Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

“Oh, the ‘Sah-keh to Me’!” the waitress echoed, clearly relieved that she finally understood
what Kendra was getting at.
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Kendra jeered, looking back at the table.
Unfortunately, the Playboy Mansion was a breeding ground for that kind of arrogant behavior—
especially among Hef’s girlfriends. And shortly after, Kendra’s began to take off.
One day when I was out shopping, I fell in love with these adorable skirts at Bebe that I knew
Bridget and I would both love. They were mid-length, flowy, and dripping in sequins. I picked out a
pink one for Bridget and a cream-colored one for myself. I wanted to make sure that Kendra didn’t
feel left out, so I picked up the baby blue version for her.
When I got back to the mansion, I found Kendra in her room and handed her the bag.
“I found these really cute skirts today and picked them up for us in different colors. I thought we
could wear them out to the club tonight if you want to,” I said, helping myself to a seat at the edge of
the bed.
Kendra lazily pulled the skirt out of the bag and ripped the tissue off from around it. She held it
up for a moment before shoving it back into the bag.
“Yeah, I don’t really like it,” she said, wrinkling her nose and handing it back to me.
I ignored the glossy black bag being shoved at my face. Sure, I didn’t want to be a clone, either,
but couldn’t she just have said thanks and tucked it into her closet? Up until this point, Bridget and I
hadn’t been on the receiving end of her snotty remarks, so I was a little surprised at the direction this
conversation was taking.
“Well, I got it for you because I didn’t want you to feel left out,” I added.
“I won’t wear it,” she snapped back, dropping the bag to the floor and turning her attention back
to the TV that so frequently occupied her hours.
“You don’t have to,” I said finally and walked out her door, leaving the bag on the ground.
Honestly, my feelings were hurt. I went out of my way to do something nice for her and it came back
to bite me in the ass. I felt like I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. I’m not sure if she ever
wore the skirt. It’s probably still sitting in Bedroom 2’s closet.
Later that evening, after spending roughly 45 minutes twiddling our thumbs in the great hall
waiting for Kendra to grace us with her presence, she finally emerged from her bedroom looking like
a petite sex kitten in a red spandex dress, Lucite platform heels, large blond barrel curls cascading
from her head, and bright, candy apple red lipstick applied with perfect precision.
Immediately I cringed.
Oh shit, I thought. This was going to be bad. Bridget quickly shot me a knowing glance, her eyes
wide with concern. As Kendra sauntered down into the foyer, I braced myself for impact.
The last time I had tried to wear red lipstick was two years earlier, the day I had cut my hair and
Hef had bit my head off for it. It was such a memorable moment that when Kendra appeared in the
main entryway with her lips painted bright red, my entire body tensed. It had been two years since
Hef’s reprimand, but the humiliation still burned inside me.
I could tell that Hef was already irritated that she kept us waiting this long and now seeing the
red lips . . . he was not going to be happy.