Bunny Tales Page 6
By the end of December, I was done with all of my exams, and although my graduation ceremony was not until June, I was officially finished with law school. To start working as an attorney, I needed my license, and to get the license, I had to pass the Bar exam. Without even taking a minute to think about what I should do next, I signed up to take the Bar exam in February and borrowed $3,000 from my parents for a review class. I spent Christmas in Canada with my family, and when I returned, my friend Vivian and I attended the New Year’s Eve party at the Mansion. I received a warm welcome from Hef and spent the night partying with him and the girls. I had a great time. I noticed that some of the old Girlfriends were gone and that there were a few new girls “trying out”. As I sat there looking at them, I tried to envision being part of the group. Could I do this?
After the party, Hef called and invited me to come out with him and the girls now that I was done with school. Little did he know that this time of preparation for the Bar is much more intense than actually being in school; everyone who was studying for the Bar exam lived, breathed, and dreamed it. It requires your full attention and all of your time. You start with a few hours in class every morning, followed by an entire day of exercises and memorization. But I felt like I needed a break from the mental strain and loneliness (I can only study alone) of preparing for the exam. During the week I attended the review class, and on the weekends, I went out with Hef. I knew I was treading on dangerous ground, but I decided to give it a shot and see what happened. And what happened was that I had a blast! I became good friends with a couple of the girls who were also new to the scene, and that changed the dynamic for me.
Although we had nothing in common, Emma and I hit it off immediately. She is from England, a former Page Three girl (a woman who models topless for photographs published on page three of the U.K. tabloid The Sun). She had a pretty tough life; a high school dropout, she had a baby at seventeen and was struggling to make ends meet as an exotic dancer and model. She met a nice man who helped her out; he wanted to come to America, so they got married and he brought her and her son with him. When she first got to Los Angeles, she started doing B movies. When she met Hef, she was having a hard time paying rent. She had tested for Playboy magazine before, but despite being very photogenic, in my opinion, did not get approved. She was hoping to become a Girlfriend because of the money and work opportunities with Playboy it could bring her. Although our lives had been completely different, I liked Emma. I realized that, though I was not as bad as other people in law school, I was also a bit of an intellectual snob. I would not date anyone who was not as educated as I was, or befriend women who relied on their looks, or men, to get by in life. The feminist in me regarded that as pathetic. But life at the Mansion forcibly exposed me to a wide variety of characters, and I became more open-minded. Because of my friendship with Emma, I learned how to be less judgmental about people and the things they do in life to survive. I loved her sense of humor and upbeat personality. I like all accents in general but I have a particular liking for the Queen’s English. I loved the way she spoke; her swear words were particularly amusing. Before I knew it I was going around saying “bloody hell” and “bollocks” as if I had grown up saying it. No matter how bad my mood was, there were certain words she could always say to make me laugh such as the word guilty, which she pronounced “gui-ee,” or when she ordered “tos-ee-os” (Tostitos) and salsa. Emma and I had a lot of fun together; we would drink and dance at the clubs. We were also both in the same initial stages of our relationship with Hef, although she knew she wanted to move in and I still wasn’t sure about it. My friendship with her influenced my eventual decisions regarding moving in, living at the Mansion, and even moving out. Now I had a few friends who were entering this foreign world of Playboy with me; we shared our concerns, our fears, and our hopes. The experience was now beyond hanging out with Hef; it became about having fun with my friends. It was exactly that kind of thinking that led me to sabotage myself.
This new lifestyle was not compatible with studying for the Bar exam. I was sacrificing my studies, and I knew it. Hef was planning a trip to New York City at the end of January, and I was told that he wanted to invite me but was not going to because he didn’t want to interfere with my studies. I knew that the damage had been done already, and so I asked him if I could come on the trip. He agreed but was concerned about taking me away from my studies. We chartered a private jet and stayed at the Four Seasons Hotel in Manhattan. I shared a room with Roxy, with whom I bonded, but who drove me nuts waking up at 7 every morning. The trip to New York was amazing. We went to see The Producers, which was fantastic. We went out to the best nightclubs and hung out with musician Moby one night—he was so sweet and was fascinated by the fact that I had just finished law school. He wrote about me in his online journal, but I have not seen him since then. The best, and most rewarding, was going to a firehouse (Engine 3, Ladder 12, Battalion 7) and spending time with the New York Fire Department—just four months after Sept. 11. They made us lunch, which included a salad made in the biggest salad bowl I had ever seen, and we drank iced tea from mugs so big and heavy that we had to use both hands to lift them. They also showed us how to go down the fire pole; I held on for dear life, screeched all the way down, and plopped ungracefully, but I loved it. Some of the girls were great with the pole—previous work experience, I suppose. We took photos with the firemen and had a truly amazing time.
When I got back to L.A., my priorities had begun to change. Something unexpected happened: I had begun to really like Hef. He was always such a gentleman toward me, always very sweet and gracious. I was flattered that this connoisseur of beautiful women was interested in me. I was hesitant at first because of the fact that he had multiple girlfriends—the Girlfriends; I didn’t really know how to deal with that, so I focused on my relationship with him. The age difference, though it is the first thing people bring up to me, did not bother me. I had always dated guys my own age, or two years older at the most, but I liked older men in general. I find them interesting, secure with who they are, and mature—much more mature than any guy my own age. And Hef was all of that and so much more.
He also won me over with being kind and thoughtful. I had mentioned to Mary, who kept a watch on my studies, that I needed a new computer to take my exam on. She was going to check if there was one available at the office that I could borrow. Without waiting for her to find out, I went and bought one on my credit card. When she found out, she called to tell me that Hef wanted to pay for it. I was overjoyed. Not only was it a tremendous help financially, but it was also a sweet and considerate gesture. Hef continued being very attentive and caring toward me, and I could not help but grow to care about him. I really enjoyed his company.
After the New York trip it was difficult to get back into the rhythm of studying. I would go to my review class and sit among the stressed-out, sleepdeprived, caffeine-fueled students. After class I stopped by the Mansion; it was pure paradise. I lay out by the pool, where the butlers delivered my lunch, I swam and tanned, and I was being seduced by the Playboy lifestyle. I wondered if I should put the Bar exam off for a while; after all, I graduated early thanks to my hard work. I could spend the next few months trying something different and then take the Bar exam in July with the rest of my class. However, because they would not refund my course money or the Bar exam fee, I decided I would just do it for the experience. Hef endeared himself to me even more when he gave me the money I paid for the course review and the Bar exam. I was able to pay my parents back, and it felt amazing.
A week before the Bar exam, Hef told us girls we would be attending the MusiCares dinner gala honoring the chosen artist of the year and the 2002 Grammys, but of course I was excused because both events coincided with the exam. I immediately protested to Hef. I knew the exam was a lost cause, and I did not want to miss out on the Grammys. Hef gave each of us $2,000 for outfits to the two events. We were ecstatic. I got a white dress for the dinner and a white leather o
utfit—a mini skirt and a matching jacket—for the Grammys. The night before the Bar exam, I attended the MusiCares benefit—my first red carpet event. By the time I got back to the hotel—I was staying at the Radisson, where the exam was taking place—all of the students had long been asleep.The following day I took the exam, and to my surprise, I did fine. The second day of the exam (it’s a three-day test), I was distracted. I knew the Grammys red carpet action began at around 3 p.m. and I wouldn’t even be finished with the test by then. As soon as I was done, I ran to my room to find out that my limo and security was already waiting downstairs. I did my makeup in fifteen minutes and didn’t even have time to do my hair because the show had already begun. I cannot imagine what my fellow examinees must have thought when they saw me strolling out of the hotel in a white leather outfit and getting into a limo. The show was great; we sat right at the front on the side of the stage and had perfect view of all of the performances.
After the show, we went to a couple of after parties, and then the limo brought me back to my hotel. The next day, when it was time for the last day of the exam, I simply couldn’t do it. I was tired and could not concentrate. I left the exam room, packed my stuff up, and left without finishing. I later found out that had I made a real effort on that last day, I would have probably passed the exam; my scores until then were good. As things were, I couldn’t get a job at a law firm without first passing the bar, and the next bar wasn’t until July. My self-sabotage was successful. Now, there was nothing stopping me. But there was someone.
My going out with Hef and the girls was a source of constant fighting between Justin and me. After I graduated from law school in December 2001, he thought my “fling” with Hef and his posse was over, but I was just getting to know them. Justin appealed to my intelligence, independent spirit, and strength to discourage me from being involved with Hef. He told me he was disappointed that I was wasting such a fantastic education to pursue a frivolous life. “What happened to the girl I knew who wanted to become an international lawyer and make the world a better place?” he would challenge me. He was my best friend, and he knew how to get to me. It hurt. I cried myself to sleep almost every night, wrestling with my conscience. When appeals to my ambition didn’t work, he turned to insults: “How can you hang out with those dumb bimbos? Don’t you have any pride? What happened to your self-respect? You wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with people like that a year ago! Everyone will equate you with them. You will never get a job in a law firm.” Although his previous technique made me think about the choices I was making, the insults incensed me and only provoked me further. He hurt me too much, and I had to cut off contact with him for a while. To hell with everyone! I decided. It was not easy to reconcile my bad-girl desires with my good-girl upbringing and defy the predictable expectations of everyone around me. Maybe it was a mistake, but it was my very own mistake. I wanted to live life on my own terms, not as a passive concession to the expectations of others.
I was seduced by the Playboy lifestyle. The private jet, the parties, the limos, the Grammys, and the carefree lifestyle were unlike anything I had seen or experienced. It was so different from my disciplined, socially conscious intellectual existence; I could not help but be tempted by it. My true Libra spirit has always been seeking to balance itself. For a long time there had been a struggle between my left brain and right brain.
I wanted a legitimate education so that I never had to go through what my parents went through. Some people think that speaking English with an accent means you are stupid. People don’t realize how difficult it is for immigrants to come to a new country with nothing, to learn a new language, and try to make it as an equal. The odds are against you.
And though I dreamed of artistic pursuits, I knew that a solid education would provide security and validation in this world. In law school, I realized that a law degree might not be enough to do what I wanted to do. I started looking into a master’s degree in international law, but I wanted to live life a little; I was becoming a perpetual student. I was afraid to think what my student loans would look like if I continued studying. An opportunity for a break came from the most unexpected place.
There was something about the Mansion that just lured you in. It ’s not Hef himself. It ’s not the house. It’s this enchanting feeling, this aura. There is a spirit to that place that makes your skin tingle, your mind relax. It makes you lose your inhibitions. Hef and his lifestyle seduced me with the promise of a privileged and peaceful lifestyle. Not to have to worry about rent, bills, and all the other mundane details of life that preoccupy most of our time—that meant freedom to me. Freedom to explore a different side of life. It is Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: When our basic needs are satisfied, we can look to satisfy our higher desires and allow our sexual animal off the leash. It’s an addictive lifestyle. After I spent time at the Mansion, the Bar review class simply did not have a chance. The rigor of class illuminated the freedom of the Mansion—it was exhilarating. I did want a break from studying, though the Mansion presented the extreme of anything I could have possibly had in mind. But I believe in destiny. There was a reason this opportunity had presented itself to me. This was a fork in the road, and I had to choose. It wasn’t a fair choice. Of course I would choose the road less traveled; the way of the Bunny.
Even though we were Hef ’s Girlfriends, there were certain benefits that Emma and I were not getting and could not get because we did not live at the Mansion. The most important was the weekly allowance—only the girls that lived at the Mansion could get a weekly allowance in exchange for living under Hef’s set of laws. This is very surprising to most people; they have no idea that we are given an allowance as Hef ’s Girlfriends. Initially, the financial issue was one of necessity; we were going out with Hef all of the time, yet we did not have the money to buy new outfits, and when you go out several nights a week, you quickly run out of things to wear. Secondly, the late-night partying is not conducive to maintaining a nine-to-five job, so we needed an allowance to pay our bills. However, the benefits of living at the Mansion, like most things in life, came with many strings attached. To live at the Mansion, you had to follow the rules, and there were many rules. But the one that we really got stuck on was the curfew: Everyone had to be on the Mansion grounds by nine o’clock every night—unless we were out with Hef at a club or a function. People honestly did not believe us when we told them we had a curfew at the wild and crazy Playboy Mansion. Nine o’clock? But nothing fun happens before 9 p.m.! And that was exactly the point. From this one rule derived many consequences: I couldn’t go out to dinner with my friends; I couldn’t go out to clubs with my friends; I couldn’t have a night off and go sleep over at a friend’s place; I could not take acting classes because most of those took place in the evenings; and on and on. Though we later learned how to bend this rule occasionally, this was a major hang-up at the time. Secondly and generally speaking, our freedom was limited; our lives were no longer really our own, we were now a part of the group. Interestingly, it wasn’t always like that. The girls that came before us were allowed to do much more than we were, but they screwed up and Hef learned from their mistakes. Emma and I would constantly debate whether we could handle it if we did move in, and it became an “I will if you will” type of situation.
I really didn’t know if I could live at the Mansion; I didn’t know if I could play the role that was expected of me. And make no mistake, most of the time we were all playing a role: playing Hef’s Girlfriend, playing like we were friends, being chatty and polite with all of the random folks always coming over. It was exhausting. It is a show. I really should add all of that experience to my acting resume: dumb blonde eye-candy. It’s like when you long to get a certain job, or long to meet someone famous, and then you have the chance and you ask yourself: Can I really do this? It is much safer being a “normal” person and admiring from afar, but it takes a certain resolution and courage to actually step up and live in a world so unfamiliar and that is
not as safe as the one you live in.
I literally made a list of pros and cons to help me make up my mind. The cons included my relationship with Justin, the sex issue at the Mansion, and falling off my career path. The pros included having a unique experience, taking a chance, and living life to the fullest. After I sabotaged the Bar exam, there was nothing for me to do besides wait for the results, though I already knew the outcome. Once I had decided that I would hang out with Hef and the girls and become part of the “party posse,” moving into the Mansion was inevitable. After all, why devote all this time to the whole scene and not receive the same benefits as the girls who lived at the Mansion? It was my time to play, or my time to waste. As long as I was paying my bills and not taking my parents’ money, I was doing okay, or so I decided. In the end, my stubbornness and determination to be independent and experience life on my terms won out. I am an only child; I never had to compromise, share, or give in to anyone. An opportunity to move into the Playboy Mansion, regardless of the consequences and implications, does not come every day. Besides, I could always move out; we didn’t have to be there for a specific period of time, and we never signed any contracts or confidentiality agreements as to our relationship with Hef or our life at the Mansion. I was always in charge of my life.