Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

Times Square) Criss was, at that time, one of the most well-known magicians in the world. He
seemed so happy about the direction his life was going, telling me that things had been really crazy in
the past, but now he could finally have a routine. He was locked into a major contract for the next 10
years, and he asked me if I knew how much he would be fined if he missed a single show. I shook my
head as the new direction of the conversation reflected his more aggressive tone. He told me he
would be fined $200,000. Criss was constantly peacocking around in diamonds and Rolls-Royces,
bragging about his salary and never letting anyone forget how much he was “worth.” To be honest, I
found it a little tacky. But at the end of the day I didn’t care. I have no idea if that number he threw out
was real or just his way of trying to impress me. At the time, I was just flattered that anyone cared
about impressing me, period!
He softened his voice again and went on to say that he had two days off a week and that he
needed someone who could plan fun things for him to do on his days off, someone who he could do
those things with. It wasn’t the most romantic advance ever made, but I couldn’t help but be intrigued.
Here was this adventurous guy, so full of life, who was looking for someone to be young and wild
with.
He blurted out that he’d marry me right now when I didn’t take the bait. I nearly spat out my
drink. Was this guy serious? While he was laying it on so thick, I found him playful and entertaining
and he was clearly dead set on making something happen between us.
“For publicity?” I said, calling him out on what I presumed was bullshit.
To be fair, I knew that Criss was used to women shamelessly throwing themselves at him, so I
figured he didn’t quite appreciate that I was simply interested in the novelty of hanging out with a guy
who was closer to my own age for a night.
“No,” he shot back, feigning shock at the suggestion. “What I mean is . . .”
He began his spiel (one that I would come to know by heart): how he was ready for a family and
for marriage, how hard he worked for 15 years to obtain “success,” how he had been “almost a train
wreck” (referring to his slutty behavior, which he loved to remind me of, as if it were going to make
me jealous or somehow grateful), and how he was locked into the routine of his new show, BeLIEve.
While I spent much of the evening at CatHouse rolling my eyes, I also had a hard time containing
my smile. Sure, Criss was a well-known player and he was coming on strong, but something about his
story made sense. Maybe he was at a point where he was ready for a committed relationship. He was
40 years old and making some huge changes in his life, so it was possible. On the other hand, we had
only just met, so the whole conversation seemed absurd, but it was fun for me to get swept away in
the idea that he was so into me. It was something I needed to feel after years of Hef making me feel
like a piece of dirt. And who cared if he was serious or not? I wasn’t going to get with the guy
anyway.
The most important part of the night, for me, was that in the span of one evening he had singlehandedly
crushed one of my biggest fears about leaving the mansion. Perhaps I wasn’t damaged goods
after all. In fact, in Criss’s eyes, I was quite desirable. After a few glasses of wine, Criss gave me a
tour of the Luxor Theater and then accompanied me back to the Palms and walked me back to my
suite. He invited himself into my room, offering to “tuck me in.”