Down the Rabbit Hole by Holly Madison Read Free Book Online Page A

attention of the resident doormen stationed behind the red velvet rope. From the looks of it, you would have thought Oprah was inside giving away free cars. As the limo door opened, four security guards rushed to part the sea of club-goers so we could make our way inside. I had been to nightclubs before, but I was usually one of those unlucky souls not “on the list” and relegated to the milelong line that wrapped around the block. I was one of the first to step out of the limo and every set of eyes turned to check if I was someone worth knowing. I started fussing with my top, unnerved by this unexpected attention. One by one, each bottle blonde piled out of the limousine—waiting for Hef before we made our way inside. Vicky must have noticed the astonishment in my eyes because she leaned over and whispered, “ ’NSYNC and Christina Aguilera were here the last time we came.”
    When Hef finally emerged from the car, the crowd went wild. People were shouting his name and shoving one another to get a better look. He lifted a hand to wave to the crowd as if he were some kind of dignitary. The whole thing seemed incredibly strange to me, but for Hef it had become a regular part of his weekly routine on the L.A. club scene. For decades, Hef was an infamous homebody. After all, he created his own version of paradise at the Playboy Mansion, so why would he ever want to leave? Throughout the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s, it was extremely rare to see him out and about. In 1999, when he separated from his wife of almost 10 years, Kimberley Conrad, a few of his friends persuaded him to leave his compound for a night on the town. What happened next was a surprise to everyone. People went absolutely crazy to see this 70-something icon from another era at an L.A. nightclub. Shortly thereafter Hef instituted his biweekly club nights. Rolling Stone magazine called it “Hugh Hefner’s Resurrection.” (I would later learn that this sort of behavior wasn’t atypical. The only thing Hef loved more than the mansion was himself. The sort of super fandom he saw at these nightclubs was all the fuel this senior citizen needed to keep painting the town red.)
    It was during one such evening, after his separation, that Hef met Sandy and Mandy Bentley. Immediately he began dating these two blond bombshells, along with another blonde, Brande Roderick. This unusual foursome made Hef even more of a sensation. The age difference, the number of girlfriends, the hint of incest, the fact that all three of the girls’ names rhymed, along with Hef’s constant public insistence that he had to take Viagra to keep up with all of these women made the situation truly bizarre. In Los Angeles the bizarre is often appreciated, if only momentarily, and at that moment in time Hef and his blond entourage had become adored mascots of the L.A. nightclub world.
    As soon as we entered past the velvet ropes we were whisked away to a private area next to the dance floor. Hef settled into the plush booth flanked by Tina and Lisa. Our VIP table was already stocked with an array of alcohol and mixers—this was the golden age of bottle service and Hef indulged in every luxury. Security lined the velvet ropes separating our table from the rest of the crowd. If a guy was brazen enough to try to get the attention of one of the girlfriends, security would block them from our table—and occasionally escort them outside, depending on how persistent he was. Since most nights the girls were locked up in the mansion like some twisted version of Rapunzel, they used these evenings out as opportunities to meet other men.
    Yes, most of Hugh Hefner’s girlfriends had other boyfriends. In fact, during my time at the mansion, I can only say for sure that two of us remained faithful (my future BFF Bridget Marquardt and myself). Needless to say, this was all very hush-hush, because Hef strictly forbade any of his girlfriends from dating