Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

phrase “keep your enemies close” and made a sorority house look like Bible study.
By the time I had arrived, fewer and fewer opportunities were being offered to girlfriends to
appear in the magazine—which meant the pack was getting restless. Over the years, Hef had become
wiser to the girls’ true motivations. After achieving Playmate status, they no longer found it necessary
to stay at the mansion—or with Hef.
The truly gilded age of Playboy had long since passed and our nightly rituals felt more Golden
Girls than Playboy Club. Girls stuck around on the off chance that they’d one day become a Playmate
(or until a better option came along), and Hef knew it. He decided he wasn’t going to make any more
of his girlfriends Playmates, but he never told that to anyone. He dangled the possibility of Playmatehood
in order to keep the girls interested. The more aggressive girlfriends would take whatever
measures necessary to secure a centerfold, even ruthlessly throwing another girl under the bus if that
meant she would gain favor with him.
As always, Vicky was eager to bring as many girls up into the bedroom as possible. I could
guess her reasoning: the more options Hef had, the less likely she’d be called to duty. It seemed to me
that she made it her mission to lure every new Playmate up to the bedroom to pay their dues. In those
first few years, I would say the majority of the Playmates eventually selected had found their way into
Hef’s bedroom. I guess Vicky figured that if she had to sleep with Hef, they all should have to sleep
with him.
I was too naïve to realize it at the time, but Hef was the catalyst for all the drama I was to
experience at the mansion. He recognized that some of the girls were warming up to me and began
using my perfect attendance as one of his many tools to manipulate and control his wild pack. Pitting
the girlfriends against one another created an aggressive, competitive atmosphere where he alone
benefited. During one of my first nights at the mansion, the girlfriends had banded together on a Friday
evening and told Hef they didn’t feel like going out that night. I was the newest member of the crew,
so I just sat there, observing the confrontation.
“So . . . what do I say to my Party Posse?” he said, throwing up his hands and wearing the most
disappointed look ever on his face.
“Sorry, Hef,” Lisa said. “We’ll go out next week.”
Needless to say, Hef decided then and there that the girlfriends’ days of being chummy were
over. After all, he couldn’t be outnumbered, could he?
It was in his best interest to have us wallowing in our own insecurities and pawing for his
acceptance. Girlfriends that didn’t get along gave him the feeling of being fought over—and being
fought over made him feel desired, something he was desperate to feel in his old age. A stable
environment among the girlfriends wasn’t much fun for him, so he began using me as a means to
reprimand them.
“Why can’t you just be a good girl like Holly?” Hef bemoaned to a girlfriend who wanted a
curfew extension, knowing full well that his small remark would pin a bull’s-eye on my back for
weeks. They began resenting me for the very reason they initially accepted me.
A few weeks into my residency, it was obvious that Vicky was regretting the role she played in
recruiting me into the fold. Initially, Vicky must have thought that she could use what little