Bunny Tales (36 page)

In an ironic twist, I ran into my friend Vivian, who had started this whole Playboy experience with me, at the party. Seeing her there reminded me of those first parties we came to, and seeing Hef and his then-Girlfriends, wondering what the hell that was all about. And here I was once again, having lived that life, looking at him like a stranger again, wondering the same thing. I didn’t stay long. I realized that when you have been to all those parties so many times, they lose their luster. But I was glad that I went. It reminded me of all of the good times I had and all the people I still cared about and missed. But I also remembered the things that were not so great, so I was able to close that chapter of my life. In an ideal world, Hef and I would be friends; I could come to the Mansion for movie night or parties with my significant other and have a nice respectful relationship with Hef. I would hate for the two and a half years I spent living at the Mansion with him, and all the memories we share, to be ruined by jealousy and pettiness.

And then there was Justin. My moving into the Mansion turned out to be a good thing for our relationship; it allowed us to become friends. Without the pressures and expectations of a relationship, we had more fun together, and despite our independence we found that we really needed each other for comfort and support. We became best friends, and Justin always knew everything about my life at the Mansion as it was happening. He listened and advised me, and without him, I really don’t think I would have lasted as long as I did in that lifestyle. He kept me grounded, and whenever I got out of control, he was my reality check.

We grew closer when I was at the Mansion than we ever had been before even though we were not in a relationship. I know a lot of people gave him a hard time about the fact that I lived at the Mansion. “Your chick left you for an old dude,” they would tease. And he swallowed his pride and stood by me like the loyal friend that he is. Only a strong man could do that, a man who knows who he is and does not have to prove anything to anyone. Justin is a good man. He does things for the right reasons, not because he wants to impress people. He is honest, caring, and loyal.

A common lawyer joke alludes to the fact that there are no honest lawyers, but Justin is an honest and ethical lawyer. He gets it from his father, a hardworking, salty yet loving man who raised three boys alone after he and his wife separated. It wasn’t easy; he sacrificed his own needs and pleasure for the well-being of his children. Despite the obstacles, he devoted himself to God and hard work, and managed to instill great values in his sons. I realized what a good man Justin was and how lucky I was to find such a man, especially in Los Angeles. Plus, Justin lets the pugs sleep on the bed and snore all night; if that is not love, then I don’t know what is! He is not perfect by any means, but he is one of the best people I have ever met. I don’t know what the future holds; there are no guarantees. Only time will tell if he is the love of my life.

Justin was right when he told me a couple of years before that I would fall off the law track. I was not the same person when I left the Mansion. I tried to take the Bar exam, but my heart and mind were not in it. The beautiful thing about an education is that no one can take it away from you and it never expires. And though right now my dream is to be an attorney on one of David Kelley’s brilliant legal shows (can we resurrect my favorite show,
Ally McBeal
?) rather than a real-life attorney, it does not mean that one day I will not use those skills and knowledge. Despite my bunny-fication over the years, I am still a nerd deep down inside, one who loves to read and learn and have political discussions. In the meantime, the events of the previous two years kept circling in my head, begging to be organized. I began having this repeating dream about moving back into the Mansion, just to wake up sweating and confused. I didn’t know what to do with my memories, with my thoughts or feelings. And so I began writing.

When I found out that Hef and his current three Girlfriends were doing a reality show called
The Girls Next Door
, I thought it was ironic. Emma and I were the ones always telling him that with all the drama going on at the house we should do a reality show. I even spoke to my boss at Playboy Entertainment about it a couple of years ago, trying to make the idea a reality. Hef was always hesitant because he thought it was going to be an inconvenience in his life, an intrusion upon his work, but I told him it should be about the lives of the Girlfriends, since we create all of the interesting turmoil anyway. I imagined the show to be something like the Playboy version of
The Real World:
people from various walks of life together under one roof, sharing a common boyfriend. You don’t have to imagine all the jealousy, trashtalking, back-stabbing, and catty girl behavior going on. It would have been great. In fact, when I started writing my story, the subtitle was “The Greatest Reality Show Ever,” and even though that was written at least a year before this show was born, I am going to change it, as I shall likely be accused of copying the idea.

I had a chance to watch a few of the shows’ episodes and I think it is cute and fuzzy. I am sure it is interesting for people to take a look into the life of Hugh Hefner and the girls he dates, but though it is a “reality show,” I don’t think it is very real. I find that every episode is scripted and a version of the truth is portrayed, the version they want people to believe. Almost every episode centers around an event or a party that I believe is happening only because the cameras are rolling. All of the butlers and Mansion regulars have told me that nothing much happens at the Mansion anymore, other than the annual parties, and that they have to come up with themes and stories for the episodes. And it seems to me that everyone on the show is on their best behavior, and their most likeable.

Had Emma, Susan, and I still been there, it would have been a totally different show: real and sassy. What I think would be even more exciting is glamorous fiction. Perhaps I can pitch a
Dynasty
-style saga to one of the networks: an aging but handsome magazine tycoon with multiple girlfriends, but he is still in love with the ex-wife who lives next door, two gorgeous sons wanting to take over the business (imagine if Hef’s sons were much older) from the older sister who refuses to relinquish her control, the girlfriends lusting after the sons (they would be the same age) and having affairs with the butlers out of boredom. Drama, love, lust, intrigue ... Mr. Spelling, give me a call if you want to collaborate.

Epilogue

“Miserable creatures, thrown for a moment on the surface of this little pile of mud, is it decreed that one half of the flock should be the persecutor of the other? Is it for you, mankind, to pronounce on what is good and what is evil?”

—Marquis De Sade

I
feel naked. I have exposed my innermost thoughts, feelings, and experiences for the world to judge. I have told the truth, and that gives me satisfaction. If I told the story well, the reader will understand where I come from, why I chose to live at the Mansion, and why the experience was incredible, liberating, and rewarding, while being difficult, tormenting, frustrating, and lonely. If I didn’t tell my story well, I anticipate words like bimbo or gold-digger to be tossed in my direction; however, those words can only hurt me superficially because this experience has taught me what is important in my life. What hurts is never knowing my grandfather because he was in Auschwitz and died before I was born, or not knowing my grandmother because she died early after the horrors of World War II. What hurts is vividly remembering leaving my native country because of the oppression of communism, the memory of the hopeful look in my first dog’s eyes, a look begging me to take her with us while I knew I could not even cry about it because it would raise suspicion. The fact that I have lost almost every token of my childhood, the trauma of moving across the world and learning two languages within a year. What really hurts is remembering my proud parents taking any job they could to fulfill the dream of giving their only child a better life, ultimately sacrificing their health and themselves to make it come true: sending me off to McGill University and Pepperdine University School of Law. What hurts is losing one of my best friends in a plane crash well before his time, and not being able to be at my grandfather’s or grandmother’s funerals in Poland. And what hurts the most is seeing my mother suffering from pain today and being unable to help her, to take that pain away after her whole life has been devoted to helping me and others. Those are the things that penetrate my heart and make me feel pain with my entire being. Not words spoken by people who look at me and can’t get past the outside appearance. Those are merely scratches upon the surface.

From the day I met Hef to today, it has been a long and emotional journey. When I moved into the Mansion, I was looking for a break. It was not about the money because I could have made more as a first-year legal associate, nor was it about becoming “famous” by association to Hef; it was about living a carefree, fun lifestyle, one that was drastically different than my own was at the time. And at first, living at the Mansion was just that; it was like an extended spring break. My mistake was staying longer than the few months I initially intended to stay. I got caught up in the drama and tension between the Girlfriends and what was once enjoyable, turned into a miserable waiting game. If I could go back, I would do it all over again; the only difference would be that I would have left after a few months.

Living with Hef was a one-of-a-kind experience. I learned that you must follow your dream and believe in yourself and that you do not have to conform to everyone’s expectations. But I also learned that a life of pure hedonism is only briefly satisfying; it leaves you lonely and empty in the end. Having lived a life of learning and discipline and then one of fun and pleasure, I learned that neither is satisfying in itself, and that you have to find a balance in life to be truly happy and fulfilled. I imagined that I would learn some sort of a formula for greatness from Hugh Hefner; what I learned is that Hef is just a human being, like all the rest of us, with faults, vulnerabilities and insecurities. I learned that being wealthy brings with it a lot of responsibilities, even more stress, and attracts many fake, insincere people. In the end, money doesn’t bring you happiness unless you have loved ones to share it with, and you use it to help those less fortunate than you. I also learned that I would not dumb myself down myself for anyone. I would never again be a woman who belittles herself to make someone else—a man—look bigger. I was never just having fun, and I certainly never meant to contribute to the trend of stupid blonde girls. It is quite possible to be blonde, be comfortable with your sexuality, and be intelligent; it maybe an exception to the rule, but it is possible.

The greatest legacy that life at the Playboy Mansion with the iconic Hugh Hefner has left me with is the enjoyment of the simple things in life; it used to be a cliché to me, but now I truly understand the meaning of that phrase. Nothing makes me happier than to hear my mom say that her back hurts a little bit less today than it did yesterday, or waking up with Balbina’s little pug head lovingly tucked into my neck, the kisses Bogart bestows upon me as soon as I open my eyes, or the times Justin surprises me with a latte and a blueberry scone in the morning. I treasure the daily ritual of making my own coffee and reading the newspaper, going for a walk with the dogs and making dinner with Justin. I realize that I used to take these small things for granted, and I am happy that I learned not to. If I had not lived at the Mansion, it might have taken me a lot longer to learn many valuable lessons about gratitude, true friendship, and love. The burden of my memories has lifted. Maybe the tormenting, vivid dreams about living at the Mansion again will finally stop. I don’t know what the future holds, but I have finally made sense of my past. At thirty, I feel like I have lived many lifetimes. I look forward to the future and the new unexpected adventures it will bring.

And that movie star I mentioned in the prologue? He got over my past, and called a few days later to apologize. But that’s a whole other story.

THANK YOU

Thank you Hugh Marston Hefner for making me a part of your fascinating life; for your kindness and generosity. I care about you very much and hope we can build a friendship. To the girls—thanks for the memories. I have learned something from each and every one of you. To my partner in crime, you know who you are—you made me laugh, you made me cry, and then laugh again. This special experience would not have been the same without you. The staff at the Playboy Mansion, thanks for making a mansion feel more like a home. To all the butlers, the chefs and kitchen staff, thanks for the best French toast, fajitas, cheeseburgers, and skinny fries. Thank you to the ladies who cleaned my room, David in the video department, Mickey for just being you. Thank you Mary, Norma, Elizabeth, Joyce, Bob, and Jenny. To the yard workers who always cleaned up after my dogs. Elaine, I didn’t mind cameras in my face as long as you were behind the lens. To all of the Security, especially the unparalleled Mark, and Freddy and Eddy, the best limo drivers around. I want you all to know that everything you ever did for me was always appreciated. The employees of PEGI who took me in, and were patient and understanding while I made my guest appearances at work every week.

Laurent, Gary, Holly, and Edgar thanks for all your great work and the good times we had at the salon. Also thanks to Janet and Edon. I would like to thank my vet, Dr. Werber for always being there for me and the pugs, beyond the call of his duties. My acting coach D.W. Brown for many words of wisdom and countless moments of inspiration. Mark Ebner for our brief yet enjoyable collaboration; I hope one day to be as compelling a writer as you are. Thank you to Chris Nassif and Zach Solov at Diverse Talent. Gavin Maloof, thank you for so many things. You are truly one of the kindest, most generous people I have ever met. You are amazing; may God continue to bless you and your family.