Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

AS PART OF MY contract with Peepshow, I was given a high-roller suite at Planet Hollywood. Not only
did I have a steady job, I also had a reason to return to Las Vegas—a place that felt more like home in
a few short months than L.A. had felt in almost 10 years. With my Prius brimming with most of my
belongings, I said my tearful good-byes to Mary and Captain Bob and headed straight for the desert.
Not long after arriving in town, I was finally able to meet up with Criss’s bodyguard at the Luxor
in order to grab my valuables that had been sitting in his penthouse safe for the last two and a half
months. Criss had told me that mailing them wasn’t the best idea.
“I can’t wait to finally get my stuff back,” I sighed to Angel, who had become my new best
friend, as we drove down Las Vegas Boulevard. “It’s like severing the last tie of that relationship. It
feels good to finally move on.”
“Amen!” exclaimed Angel as we drove into the Luxor’s North Valet.
The bodyguard, whose expensive SUV had been idling as if he was on his way somewhere,
jumped out of his car after spotting me.
“You drive a Prius?” he sneered.
“Yeah . . .” I replied, caught off guard by his making fun of me. He’d always been nice to me
before, but was all of a sudden condescending and rude.
He let out a snarky laugh as he gave my car the once-over.
“Thanks for bringing this stuff down,” I said, eager to get out of what was starting to feel like a
really awkward situation.
“Yeah, no problem,” he said shortly, handing me a bulging manila envelope. Without as much as
a good-bye, he got back to his truck and took off.
I jumped back into my car and ripped open the envelope, anxious to see my things.
“What’s wrong?” Angel asked, seeing the upset look on my face.
Some of my jewelry was missing, specifically, the items he had given me (the diamondencrusted
infinity necklace and the large cross). Did he seriously take back those gifts? I thought. It’s
not like I intended to wear jewelry given to me by an ex-boyfriend, but I didn’t think he’d actually
take them back, either. It was as if he was telling me I was never worth it to begin with. It was also a
petty, cheap move—after all, it wasn’t like I was asking for the Dalí back (although perhaps I should
have!). It wasn’t about the jewelry (although I did wear the small necklace and ring he had given me
to a few press events, knowing I’d be photographed and what a big “Fuck You” that would come
across as). It was about him not having the decency to say something to me about it. Once again, I felt
like I had been thrown out with the trash.
I decided to send him a text and give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Hey, the jewelry you gave me was missing from the packet I just picked up,” I typed into my
BlackBerry. I thought maybe he would have a few words explaining why he wanted to keep those
things, and that would have made it all okay. But I never got a response.
I LOOKED AT MY new life in Las Vegas as an opportunity to reinvent myself. It had been an uphill
battle, but I was finally where I wanted to be as a single, successful career woman making something