MGM Mansion?” Lindsay pouted, thumbing through the chapter on luxury suites. “I’ve been everywhere else.”

“The Mansion is okay.” Hannah shrugged. “But I’m really feeling the Imperial Palace for my next tawdry one-night stand,” she joked.

Lindsay looked at me and rolled her eyes.

“I saw that,” Hannah cautioned, with a small smile.

“What was it like?” Lindsay asked, ignoring Hannah. “It must have been so nice.”

“Not really,” I grumbled. “It actually wasn’t a fun trip for me.”

Hannah and Lindsay both looked at me quizzically, since the book had only detailed how glamorous it all was.

“Sure, everything was top of the line,” I conceded. “The rooms were out of this world, we flew private . . . We had the best of everything, but when you are with the wrong people, all that stuff is meaningless.”

“Do tell,” Hannah purred, hungry for a bit of scandal.

“But in the book it sounds like you had a great time . . .” Lindsay began, her voice dripping with an innocent naïveté I couldn’t very well fault her for.

“Well, it’s a travel book. It wasn’t an appropriate place to air all my
dirty laundry,” I explained. “Besides, I’d end up having to deal with Hef and all those girls if I were to actually say anything honest. The last thing I want is to invite them back in my life in any way.”

“What’s the worst he can do?” Hannah pressed. “Write you a letter?” she teased, rolling her eyes.

“All of those people who watched
The Girls Next Door
just wouldn’t get it. They thought I was happy with Hef. They wouldn’t understand if I had anything bad to say. It would seem so out of left field, so sudden. Plus, when it looks like you are living a life of luxury, no one wants to hear you bitch about it. People don’t care about what went on on a deeper level. They think if you are holding a glass of champagne everything must be okay.”

“People aren’t that dumb,” Hannah interjected. “It’s not so black and white.”

“It’s not that they’re dumb, it’s just not what they want to believe.” I tried my best to explain. “They are used to seeing everything between the girls and Hef painted like it was some sort of fairy tale. Actually, even though the show was very good for me in many ways, I kind of get disgusted at how much people buy into it. They never saw any of the dark side: how we were treated, how we treated each other, or what people thought of us. They think living at the mansion must have been heaven on earth and expect me to be out here pining away for that lifestyle or something.”

Lindsay and Hannah were quiet, riveted by what I was saying. They had never really heard me go off on this topic before. Sure, I alluded to not being happy there—hence my departure—but I never divulged any specifics. I had put my past so firmly behind me that I rarely spoke of it . . . and tried to think about it as little as possible.

“But, anyway,” Hannah began, “what happened during that trip?”

I started laughing, which caused Hannah and Lindsay to breathe an audible sigh of relief. I hadn’t realized how tense the room had become.

“Right, sorry,” I started. “Let me tell you about my first trip to Vegas . . .”

I had just moved in with Hef a few weeks earlier, and contrary to popular belief, I didn’t
really
know what I was getting into. All I had seen, before I became a girlfriend, was the other women making it sound like they loved it there, which I believed, because Hef had the perfect-gentleman act down pat. No one briefs you on the rules or expectations before you make the decision to move in, so I was still learning my way around.

It was the birthday of one of Hef’s favorite girlfriends, Lisa, and she had asked for a trip to Las Vegas to celebrate. I didn’t realize it then, but it was almost unheard of for him to agree to such a grand gesture for any of the girls. Just a few weeks earlier, another one of the girlfriends had celebrated her birthday, and her gift from Hef was a handful of gold-plated Playboy-brand costume jewelry.

“He got a cake for his birthday in every country we went to in Europe last spring!” she had erupted after opening her gifts, throwing things around her room, yelling that he refused to do anything special for her birthday. “Spoiled little man! He
knows
I hate gold jewelry!”

“So he gave her gold jewelry as a fuck-you?” Hannah grilled, fascinated by the inner workings of the bizarre world that I so rarely reminisced about.

“No,” I answered. “I don’t think he had any idea about her taste in jewelry, or any of our specific likes and dislikes for that matter. We were flattering ourselves if we thought otherwise. He knew roughly four things about each girl. Her name, her age, where (approximately) she was from, and how well she behaved and followed the rules.

“Anyway, there was some pretty clear favoritism going on—not everyone got a lavish trip for their birthday. One of the girlfriends, Vicky, eventually pointed out to me that he liked to play favorites to keep everyone on their toes.”

“That’s messed up,” Lindsay interjected.

“I know,” I agreed. “But that’s exactly what he was doing. How else could he stay in control of seven women? It prevented us from banding
together and staging a coup. He needed to somehow maintain the upper hand.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hannah reasoned. “That actually makes sense.”

“So, anyway, we were off to Las Vegas for Lisa’s birthday,” I said, attempting to get off of my tangent.
I could go on for days,
I thought. “Since it was my first time, I had no idea what to expect. I was excited to be doing my first trip to Vegas in such style. I didn’t really know what the city had to offer. I had visions of the Rat Pack and Marilyn Monroe dancing in my head.”

Hef chartered a small but luxurious private jet to make the trip. He absolutely refused to fly commercial for any reason. Being from modest means myself, I was overwhelmed by how grand it all seemed. Flying private was an entirely new experience for me. When we pulled up in front of the plane, we were prompted to pose for photos in front of the aircraft. As soon as Hef’s photographer announced that she had the shot, we turned to board the tiny plane. I happened to be one of the first to climb aboard after Hef, so it was up to me to choose my seat. Even though I was still a newbie, I was already aware that sitting in the wrong place was a major misstep.

Knowing how low I ranked on the totem pole as the newest girlfriend, I chose what I figured to be the least desirable seat available: the seat furthest from Hef. The two girlfriends with the most clout (Tina, his “main” girlfriend, and Lisa, the “baby”) sat next to Hef at all times, which actually worked for me since I was still extremely intimidated by him.

I buckled my seat belt and got comfortable in the spacious, soft leather chair, anxious to see the infamous Vegas skyline.

We barely had time to drink our champagne and enjoy the platters of gourmet hors d’oeuvres that were passed around before the captain informed us that we would be landing in just a few minutes. I looked out the window and was surprised to see a tiny, toylike city. Most cities I had flown into had such a large urban sprawl you couldn’t see where they started or ended, but Las Vegas was very compact, an oasis in the
desert. The Strip was even more so. Each one of the city’s iconic casinos was laid out one right next to the other. I spotted a pyramid, a castle, and the “emerald city” that was the MGM Grand. It was like a tiny jewel box spilled open in the middle of the Mojave Desert, leaving a pile of colorful gems littering the ground one on top of the other. I never expected the Strip to be so dense! It looked like a world of excitement that I couldn’t wait to tear into.

“This is so cool!” I said under my breath to Carolyn, the girlfriend who was sitting across from me.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, rolling her eyes and glancing out the window before taking a final swig from her champagne glass.

A long, sparkling limousine met our jet and we were immediately whisked away to the MGM Grand.

“I can’t believe that was your
first trip
,” Lindsay bemoaned. “My first time to Vegas I stayed at the Tropicana.”

Hannah burst into laughter.

“I’m well aware that this wasn’t normal,” I acknowledged. “And trust me, my jaw hit the floor when we pulled in to the MGM Mansion.”

The secretive, exclusive hotel, accessible only to invited guests, had a private, unmarked entry—virtually impossible to discern for an unknowing eye. Our limo was met by a small army of staffers, all on hand to greet us, including the personal butler who was assigned to our room. He escorted us to a private elevator that arrived at the door of a four-bedroom villa. Hef and Tina stayed together in the decadent master suite, while the other girlfriends quickly crowded into two of the other rooms. Clearly, they had already decided amongst themselves who was rooming with whom, neglecting to include me and Bobbi, one of the other new recruits who were rounding out Hef’s girl squad that week.

Bobbi was one of two women being considered for the spot a former girlfriend named Adrianna had vacated a few months prior. I found Bobbi to be kind, noncompetitive, and not catty. She and I were sharing
the “smallest” room, which offered two queen beds swathed in silk duvets and encompassed by large four-poster bed frames, complete with a sitting area. Attached to our room was an oversize white marble bathroom, with two sinks, a rain shower that could have easily accommodated half a dozen people, and a giant Jacuzzi bathtub.

After we unpacked, I wandered around the villa to see what other marvels were yet to be discovered. I decided that before I did, I should probably get the itinerary and figure out where I was expected to be and when.

Hef and Mary had set up shop in the suite’s executive boardroom to go over the evening with a few of Hef’s security detail. As soon as I poked my head in, Mary spotted me.

“What are you looking for, honey?” Mary asked.

“Oh, I just didn’t know what the plan was today. Are we doing anything?” I inquired, my voice meek and low.

Mary’s smile disappeared momentarily.

“The other girls took a limo and went shopping. Why don’t you book some spa services or something?” Mary suggested. Her gentle and careful tone made it obvious that she felt bad that I had been so clearly excluded from the other ladies’ plans.

“Oh, we can do that?” I asked about the spa services.

Mary nodded cheerfully. “And order in some room service, too.”

“Great. Thank you!” I exclaimed, directing my appreciation toward Hef, though he didn’t acknowledge my presence.

When Bobbi and I scheduled massage appointments, we were surprised to find out the practitioners could come to us! I had never had the means to visit a nice spa before, let alone order a massage to my hotel room. While I was in awe of how luxurious this all was, I couldn’t help feeling terribly insecure.

Why had they excluded us?
I wondered.
Did they not like me
?
Had I accidentally offended someone?

In the beginning, I always tried my best to be friendly to everyone in the house. I believed that my life with Playboy would be the sorority experience that I had never had.

Maybe they had just been really anxious to get going,
I consoled myself.
Maybe it was just an oversight
.

After our massages, Bobbi and I began getting ready for our first night out in Las Vegas. With the clothing allowance we were given, I was able to stock up on a few items suitable for our club nights. I kept it practical with reasonably priced mall fare and versatile pieces that carried just enough flash to align with Hef’s less-than-classic taste. That evening, I wore a black lace Bebe dress, which I liked because it reminded me vaguely of a Dolce & Gabbana number Britney Spears had recently sported at an awards show. When it was time to leave, we took our obligatory group photo in the villa’s entryway and piled in the limo to get to our destination. We were headed to Bootlegger Bistro, an Italian restaurant at the south end of the Strip, to celebrate Lisa’s birthday.