Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

continued her story on her own.
“Take Carrie, for example . . .” she continued, her eyes on the little animal.
A recent Playmate, Carrie was a 21-year-old with a 16-year-old face. She had striking green
eyes, but no personality. I remembered seeing her a few days earlier at the Fun in the Sun party
droning on about her swimsuit.
“Do these look like pumpkins,” she had asked Vicky, stretching her orange-dotted Dior bikini
over her chest.
Wow, I remembered thinking. Playmates must make some pretty good money to be able to
afford Dior bikinis.
“Well,” Vicky continued, snapping me back to the present, “she has a lot of sugar daddies. One
pays for her apartment, one pays her bills, one takes her shopping . . .”
“No way!” I shouted, unintentionally cutting Vicky off. Rumors of Playmates working for “high
class” escort agencies had plagued Playboy for decades, but it wasn’t common knowledge and I’d
never heard of it firsthand before.
“Yeah,” Vicky said with a carefree laugh. “And everybody does it.”
And as casually as if she were inviting me to tea, she asked: “Do you think it might be something
you’d be interested in?”
“No way!” I said, almost laughing. Was she really asking me if I’d consider becoming a
hooker!? Sure, I’d made a bad decision moving into the mansion, but I wasn’t down for full-on
prostitution. She wasn’t going to get me this time.
My eyes fell on Vicky and I quickly adjusted my expression. I couldn’t be certain, but I was
fairly sure our newly rekindled friendship would be short-lived. “Umm, I mean,” I sputtered,
uselessly trying to recover, “that’s just not something I’m into.”
Her face was starting to morph from terribly offended to wildly angry. I kept talking, hoping it
would stave off the shit storm I just walked into.
“I mean, it’s just a little much for me, there’s nothing special about it,” I floundered, trying in
vain to come up with anything that might not piss Vicky off. I could feel the blood pumping in my
cheeks, certain I was bright red. Vicky had just opened the door to her secret little world and I
slammed it in her face.
“Okay, whatever,” she spat. “Hey, I need to get ready, so I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, recognizing that it was my cue to leave.
Oh my god, I thought, I can’t wait to tell Bridget about this!
I came to believe that Vicky was working for Hollywood madam Michelle Braun (the owner and
operator of the high-end escort service Nici’s Girls). In the late 1990s and early 2000s, “Nici” was
the premier madam who prided herself on a reputation of having the most exclusive girls in the
business—many of which were Playmates and even some of Hef’s own girlfriends.
In a 2009 New York Post article, Braun boasted, “at one time, seven of the eight girls living in
the Mansion were working for me. I had one of his girlfriends in the Mansion just to recruit for me.”
When I read this article, it was obvious to me that Vicky must have been her recruiter. I
compared notes with a few of the other girlfriends and found that they had also been approached by