didnât matter if my remark was educated or even correct, because if I said it, it must be wrong. During movie nights, he would lean over to me to explain plotlines and time periods in the most condescending of ways. Oftentimes I would have to bite my tongue. It was all I could do to keep from screaming: âI know!â Clearly he was used to, or preferred, a woman with no more than a grade school level education.
But I was young and blinded by his fame and accomplishments. What wasnât to love about Hef? I told myself. Because of his generosity, I was living on this gorgeous estate, attending swanky Hollywood parties, and had money to spend on clothes, shoes, hair, and makeup. So I reasoned with myself that no two people are exactly the same. Of course we wonât see eye to eye on everything, I thought .
With that in mind, I began noticing only his good qualities: he was smart, kind to his friends, appreciated the arts, and had a sense of humor. I chose to see my world through rose-colored glasses and ignored all of his bad qualities, no matter how over the top they were.
Like Beauty locked up in the Beastâs castle, I developed my own brand of Stockholm syndrome, identifying with my captor. I felt like there was no one I could turn to besides Hef. I thought I could trust him.
Somehow Hef became the âgood guyâ in my eyes. Slowly I started to isolate myself from the other girls (for good reason) and from everyone outside the gates (for other reasons). I developed a reputation as an ice queen, since I was so quiet and kept to myself.
On the outside, Hef appeared to be the perfect gentlemanâan act that paired nicely with my delusions. He always described himself as a âhopeless romanticâ and acted as if his womanizing was some long search for the perfect woman that didnât exist. Whether this image was calculated to make him more palatable to the public, more endearing to potential conquests, or both, I donât know. All I know is that it worked on me like a charm. I felt strangely protective of him. The other girlfriends used him, mocked him, and even cheated on him with the boyfriends they kept outside the mansion. They made him look foolish and I resented them for it, all the while overlooking the fact that we were mice trapped inside the glamorous maze he created. It was survival of the fittest and we all were just trying to come out alive.
I convinced myself that I could look past his age and appearance. Perhaps weâre right for each other, I routinely told myself. After all, I had never fit in anywhere else before and certainly hadnât had any luck at love. Maybe guys my own age just werenât for me, I thought. Maybe I was always meant to one day find Hef.
And just like that, I was in love. It didnât seem to matter that I couldnât recall how or why. Simply put, it was just a decision I made.
B Y THE TIME C HRISTMAS rolled around, I had already been at the mansion for four months. Nobody told me beforehand what the expectations were for us as girlfriends during the holidays, so I was surprised to find out that Christmases were always spent with Hef. Girlfriends were given âoffâ days before or after the holiday to visit family and friends, but there were no exceptions for the actual day itself. That was the one house rule that no one seemed to mind, because Christmas was when Hef was most generous with his girlfriends.
Hef really is a big kid at heartâand he loves the magic of Christmas morning. The mansion was always decorated from top to bottom, a formal Christmas dinner was held every year, and he spared no expense under the Christmas tree.
Each girlfriend was given $500 to spend on gifts for each girl living at the mansion at that time and $500 for ourselvesâthe idea was seven sets of matching gifts. With six other girls in residence, that was $3,500 to spend!
I selected elegant Louis Vuitton leather evening purses for
But I was young and blinded by his fame and accomplishments. What wasnât to love about Hef? I told myself. Because of his generosity, I was living on this gorgeous estate, attending swanky Hollywood parties, and had money to spend on clothes, shoes, hair, and makeup. So I reasoned with myself that no two people are exactly the same. Of course we wonât see eye to eye on everything, I thought .
With that in mind, I began noticing only his good qualities: he was smart, kind to his friends, appreciated the arts, and had a sense of humor. I chose to see my world through rose-colored glasses and ignored all of his bad qualities, no matter how over the top they were.
Like Beauty locked up in the Beastâs castle, I developed my own brand of Stockholm syndrome, identifying with my captor. I felt like there was no one I could turn to besides Hef. I thought I could trust him.
Somehow Hef became the âgood guyâ in my eyes. Slowly I started to isolate myself from the other girls (for good reason) and from everyone outside the gates (for other reasons). I developed a reputation as an ice queen, since I was so quiet and kept to myself.
On the outside, Hef appeared to be the perfect gentlemanâan act that paired nicely with my delusions. He always described himself as a âhopeless romanticâ and acted as if his womanizing was some long search for the perfect woman that didnât exist. Whether this image was calculated to make him more palatable to the public, more endearing to potential conquests, or both, I donât know. All I know is that it worked on me like a charm. I felt strangely protective of him. The other girlfriends used him, mocked him, and even cheated on him with the boyfriends they kept outside the mansion. They made him look foolish and I resented them for it, all the while overlooking the fact that we were mice trapped inside the glamorous maze he created. It was survival of the fittest and we all were just trying to come out alive.
I convinced myself that I could look past his age and appearance. Perhaps weâre right for each other, I routinely told myself. After all, I had never fit in anywhere else before and certainly hadnât had any luck at love. Maybe guys my own age just werenât for me, I thought. Maybe I was always meant to one day find Hef.
And just like that, I was in love. It didnât seem to matter that I couldnât recall how or why. Simply put, it was just a decision I made.
B Y THE TIME C HRISTMAS rolled around, I had already been at the mansion for four months. Nobody told me beforehand what the expectations were for us as girlfriends during the holidays, so I was surprised to find out that Christmases were always spent with Hef. Girlfriends were given âoffâ days before or after the holiday to visit family and friends, but there were no exceptions for the actual day itself. That was the one house rule that no one seemed to mind, because Christmas was when Hef was most generous with his girlfriends.
Hef really is a big kid at heartâand he loves the magic of Christmas morning. The mansion was always decorated from top to bottom, a formal Christmas dinner was held every year, and he spared no expense under the Christmas tree.
Each girlfriend was given $500 to spend on gifts for each girl living at the mansion at that time and $500 for ourselvesâthe idea was seven sets of matching gifts. With six other girls in residence, that was $3,500 to spend!
I selected elegant Louis Vuitton leather evening purses for
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