Down the Rabbit Hole Read Online Free PDF
Author: Holly Madison
invitees werenât allowed a âplus oneââso we immediately starting obsessing over what we would wear.
Despite having very little flexible income, I decided I needed a new lingerie set from Frederickâs of Hollywood: a black satin corset with matching garter belts, thigh-high stockings, and a short yet conservative silk robe to wear on top of the ensemble. Bikinis and Hooters shorts aside, it would be a little while before I would be comfortable parading around in âlingerie or less,â the staple look at a Playboy party.
O NE BY ONE, GUESTS stepped off the shuttle. Every inch of the estate seemed to sparkle. Bright white twinkle lights lit the walkway towards the decadent soiree; gorgeous colored spotlights draped the cascading waterfalls framing the pool. Both Heather and I were so overwhelmed we barely spoke a word to each other as we took in the magnificent grounds. Before we entered the party, a staffer asked to take our photograph. We didnât even question why as one by one each woman stood for a Polaroid. When we finally made our way around to the backyard, we spotted the most lavish buffet of food I had ever seen.
For two broke waitresses who existed mainly on Top Ramen and chicken wings, it was a feast fit for royalty: seafood bars, carving stations, sushi buffets, dessert carts, and gorgeous-looking drinks flowing from the flagstone bar next to the pool.
Suddenly Heather jerked my arm and pointed across the lawn.
âOh my god, thereâs Cameron Diaz,â she said, pointing to the tall beautiful blonde sitting at a table nearby. And next to her was Jim Carrey. Across the pool, Heather spotted Leonardo DiCaprio! It was a virtual whoâs who of Hollywood!
âHolly! Heather!â We heard our names through the crowd. Who could we possibly know here?
It was a welcome relief to see our friend Kira, another Hooters server, waving to us from across the party. She navigated her way through the sea of people with the expertise of someone accustomed to these types of events. Working together, I knew that Kira had seen her fair share of Playboy parties.
âYou guys want a tour?â She posed the question as if we had just happened into her very own living room, and we immediately took her up on the offer. She walked us through the infamous candlelit grotto (which was still empty at this early hour), through the zoo where we fed grapes to the tiny monkeys, and inside the â70s-themed game house before making our way into the main event. Gorgeous colorful fabrics clung to every corner of the grand tent rooftop, while faux grass lined the bottom, creating the illusion of some fantastical forest (although Iâm quite certain that many of the people in attendance didnât make a habit of reading Shakespeare, and, in some cases, quite possibly had never even heard of the play the party was named for). Everything looked so sensuous and inviting.
It wasnât until we were tucked away in a corner of the tent that I finally spotted our infamous host looking quite gloomyâespecially for a man flanked by two of the most breathtaking beauties I had ever seen. The Bentley twins were tall, tan, and reed thin with slow, languorous walks. They conducted themselves like royaltyâas if they were on the arm of a king or a presidentâbut were dressed like sex kittens in custom-tailored Baracci costumes. Shimmering with beads, sequins, and Swarovski crystals on French lace skirts and tops, their outfits were unlike anything any other partygoer was wearing. They were sexy but oh so elegant, with perfectly painted faces and blond cascading curls decorated with glittery butterflies. They were picture perfect and, needless to say, made a lasting impression.
âHe never stays for that long,â Kira said, when she saw me looking over at Hef and his fabulous girlfriends. I watched as Hef sat in a crowded corner of the tent, shaking hands with one partygoer after
Despite having very little flexible income, I decided I needed a new lingerie set from Frederickâs of Hollywood: a black satin corset with matching garter belts, thigh-high stockings, and a short yet conservative silk robe to wear on top of the ensemble. Bikinis and Hooters shorts aside, it would be a little while before I would be comfortable parading around in âlingerie or less,â the staple look at a Playboy party.
O NE BY ONE, GUESTS stepped off the shuttle. Every inch of the estate seemed to sparkle. Bright white twinkle lights lit the walkway towards the decadent soiree; gorgeous colored spotlights draped the cascading waterfalls framing the pool. Both Heather and I were so overwhelmed we barely spoke a word to each other as we took in the magnificent grounds. Before we entered the party, a staffer asked to take our photograph. We didnât even question why as one by one each woman stood for a Polaroid. When we finally made our way around to the backyard, we spotted the most lavish buffet of food I had ever seen.
For two broke waitresses who existed mainly on Top Ramen and chicken wings, it was a feast fit for royalty: seafood bars, carving stations, sushi buffets, dessert carts, and gorgeous-looking drinks flowing from the flagstone bar next to the pool.
Suddenly Heather jerked my arm and pointed across the lawn.
âOh my god, thereâs Cameron Diaz,â she said, pointing to the tall beautiful blonde sitting at a table nearby. And next to her was Jim Carrey. Across the pool, Heather spotted Leonardo DiCaprio! It was a virtual whoâs who of Hollywood!
âHolly! Heather!â We heard our names through the crowd. Who could we possibly know here?
It was a welcome relief to see our friend Kira, another Hooters server, waving to us from across the party. She navigated her way through the sea of people with the expertise of someone accustomed to these types of events. Working together, I knew that Kira had seen her fair share of Playboy parties.
âYou guys want a tour?â She posed the question as if we had just happened into her very own living room, and we immediately took her up on the offer. She walked us through the infamous candlelit grotto (which was still empty at this early hour), through the zoo where we fed grapes to the tiny monkeys, and inside the â70s-themed game house before making our way into the main event. Gorgeous colorful fabrics clung to every corner of the grand tent rooftop, while faux grass lined the bottom, creating the illusion of some fantastical forest (although Iâm quite certain that many of the people in attendance didnât make a habit of reading Shakespeare, and, in some cases, quite possibly had never even heard of the play the party was named for). Everything looked so sensuous and inviting.
It wasnât until we were tucked away in a corner of the tent that I finally spotted our infamous host looking quite gloomyâespecially for a man flanked by two of the most breathtaking beauties I had ever seen. The Bentley twins were tall, tan, and reed thin with slow, languorous walks. They conducted themselves like royaltyâas if they were on the arm of a king or a presidentâbut were dressed like sex kittens in custom-tailored Baracci costumes. Shimmering with beads, sequins, and Swarovski crystals on French lace skirts and tops, their outfits were unlike anything any other partygoer was wearing. They were sexy but oh so elegant, with perfectly painted faces and blond cascading curls decorated with glittery butterflies. They were picture perfect and, needless to say, made a lasting impression.
âHe never stays for that long,â Kira said, when she saw me looking over at Hef and his fabulous girlfriends. I watched as Hef sat in a crowded corner of the tent, shaking hands with one partygoer after