The recent death of Playboy founder Hugh Hefner jogged my memory about my one and only experience at the Playboy Mansion, 11 years ago. Sure, there are plenty of people in Malibu who have significant ties to Hefner and the mansion, much more than me and my one-time visit there, but it sure was memorable, anyway.
My once-in-a-lifetime visit to the mansion took place in 2006, a time when my young children were in public school here in Malibu and happened to be classmates with the kids of real Playboy playmates, the likes of Pamela Anderson at the height of her fame (among others who are out of the spotlight now, so I won’t mention their names). Where else but in Malibu would fellow mommies be playmates? One in particular wore the highest-heel “stripper shoes” I ever saw to pick up her child from kindergarten. She wore midriff baring tops that exposed a Playboy bunny tattoo visible to all. In fact, one day, when our kindergarten daughter and family were watching TV, a video aired with bikini-clad models jumping up and down and my six-year-old stated loudly while pointing at the screen, “There’s so-and-so’s mommy!” Of the handful of Playboy playmates I’ve known as a Malibu mom, I have to say they were all very lovely people, especially Pamela Anderson who was gorgeous, appeared to be a devoted mother, self-deprecating and dedicated to her animal rights causes.
I was a plain-Jane regulation housewife who never dreamed of going to a party at the infamous Playboy mansion. I soon learned that, although the mansion was famous for hedonist shindigs, it was also the host to many, many fundraisers where just about anyone could attend. When my public jazz radio station announced a fundraiser there, my husband and I jumped at the chance to buy tickets to attend a party with Hef himself.
And so we did, for our 20th wedding anniversary. However, because it was not a personal invitation, we had to meet a bus in a Westwood parking garage for the short trip to Holmby Hills. We arrived at the garage right on time so as not to miss a minute at the mansion. We noticed all the others preparing to board the busses wordlessly sizing each other up, comparing what type of person would actually go to such a place for a fundraiser. Hefner probably got a big write-off for all of the fundraisers he hosted, but he was a well-known philanthropist and jazz lover so we felt charitable, but mostly curious.
Our bus arrived at the gate that was opened for us. We drove toward the back of the sprawling, beautifully manicured lawn to disembark and were greeted by Playboy bunnies who were there for hugs and photo ops. I quickly made my way to two bunnies who were more than delighted to take a picture with me. They were stunningly beautiful women.
Next, on to the party. There was no debauchery here, but plenty of food and booze and lots of music with a band playing jazz in a huge ballroom off the main hallway. We were free to walk the grounds, but tours given by bunny guides were available. While we weren’t allowed in the private quarters of Hef and his girlfriends, we were able to see quite a bit and actually were surprised that the mansion was a bit worn, a little tacky and not as beautiful inside as I had imagined. It was old-looking and tarnished.
We took a tour and were impressed to see the infamous grotto, smaller than I expected, monkeys and exotic birds (the property has a zoo license) and the infamous game room. That was the most shocking of all. Decorated in mostly brown, the dark room was filled with pinball machines, video games and a giant floor-sized bed, but tacky and worn beyond my liking. Apparently a lot of crazy stuff goes on in that game room.
The tour ended outside the house on the lawn that was actually the most spectacular part. The summer evening with twinkling lights sprinkled around the lush property, the façade of the building belied the ugly, cheap material its interior held.
But by far, the best part of the evening was Hef himself addressing the crowd, thanking us for coming and supporting the radio station. And then his girlfriend giving out an award to a musician in honor of “Lethonius Monk.”
