Down the Rabbit Hole (38 page)

“Hi, this is Holly Madison returning your call,” I said nervously into my cell phone to whichever bigwig I had just happened to call. (In all the excitement, I didn't even remember the name of the person who had called me.)

The producer confided (after swearing me to confidentiality) that singer/songwriter Jewel had seriously injured herself during rehearsals and they were desperately in need of a quick replacement.

“Would you be willing to do it?” she asked expectantly. “You would only have four days to learn your routine, while every other contestant has already had a month's worth of rehearsals.”

“Are you kidding? Of course!” I gleefully shouted into the phone. I couldn't believe my luck. “Absolutely. Thank you so much. I'm beyond grateful for this opportunity,” I continued to stammer, positively beside myself. “I can't believe it!”

She seemed totally relieved and let out a big laugh. It was meant to be! After giving her all my current contact information, I called my publicist, telling him the good news and swearing him to secrecy. My addition to the
DWTS
cast was supposed to be kept quiet until they announced it live on the premier episode.

The next few days were an absolute Cinderella story. After signing the contract with
Dancing,
I was immediately whisked off to meet my new partner, Dmitry Chaplin (a new
DWTS
talent who graduated from TV's other juggernaut dance series,
So You Think You Can Dance
). Production provided me with my first set of dance shoes for our rehearsal. Eight hours of practice later, my feet had erupted in terrible blisters, but I didn't care. I lined the shoes with moleskin before returning the next morning. Not even the pain in my feet could dampen my spirits as I skipped my way back to the studio, eager to continue our routine.

Our first number was a cha-cha to Lady Gaga's anthem “Just Dance.” I was overcome with excitement. Could they have chosen a more perfect song for this particular time of my life? After the second day of rehearsals, I was swept away to the office of Emmy-award-winning costume designer Randall Christensen on the CBS lot to begin fittings for my first outfit. (Side note: While the series
airs
on ABC, it's actually shot on the CBS lot in West Hollywood.)

Reminiscent of Hollywood's golden age, the costumes for each
DWTS
episode are crafted in-house each week. In what felt like no time, Christensen whipped up a short, vibrant orange dress drenched in beaded fringe and Swarovski crystals. It was absolutely to die for. Even though I was the new girl on set, the producers, cast, and crew couldn't have been more welcoming. Everyone was an absolute delight to work with—and seemingly grateful that I agreed to step in at the very last minute. Little did they know that this was the break I had been praying for—an opportunity when I truly needed it most.

Was I nervous to perform my newly learned dance in front of a live studio audience and 22 million viewers watching live at home? Duh! But not too nervous to forget to have fun and enjoy
my
moment in the spotlight (without any ominous boyfriend hovering over me). As long as I remembered the routine, I was going to be okay. My priority was to have a good time, work hard, and of course enjoy wearing the fabulous, sparkly costumes!

Over the course of my tenure on the show, my scores were mediocre, my dancing wasn't great, and the eight-hour rehearsals, five days a week were brutal, but I was having
the time of my life
. After practice, I'd make the drive back to Mary and Captain Bob's home in the Valley and collapse on my bed. For the next month, my life would be: eat, sleep, dance, repeat.

After my debut, Criss eventually reached out to me to offer his congratulations. With distance and a bit of time between us, it appeared we could be civil. Some of his messages were very flirty or risqué, but I didn't bite. I had heard through the grapevine that he had already moved on and was living with his current girlfriend. Plus, I knew Criss well enough to be certain that any sort of affirmation I was getting from him was most likely motivated by the new positive publicity I was receiving for being a part of the
DWTS
cast. For my part, I didn't resent him for how he had treated me, even though I could have. Instead of wallowing in the past, I chose to happily close that chapter of my life and be satisfied that we seemed to be on good terms.

“S
O YOU SAY
, ‘I'
M
Holly, I was one of Hugh Hefner's girlfriends at the Playboy Mansion,' ” directed Freddie, a
DWTS
field producer, from behind the camera.

“Umm,” I stalled. “I don't really want to say that. Can I say something else?”

“That's what they have here for you to say,” Freddie said, looking down at his notes. “I mean, that's how people know you.”

He didn't mean it as a jab; there's no way he could fully appreciate how negative that association was to me or that I was so eager to separate myself from Hef.

“Can I say, ‘I'm Holly, I starred on the television show
The Girls Next Door
'?” I meekly and politely suggested, praying he would take the bait. I was so grateful for the opportunity and—despite the contract and grueling blisters—I was still slightly terrified the rug could be pulled out from under me, so I didn't want to go against even their smallest wish, but I just couldn't be labeled as Hef's ex. Not this time.

Silence.

Obviously this wasn't my first foray into reality television and I knew the executive producers had given Freddie the sound bites they wanted to hear. It was his job to make sure we stuck to the script.

He thought about it a minute longer.

“Why don't you say, ‘Hi, I'm Holly, I was one of Hugh Hefner's girlfriends at the Playboy Mansion on the show
The Girls Next Door,
' ” Freddie suggested, hoping this would satisfy my concerns.

“I'm not going to say the girlfriend part,” I said through a sheepish smile. I knew I was pushing the envelope. I didn't want to be difficult, but I had to finally stand up for my own dignity and self-respect. “I'm sorry. I'm just tired of being branded that way. I mean, no one else would introduce themselves as somebody's ex-girlfriend or boyfriend, you know?”

“Okay. If you absolutely don't want to say it,” Freddie conceded with a shrug.

In the end, I introduced myself as “I'm Holly Madison. I've been on the cover of
Playboy
four times and I starred in a reality series called
The Girls Next Door
.”

Producers got their
Playboy
reference and I was able to stand Hef-free for the first time. One battle down, countless more to go . . .

Being branded as “Hef's ex” was a label that would continue to haunt me for years, but one I would always fight against. I refused to let
that
be the most defining thing in my life.

Besides the one-time introduction and a legitimately funny
Playboy
-related joke (where fellow contestant Belinda Carlisle said, “I'm the former Miss August,” then contestant Denise Richards said, “I was Miss December,” and then they cut to me saying, “I've been Miss February, March, September, and November”), I was able to steer clear of any Hef/Playboy references throughout my run on the series.

When an entertainment news program came to film one of my rehearsals, the interviewer asked, “What do you have to say to Hef wishing you well on
Dancing with the Stars
?”

He must have read the perplexed look on my face, because I hadn't heard anything from Hef since landing on the show.

“We taped a message from him and we want to hear what you have to say in return,” he explained through forced excitement.

“What's going on?” I asked my manager disappointedly, looking over my shoulder at him for help.

“Hey, guys, this is really inappropriate,” he immediately jumped in. He then suggested the interviewer wrap up the segment.

Of course it would have been great for Hef to wish me well, but I wasn't really buying it. If he wanted to say “good luck,” he could have easily gotten ahold of me. Instead, he used the opportunity to make a public statement and capitalize on the chance to look like the perfect gentleman. The whole thing felt insincere to me. A few months earlier, after Kendra announced her engagement, Hef publicly stated that she'd be getting married at the mansion and he'd be the one walking her down the aisle . . . before Kendra even fully agreed to it! (Kendra later insisted that her brother give her away. It was creepy enough that she had to get married at her ex-boyfriend's house.)

Did I really expect any different from Hef? He had been a public icon for more than half a century, but still, after all this time, he felt the need to milk every possible publicity opportunity bone-dry. Wounded by the mass exodus of his “beloved” girlfriends, Hef was struggling to avoid looking like he wasn't in absolute control of the situation. It wasn't enough that he had already restocked the pantry with three younger, blonder girls, he needed to stay publicly involved in Kendra's and my new ventures as if he were still orchestrating our lives.

Who knows, maybe he meant well, but his behavior was suffocating and it motivated me to run even farther and farther away from my past.

I realized that
Dancing
could end any week for me, so I couldn't allow myself to become complacent. As much as I wanted to completely submerge myself in the show and enjoy every moment, I needed to quickly identify my next opportunity and strike while the iron was still hot. I suggested to my manager that we reach out to the
Crazy Horse Paris
again to see if they were interested in reopening our discussions.

“I have something else that I think you might be a good fit for,” he countered. “There's a new show opening at Planet Hollywood called
Peepshow
and they're looking to replace the lead every three months.”

From what I had read about
Peepshow
in Robin Leach's column in the
Las Vegas Sun,
I knew it was a Broadway-influenced revue with a sexy fairy-tale theme and a sultry “Bo Peep” as the lead character (hence the show's name). I'd seen some early marketing of the show around Las Vegas and didn't find the ads particularly appealing. In the posters, a shadowy, mysterious looking Bo Peep and a sinister looking Red Riding Hood lurked on a black background, the Bo Peep wearing a stock Trashy Lingerie corset. (Of course, when I finally saw the show, I realized how little those posters captured its essence and style.) While it didn't sound very enticing (especially considering that I was looking for something more long term), I agreed to take a look once I could get back to Las Vegas.

In the end, I lasted about a month on
Dancing with the Stars
and had simultaneously gotten myself into the best shape of my life. With all that dancing, I could eat anything I wanted (McDonald's French fries with barbecue sauce, anyone?) and I
still
had a six-pack. After my elimination, I embarked on a whirlwind press tour: appearing on
Jimmy Kimmel Live
(where Jimmy introduced me as one of Hef's girlfriends. Oy vey!) before being flown to New York for a bunch of interviews and appearances.

I knew that I'd be returning to
DWTS
in another short month to perform on the finale along with the other eliminated contestants, so I was determined to have secured my next gig before then. If I could announce my future plans on the finale, in front of 22 million viewers, it would be perfect!

With a few weeks to collect my thoughts, I made a special trip to Las Vegas to catch a performance of
Peepshow
. During my short stint there, I fell in love with the newly renovated Planet Hollywood Resort and Casino. The
Peepshow
Theater held an impressive 1,500 patrons (most burlesque shows I had seen capped at around 300).

Wow,
I thought.
They're really taking this show seriously.

The theater itself was remodeled specifically for
Peepshow,
which told me that both the producers and the hotel intended for the show to stick around for a while. Large, exquisite props that looked like laced corsets beautifully covered the lobby's ceiling as mirrored walls glistened and glimmered around us like disco balls lined with plush white Hollywood Regency settees. Around the theater, the “peeping” keyhole motif was everywhere, and three large runways jetted out from the stage into the audience. As the lights dimmed and the show began, larger-than-life LED screens glowed behind the stage showcasing a magnificent black-and-white video of its current star, Kelly Monaco (a fellow
DWTS
alum, former Playmate, and soap actress). At the time, the show had two headliners: the other was former Spice Girl Mel B., who played the role of “Peep Diva.” Kelly finally entered the stage wrapped in white acrobat's silk hanging 30 feet above the ground. The routines, dance numbers, and acrobatics were jaw dropping. Even though the best routines didn't even feature Bo Peep, it didn't matter. I was seriously impressed.

It felt somehow as if the part of Bo Peep had been written specifically for me. The character begins as a modern-day woman who can't find love. After drifting off to sleep one night, she finds herself in dreamland being led through a series of vignettes—each teaching her how to be confident and sexy. In the end, she finds her man only after finding herself.

As the performers took their final bows at the show's end, I leaned over and shouted in my manager's ear (over the deafening applause): “I want in!”

C
HAPTER
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