Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

I laughed nervously—unsure of what to say. I was proud of myself for saying no; it was the right
decision. I still felt in control of the situation and was prepared to tackle whatever came my way with
sober eyes.
Today, I want to scream “PAUSE!” and freeze frame that moment of my life back in late August
2001. I want to grab that young girl, shake her back into reality, and scream, “What the hell are you
thinking?”
Hef was a notoriously lecherous 70-something old man offering me Quaaludes that he referred to
as “thigh openers.” Are you kidding me? Why didn’t I run for the nearest exit? It doesn’t get much
creepier than that.
But I suppose I had already made up my mind at that point. Looking back, I can’t imagine what I
was thinking, but I’m also so far removed from what I was feeling back then. I was about to be
homeless. I had no place to go and was panicking over what to do next when this opportunity with
Hef just sort of fell into my lap. If I became a girlfriend, I would have somewhere to live. If I became
part of Playboy’s inner circle, perhaps that could even help my career. It felt as if my stars were
starting to align. I decided to take the chance and see what this strange, legendary world was all
about. For as long as I could remember, I had been searching for a great adventure, and this was
already the craziest night I’d ever experienced. Like watching a bizarre old movie, I was utterly
transfixed by this strange universe.
Despite my initial intention to keep a clear head, I foolishly proceeded to get really, really drunk
without even meaning to. I can’t even begin to tell you how much vodka and champagne I consumed—
aided by the helpful hands of the other girls, who were all too eager to continue plying me with
drinks. While I patted myself on the back for turning down the pills, by the time we left the club, I
couldn’t have been any more incoherent.
On the limo ride back to the mansion, Candice leaned over and whispered to me that all of the
girls, myself included, were expected to join Hef in his bedroom. She had a small smile on her face
as she watched me absorb this news, which I immediately registered as odd . . . almost as if she
relished my shock. For the better part of the year, the girlfriends went out of their way to convince me
that no one was actually intimate with Hef. Was Candice just trying to scare me off?
I wasn’t an idiot. Despite their staunch denials, it was still a widely accepted public theory that
Hef slept with all of his girlfriends. But when I asked them about it directly, they were incredibly
convincing, acting almost appalled by the idea. This important factor was the touchstone of their
entire sales pitch, and the fact that sex would actually be required wasn’t exactly something I had
prepared myself for—especially for my first night out. But at that point, I felt like it was my only
option.
Maybe it wasn’t that torturous, I thought. Why else would all these pretty young girls be
jumping through hoops to be girlfriends? I could just see what it’s all about. If it’s that bad, I’ll
leave.
What happened next is all sort of a haze. With roughly a third of a bottle of vodka sloshing
around my stomach, I stumbled up the mansion’s grand staircase and was ushered by the girls towards
Hugh Hefner’s bedroom suite. Tina brought me into the back door of the bedroom, which led into the