Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

has everything—or at least could afford to buy himself anything he could ever want? I started reading
interviews he had done online, hoping that it might offer me a clue or two.
Criss had told a reporter that he was a huge fan of Salvador Dalí. I’d never heard him mention
art before, but why would he make something like that up? During one of my final trips to Los
Angeles, I tracked down a rare Salvador Dalí print at a Beverly Hills gallery.
When I gave him the present, Criss tried to act impressed and thanked me vigorously, but didn’t
offer too much more. His manager, who was also in the room, seemed way more impressed than
Criss.
Huh, I thought. Maybe he doesn’t really care about art after all . This was just one example of
how the public Criss and the private Criss seemed like two very different people to me.
For Christmas, I played it a bit safer. Criss had mentioned wanting to shoot a snowboarding
episode of Mindfreak, so I commissioned Burton to create a custom snowboard and snowboarding
gear. Believe it or not, he actually had the gall to ask me if Burton did that for me for free. So much
for its being the thought that counts! All Criss seemed to care about counting was pennies.
In return, Criss showered me with an audacious diamond cross necklace—making the previous
pendant he bought me pale in comparison. He also presented me with another necklace, this one with
a large diamond-encrusted infinity symbol pendant. On the back, next to the clasp, was a little charm
that read, in tiny diamonds, “XO CA.”
Reading the huge smile on my face, Criss whispered that he had designed this especially for me
and that he’d never designed jewelry for anyone before, not even his wife.
Criss had been married before, to his hometown sweetheart, but they filed for divorce after she
learned that he had been spotted with an A-list movie actress. Criss never missed an opportunity to
remind me of his high-profile conquests.
“Wow,” I exclaimed, truly breathless at these elaborate gifts. “I don’t know what to say. I love
them!” He picked me up in a huge hug.
No one had ever lavished me with such elaborate romantic gestures before. Even though Hef had
dropped a few pieces of jewelry on me, they were always pieces of mass-produced Playboy-branded
merchandise, made even less personal by the fact that identical pieces were given to his other
girlfriends at the same time.
To me, it was the care that mattered . . . not the carats.
Criss offered to fly my parents to Las Vegas to celebrate the holidays with us. I was impressed
and flattered that he showed such an active interest in getting to know my family, something Hef had
never done.
“I think Holly should have her own perfume,” Criss told my parents one evening over dinner.
“The slogan could be Holly Madison: Bring Out the Bunny in You.”
My dad couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.
“Can you even use that?” he asked Criss. “Isn’t that kind of a Playboy thing?”
Criss was beside himself. He’d spent his entire career surrounded by yes people, so he was
completely at a loss for words and clearly uncomfortable that someone dared disagree with his idea.
Ever the entertainer, Criss could charm the pants off anyone (in some cases . . . literally), but I was