Bunny Tales

by Izabella St. James

  I was high on adrenaline, so I went back to my room and started to pack. It was three o’clock in the morning, but I kept at it. Box after box went into my truck. I meant to fill it up, drive to my apartment, unload, and come back to do it all over again until every single item was out of there. I was not going to stay in this disgusting house of hypocrisy and lies. Finally at 8 a.m., I collapsed from exhaustion. I woke up two hours later to find the office workers already aware of what happened and the house buzzing with people. It was the annual PMOY luncheon, the formal brunch where the new PMOY is announced and receives her prizes.

  I continued packing until late in the evening. All that was left in my Mansion bedroom were some random things in the closet. I would have moved those, but it was already night time and I still had to pack for the wedding. I finally got to bed at four in the morning only to wake up three hours later and get on the plane. That was a disastrous weekend. I was beyond exhausted at Niki and Angelo’s wedding—I actually had to walk away from the altar during the ceremony because I almost fainted. I was physically and emotionally beat up and I couldn’t even enjoy her wedding properly.

  Three days later, I was back in L.A. When I drove to the Mansion to pick up the rest of my things, I found them already packed for me. The butlers told me that they had been asked to pack all of my stuff. I ran into Hef in the hallway as I was leaving.

  “I am sorry it all happened like this. You are still welcome to come to all the parties and everything,” was all he said. I was glad he said that, but I don’t know if I would even want to come to the parties. He hurt my feelings, and I was disappointed in him. Would I want to run into Bridget? Plus, if you have been to a couple of parties at the Mansion, you have been to them all. We exchanged niceties, and I left. As I struggled to find a spot for a fish bowl (with the water and fish in it) in my truck, I saw Hef watching me out a window. I smiled, and he smiled back. I know he is a sentimental person, and I know he was feeling a sense of loss and sadness at that moment. I was too; after all, we had been a part of each other’s lives for two and a half years. I waved to him, and he walked away as I drove off.

  That was the last time I really saw Hef.

  21: Post-Bunnydom.

  “I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning to sail my ship.”

  —Louisa May Alcott

  The first year after I moved out of the Mansion was like living in the twilight zone. The world seemed a strange place, and I was even stranger to myself. I felt like I needed to be deprogrammed. There’s a little bit of the Stockholm syndrome in being isolated from everyone and everything in your life, and then you start to identify with your captor. Pretty soon, you become the Bunny.

  It was weird not to have a curfew. I remember driving my car after 9 p.m. for the first time in years. The world looked different. I kept having a feeling like I was going to get in trouble from someone. It was strange to be able to do whatever I wanted and go wherever I wanted again. But I had become so unaccustomed to having my own social life, particularly at night, that I really didn’t know what to do. Emma’s apartment was right in the middle of Hollywood, and she and Susan did not waste anytime getting into the Hollywood party scene. On one of their nights out, they ran into a guy who had dated Holly; he told them Holly had been after Hef for a long time. She had researched everything about him to appeal to him once she was able to get close enough to him and then set out to become one of the Girlfriends. It made a lot of sense, since she claimed to have studied psychology just like he did, and claimed that her favorite food and movies were the same as his, and all of this other stuff that we thought was more than a coincidence.

  I partied with Emma and Susan for a couple of months. Every time I did, I came home at six in the morning. Although I had a lot of fun, I could not keep up with that lifestyle. I really needed a break. I changed my phone number, settled into my place by the beach, and began getting used to life once again. I had this strong urge to nest. I spent my time decorating my apartment to perfection. I cleaned it every day—every room had to be spotless. I knew something was seriously wrong with me when I learned how to cook and actually liked it. It was so bizarre not to be able to order room service anymore. Every morning when I woke up, I had the urge to dial “0” and order my usual. But the last few months, I had missed doing things for myself and this was my opportunity. I became a total domestic. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I guess for two years I felt like I didn’t really have a home, a place of my own, and so when I finally did, I wanted to enjoy it, to savor every minute. I also wanted to prove to myself that I did not need to live in a Mansion with a staff of seventy to have a good life and be happy.

  But nothing works in the extreme, and my newfound domesticity was soon not enough. I have learned that a balance is necessary; sometimes it’s nice to stay in and cook dinner, watch a movie, and go to bed early; other times it’s great to get dressed and go dancing, come home late, and drink too much coffee the next day. Being a true Libra, I am constantly seeking the perfect balance in my life. When the scales tip to one side too much, the equilibrium is lost, and I make impulsive decisions. Life in the spotlight—while fun, exciting, and exhilarating, proved very empty and lonely. For me, fame and fortune only mean something if you can share them and enjoy them with the people you love. Without my family close by, and without being able to spend time with my friends, it was a very empty lifestyle.

  Although I felt like a fish out of water after I left the Mansion, I didn’t miss it. I was sorry that things had ended the way they had because I always planned on leaving on good terms with everyone, particularly Hef. I was curious to see what kind of a relationship, if any, I would continue to have with Hef. I decided to test the waters.

  I had inherited a goldfish named Bob. It had been given to Marston, Hef’s teenage son, as a birthday present, but because his mom Kimberly has so many cats, it was not a good idea for Bob to stay at their house. Marston brought him over to the Mansion to find someone willing to take him. I have a soft spot for animals, so I took Bob in. The pugs didn’t mind; in fact, Balbina used to lie on the bed and watch Bob swim. I bought him a new small tank and all of the necessary supplies. But Bob had grown fast, and by the time I moved out of the Mansion, he was way too big for the tank and I needed a new one. About two weeks after I moved out, I e-mailed Hef’s assistant and explained that Bob needed a new tank, but since I needed my savings to start my new life, I could not afford to spend the money on a new fish tank. Could Hef help me out, since I adopted the fish as a favor to Marston. I knew it sounded hokey, but I wanted to see what Hef would do. I got a reply that Hef would not pay for the fish tank. Okay, so I knew where things stood between Hef and I; I e-mailed back saying I was disappointed that Hef has chosen to be on unfriendly terms with us. It wasn’t about the fish tank. I had already bought one, before I received the reply e-mail. I bought Bob a huge mansion of a tank with all the luxuries he could require and charged it to my credit card. A week later a letter came from HMH (Hugh Marston Hefner):“Dear Izabella,

  Here is the check for the new fish bowl.

  I don’t have “unfriendly” feelings about you, Emma or Susan. The only concern I have in that regard is related to Holly and Bridget. I care about all of you, but I don’t want to have to deal with any more of the negativity that prompted the break up. That isn’t the way any of us should have to live.

  Love, Hef.”

  I knew it. Of course it all had to do with Holly and Bridget. Now that we were gone, God only knew what they were saying about us. Hef wasn’t allowed to be nice to us or invite us to the Mansion or the parties until they got over it; he wasn’t going to jeopardize his sex life when he was only left with two Girlfriends. But he did send money for the fish tank; that meant he still cared at some hidden level.

  After that, it was time for the Midsummer Night’s Dream party. I did not receive an invitation, and neither did the other girls, despite the fact that the last thing Hef said to me was that I w
as still welcome at all of the parties. The first invitation to a party arrived for New Year’s Eve. I spent Christmas in Canada and was unable to attend the party. And why would I go without a date? Since I was Hef’s ex-Girlfriend, I thought it was time that I be allowed to bring a date, Justin, with me; I thought I had earned that right. I spoke to Emma, and she told me she had not been invited to any of the parties. She also told me that when her son went to play with Hef’s kids (they had become friends during the time Emma lived at the Mansion), some of the girls there objected to having him hang out at the Mansion. Despite Emma’s letters to Hef asking to be invited to parties, he refused to allow her to come to the Mansion. I thought it was really sad how Hef let those girls influence him. After all, we did live at that house for more than two years. We didn’t do anything to Hef; there was no reason for him to act this way. It never ceases to amaze me what little backbone he has and how he can be such a successful businessman but cannot be a man when it comes to his own relationships.

  In July 2005, I received an invitation for the MSND party. At that point it had been more than a year since I moved out. I had not been to the Mansion at all. I decided to go. I wanted to see what it would feel like to return. Everyone, the Mansion staff and Hef’s friends as well as many Playmates, were very nice and happy to see me. I realized that I cared about a lot of those people and had missed seeing them around. All of the butlers said that it is so boring at the Mansion without Emma, Susan, and I, and that Hef and the three current Girlfriends hardly ever go out because Holly doesn’t want to. So that Hef doesn’t meet new girls, I thought. Hef’s close friends told me that Hef does what he does to keep the harmony in the group and to keep the girls who remained with him happy. Holly was friendly to me, but Bridget was cold, which was expected. And then there was Hef. I said “hi” to him and he looked at me like he barely recognized me. I felt uncomfortable and awkward. It made me sad to think that that was all that was left of the time we spent together.

  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 refus
es 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.