Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

CHAPTER 5
Alice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked so grave that she
did not dare to laugh.
—Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Over the year I lived with her at the mansion, Vicky became increasingly hostile. She wanted
desperately to be a Playmate, but Hef was done making girlfriends centerfolds—only we didn’t know
that then. Hef still let the possibility linger, knowing it was the key to attracting and keeping countless
young girlfriends. Earning Playmate status became Vicky’s obsession. A new crop of girls had moved
into the mansion over the past year and Vicky was hell-bent on beating this new group to the coveted
title. It seemed to me that she felt her seniority in the group gave her an edge or made her an exception
when it came to snagging herself a centerfold.
“If he’s not going to give me a centerfold, I’m at least going to get everything I can out of this
place,” Vicky fumed in my general direction. She had invited me to her room to “talk,” something we
hadn’t done since my earliest days at the mansion. After Lisa became a centerfold and moved out a
few months earlier, Vicky moved up into one of the largest of the rooms designated for girlfriends.
I watched as she stumbled around the large pink room, trying to avoid tripping over the piles of
junk she’d amassed in every corner, including those covering a long white couch that had occupied
the room since the ’80s. She motioned that I grab a seat on her bed, but I was unsure how to navigate
the journey. I was fairly certain that this particular room had plush white carpeting, but you couldn’t
see the ground anywhere. Random trinkets, mementos, and tchotchkes were scattered about: a
skateboard collection, a wall full of Barbie dolls still in their original packaging, an oversize
aquarium, a Ping-Pong table covered with Hello Kitty merchandise, an oversize disco ball, and a
stable of inflatable unicorns.
I mean, I love me some camp, but this was enough to make Angelyne cringe. If “getting
everything she could out of this place” meant becoming a hoarder, than she was succeeding with
flying colors (many of which were shades of pink).
I noticed that she had a piece of paper taped over a vent on the wall. “What’s that?” I asked.
Vicky looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, that?” she asked, pointing towards the vent.
I nodded.
“The girls who were in here last night put that up,” she nonchalantly explained. “They were up