CHAPTER 17
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
—Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Kendra? Appear in Peepshow? You’re kidding me, right?” I laughed, barely able to believe the suggestion.
Before now, I’ve never spoken publicly about my falling-out with Kendra. There were people looking to capitalize on the deterioration of our friendship, and I refused to allow them to benefit from it. Throwing away a relationship for cheap publicity isn’t cute.
After E! canceled both Kendra and Holly’s World, Kendra’s series was picked up by a smaller cable network. When production started brainstorming ideas for Kendra’s new show, they called me and asked me if I would like to participate. Always The Girls Next Door’s biggest fans, the producers wanted to keep the “team” together in any capacity they could.
“Of course!” I assured them. While there wasn’t necessarily any upside for me to appear on her show, Bridget, Kendra, and I routinely made cameos on one another’s programs. For us, it was a no-brainer. That’s simply what friends do. Besides, it was fun.
When I was presented with plotlines to participate in, I was less than thrilled with the options. I wanted to make sure that my appearance on her series felt organic, but I was beginning to get the impression that there was a hidden agenda.
Early into our conversations, they latched onto one particular idea that they wouldn’t shake. They insisted that the network wanted sexy, that they wanted career. And that they needed help with that because at that point Kendra wasn’t either of those things.
One of them asked me to offer Kendra the role as my Peepshow understudy for a weeklong stint. Besides being a total rehash of a storyline we had done for Holly’s World with Angel, there was a whole host of reasons I wasn’t comfortable with that happening. I had worked hard to help make Peepshow a success and considered it a huge part of my post-Playboy identity. I felt that to show Kendra performing in Peepshow, on television, even if it were only for one night, would create the impression that it was just another Playboy-related venture that was handed to any GND alumnus. Couldn’t I have anything of my own?
They continued to gripe, saying Kendra had no ambition, didn’t do anything but sit on the couch, and had truly become famous for nothing.
Over the past three and a half years, Peepshow had become my baby. I busted my ass to create a successful post-mansion life for myself and I wasn’t going to just hand over the reins for the chance to be on a show roughly 40 people would end up watching (okay, maybe a little more than 40). It felt like I was being used.
Despite sharing a friendship and a common experience at the mansion, Kendra and I were still very much different people. There were times when I was compared to her and encouraged to follow Kendra’s method, but it just wasn’t me. While she was quite a bit more mainstream than I was, her “career moves” consisted of things like releasing an old sex tape or coming out with a line of lubricants. While her tabloid coverage focused on positive things like her wedding and baby her first year out of the mansion, lately her headlines had devolved to negative things like: “Why I Left Hank,” “Kendra Loses Her Baby!,” “Kendra’s Secret Breakdown,” and “Sex Tape Scandal.” Ummm, no thanks.
Since she moved into the mansion at 19 years old, Kendra had never had to work for a thing her entire adult life. She went directly from having cameras follow her as Hugh Hefner’s girlfriend to cameras following her being a football wife. Luckily for her, whether it was Hef or Hank, there was always someone around to rescue her.
Were they seriously asking me to simply hand over the career I had built by myself so her life could look more interesting on TV? It appeared so.
“I worked my ass off to promote Peepshow and make it a success,” I continued, firmly and unapologetically. “The work I put into this production actually means something to me. If I tossed in Kendra as my understudy, people would see that on TV and think Peepshow is just handed from one ex-Girl Next Door to the other. It would tear down everything I’ve built to make myself an individual.”
I was told that it wouldn’t and that Kendra wouldn’t even be able to do the show. That she would think she could do it, but she wouldn’t be able to pull it off.
“The answer is no,” I maintained. “I’ll support Kendra on her show, but I’m not handing my life over to her. No way.”
They finally conceded, before offering one final plea: “But think about it. It would get you back on television!”
Did he really think I wanted back on TV that badly? I thought. I couldn’t begin to imagine Kendra’s Peepshow run. First off, there’s no way Kendra had the self-discipline to perform in eight live shows a week. She didn’t possess that kind of work ethic. And I could never unleash Hurricane Kendra on my cast and crew.
Sure, we’d been on excellent terms since we left the mansion, but I knew for myself what a nightmare she could be to work with. Her incessant tardiness, endless excuses, and toddler-like tantrums had become a thing of legend.
After continuing to turn down the Peepshow understudy idea again and again (they really were relentless), I finally agreed to shoot a simple scene with Kendra at her new home—Hank’s NFL career had ended the year before and they had settled outside Los Angeles—for the debut episode of her series.
The plan seemed organic enough: she and I would simply talk and catch up. Producers encouraged me to tell her about my career and plans for the future—apparently this was intended to inspire Kendra to get off the couch and build her own career, a story arc they hoped to follow throughout the season.
When I arrived at her house in Calabasas, I was genuinely eager to catch up. We hadn’t seen each other since filming Hef’s Runaway Bride Lifetime special. She took me on a tour of her home, barking at Hank to stay out of the shot as we passed him in the hall. I talked at length about my life in Las Vegas, including my plans for Peepshow, other opportunities I was considering, and wanting to get out of the shadow of Playboy to continue to do things on my own.
As the conversation wore on, Kendra seemed to be getting more and more annoyed. It was becoming clear that she didn’t like the idea that she wasn’t the only Girls Next Door graduate to find success.
We wrapped our scene, hugged good-bye, and I jumped back into my Range Rover for the five-hour drive back to Las Vegas—after all, I had a show that night!
Before pulling out of the driveway, I shot her a quick text:
Thanks for having me over to your house! It was fun catching up!
She didn’t respond, which was odd. Usually she was pretty quick in responding to my texts or tweets, but I didn’t give it too much thought beyond that.
A few weeks later, a field producer for the series asked me to place a phone call to Kendra. They wanted to film her receiving the call from me to set up the idea that I was coming over for the visit we had filmed. After being rescheduled countless times because Kendra was “not answering her phone,” “not coming out of her room,” or “not showing up to film,” it became clear what was going on.
I spent five seasons on a reality show with Kendra—and her habits hadn’t changed much. Instead of addressing the issue or having a mature conversation with producers, Kendra’s go-to method was passive-aggressive avoidance.
Oh well, I thought. If she didn’t want the scene on her show, that was her business.
Despite the fact that the producers couldn’t coax Kendra into shooting a phone call with me, they continued pressing the Peepshow understudy idea. In the beginning, I was told “the network loves the idea for the premiere” . . . then it became “the network loves the idea for the season finale.”
And each time I said no.
“Besides,” I said the last time we discussed it, “I’m just uncomfortable with it. Something is wrong with Kendra. She doesn’t answer my texts or tweets anymore—I think she’s pissed at me or something.”
My concerns were dismissed.
“That’s just Kendra. You know how she is—she never gets back to anybody.”
“Not really,” I said. “Actually, she used to always answer my texts right away. Anyway, the answer is no. It just doesn’t feel right.”
When they showed me the premier episode of the horribly titled Kendra on Top, it was clear what she was so irritated about.
As I rattled on to Kendra about my career, they cut to her interview:
“I’m pretty competitive . . .” she stated at the camera. “Ya know, I’m kind of already established, but I don’t wanna lose that. I wanna gain.”
I could tell Kendra was annoyed and trying to be careful how she worded what she wanted to say. She didn’t like being set up to look less successful than me, even for one scene. While that wasn’t the intent—producers simply wanted to inspire her to get her ass off the couch—the comparison couldn’t be helped.
The next thing I heard from her was a headline she retweeted: Kendra reveals why she is no longer friends with Holly and Bridget!
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Kendra had apparently given an interview to a tabloid explaining that she wasn’t friends with either of us, as if she were somehow better than everyone else. “We’ve all found our own little roads to go and that’s just the way it goes,” she said, retweeting the article to her follwers when it came out. For someone who was all of a sudden trying to act like she was better than Bridget and me, she sure wasn’t above using us for publicity when she needed it. Anything for a tabloid-worthy topic!
Hurt and confused, I retweeted her post, saying: Thanks for letting me know, Kendra!
Of course I wasn’t going to stoop to her level and address this only on social media, so I decided to text her how I truly felt: that she was a coward and that she tried to act like the “real” girl on TV, but she’s the fakest person I’ve ever met—and that if she had a problem with me, she should have confronted me like an adult instead of just going silent.
This time Kendra responded and the exchange went something like this:
Girl, I don’t have a problem with you. I just don’t like it when people think we are friends, she texted.
Do you even have a clue how rude that sounds, what you just said? I replied.
WHO ARE YOU????? I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU! WE WERE NEVER FRIENDS. IT WAS ALL JUST WORK! she responded in all caps.
Wow, I’m sorry I was stupid enough to think we were really friends. Have a nice life, I finally texted.
After that, I deleted her number from my phone. Kendra and I haven’t spoken since, and I have to say, I don’t miss her.
FOR ALL THE THINGS that were going right in my life over the past few years, there was still one area that I needed to get on track. The dating scene in Las Vegas was pretty grim. During my three years as a single lady, I had the worst luck in the dating department. I swear, I could write a book on the types of douchebags that lurk around these days (maybe I will!).
All of my life, I was an over-the-top romantic, but by 32 years old I had become pretty disillusioned. I’d often wonder what I did wrong. It seemed that spending my 20s at the mansion had caused me to miss out on meeting “the one.”
I was alone because I wasn’t going to settle for less in a man than what I wanted or deserved. For the first time in my life, I started to lay plans to become a crazy cat lady. What would my life be like without the marriage and children I had always envisioned in my future? It looked like spinsterhood was becoming a distinct possibility, so I decided to ready myself for it.
It all sounds a bit dramatic, I know, but I had pretty much given up when in 2011 I finally met the man I would marry: Pasquale Rotella. Isn’t that how the universe always works?
Pasquale and I met when he brought his Electric Daisy Carnival festival to Las Vegas. He was around town a lot and we knew a few of the same people, so bumping into each other was inevitable. I thought he was good looking and he seemed like fun, but when we started talking (most of the time through Twitter—I used to be Twitter obsessed), I wasn’t really expecting things to get serious. It wasn’t that I didn’t want them to, I had just come to a point in my life where I didn’t expect anything romantic to work out anymore.
Boy, was I wrong! Not only did we completely hit it off immediately, we were instantly inseparable. He was perfect for me. He was smart, funny, and sexy, and I was always my happiest just hanging out with him. He was the total package and was also at a point in his life where he was ready for a serious relationship. A little later down the road, he started talking about wanting a family . . . and he actually meant it! This is an important note: a man has to already know what he wants. Don’t waste your time trying to change someone’s mind. It never works.
And like they say: when you know, you just know. Our relationship got very serious very quickly and within a matter of months we were practically living together. Despite our whirlwind romance, our respective careers (he owns and operates his entertainment company, Insomniac, while I was still consumed by my Peepshow schedule) meant that making time to see each other required significant effort.
In early 2012, I decided not to renew my Peepshow contract for 2013, despite the lucrative offer presented to me. That year marked my fourth year with the show, and by then, I was not only playing Bo Peep but had also adopted the singing Goldie Locks role as part of my performance. As much as I loved it, there wasn’t much further for me to go with the production. And while I wasn’t eager to leave behind a cast and crew that had become like family to me, somehow staying didn’t feel right. I wanted to leave the show while it was still on top . . . and was it ever! The schedule was so time-consuming that as long as I stayed with the production, I wouldn’t have room to add anything new to my life professionally . . . or personally.
I wanted to explore new career options, spend more time with Pasquale, and travel the world. We even talked about starting a family as soon as my contract was over. In preparation for this new life, I purchased a home in L.A.—one of the fairy-tale-style dwellings I had been in awe over the first time I visited Beachwood Canyon in Hollywood, several years ago while filming an episode of The Girls Next Door. Something I couldn’t even dare to dream about having for my own back then was now a reality, thanks to everything I had done after I left the series.
My move on to this “new life” would get an unexpected push forward in July 2012, when I got some surprising and amazing news: I was pregnant!
Pasquale and I had discussed having kids—we even planned to start trying as soon as my run with Peepshow was complete, but everything happens for a reason and we received the fabulous, life-changing news many months earlier than we had even planned to start trying. I started to suspect something was off—and a trip to the doctor confirmed the news. We couldn’t have been more thrilled. We wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but the doctor suggested we stay mum on our big news until our second trimester (miscarriages are common during the first 12 weeks of pregnancy).
Keeping a lid on our new addition for the three months was brutal—but necessary. I knew the announcement would attract a lot of attention, so I didn’t want anyone to know until I cleared my first trimester. Looking back, I’m surprised no one at Peepshow guessed when I suddenly stopped arriving backstage with my signature large Starbucks iced Americano clutched in my paw!
My biggest concern was how I was going to finish my commitment to Peepshow—it would be impossible for me to perform through the end of the year. I’d certainly be showing by then and I’m pretty sure producers didn’t envision their sexy lead with a growing baby bump. When I finally was able to break the news to my employers, we decided how long I would stay in the show (through mid-October 2012, which marked the fifth month of my pregnancy), and they began their search for a new headliner who could start a few months earlier than anticipated.
(People sometimes ask me if I was worried that performing while pregnant might somehow harm the baby, and my answer is “of course not!” I was used to the physical demands
of the show and my doctors approved every move I made. If anything, I think performing made me healthier than I would have been sitting on my butt doing nothing. I had an amazing pregnancy and stayed in great shape—though some of the costumes were altered to allow for a little more modesty, I didn’t even have to loosen my corset throughout my run in the show. I believe that many sacrifices need to be made in order to do your best as a parent, but I also believe you don’t have to abandon your whole life.)
I vowed not to cry on my last night, but that was impossible. The outpouring of love I received from the cast and crew was just too overwhelming—and I couldn’t help the tears. These were tears of joy . . . the best kind. Over the four years I spent with Peep, I’d grown tremendously: from the insecure, unsure Playboy outcast to the confident, successful mommy-to-be.
But it didn’t take long for the vultures to start circling.
In the wake of my departure, Angel, my understudy, was summoned back for six weeks while Peepshow found and trained my replacement. Before my dressing room door even fully shut behind me, I received word that a certain someone had already contacted Peepshow’s producers, begging them to hire Kendra for the lead instead of the rumored front-runner: Ice-T’s wife, Coco Austin.
“How dare you!” I yelled into my cell phone. I was irate, digging my nails into the palm of my hand. After I had spent months explaining to him why this idea made me so uncomfortable, I couldn’t believe he had the audacity to even attempt such a betrayal. I’d been foolish enough to think we had developed a friendship over the last seven years, but obviously, I was wrong.
“And I’m pregnant right now,” I screeched, my blood boiling. “I don’t need the stress of a public feud with Kendra.”
He sat silent. What could he say? Finally he came back meekly with the confession that he thought if there was a feud between Kendra and me it would be good publicity for the two of us.
“That’s the kind of publicity Kendra likes, not me,” I said. “I don’t want it!”
Down the Rabbit Hole: Curious Adventures and Cautionary Tales of a Former Playboy Bunny Page 33
