Sunday, September 17, 2006


Hefnerland









This book is neither endorsed, nor sponsored by, nor affiliated with Playboy Enterprises Inc. or Hugh M. Hefner. Playboy®, Playmate of the year® and Playmate of the month® Hugh M. Hefner, HMH, Miss January, Miss February, Miss March, Miss April, Miss May, Miss June, Miss July, Miss August, Miss September, Miss October, Miss November, Miss December, Playmate, PMOY, Centerfold, are registered trademarks of Playboy Enterprises International, Inc., all pending or registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission from the author.











Hefnerland

For all you Girl’s Next Door! One Playboy Bunny’s Intimate,
Step-by-Step Discovery of Herself and the Secret World of the Playboy Mansion
and What Hef Really Has Going on Upstairs Published in 2003













Praise from the First Edition formerly called Jill Ann Upstairs written in 2002
"Hef may think Jill Ann has a great imagination, but she also has what many others don't, and that's great courage and integrity to stand up for her beliefs, tell the world the truth and inspire others. In your amazing 'kiss and tell' book, you do just this. Congratulations!"
Georgia Cassimatis
Writer
USA and International Press




Steppin Out Magazine
Interview by Chauncé Hayden

”Jill Ann Spaulding's tell-all book, Jill Ann: Upstairs is the entertainment industry’s best-kept secret..... until now! Hugh Hefner's blood pressure has got to be in the red zone!"

Thanks to Jill Ann Spaulding, finally the question all the world has asked for decades has been answered! What the hell really goes on in Hugh Hefner's bedroom???!!"

Jill Ann Spaulding doesn't pull punches in Jill Ann: Upstairs. Once you pick it up, you just can't put it down! I'm not sure if Hugh Hefner is a lucky son of a bitch or just an old pervert. Maybe both! haha"
www.steppinoutmagazine.com
Issue Aug 18th, 2004 Newsstands




Jill Ann: Upstairs, the "expose" by former Playmate Jill Ann Spaulding that promises "explicit details about the sexual secrets of Hefner and his playmates." Watch out, Hugh, one of your pneumatic harem is coming after you, and she's not f**king around with thinly-veiled fiction, she's going straight for the tell-all- ... We're sure the babbling waters of the Mansion's famous grotto are brown with fear right about now.
www.defamer.com
Hollywood, CA





"It was impossible to put down. I was impressed by you and your ultimate message. I really think you have something very special here, not simply in the enlightening character of your book and its message, but in the strength of character you exhibit throughout. To me, yours is a very serious book with an important story to tell to a ll women about character, image, self-respect and the egotistical exploitation of the false over the true.

”Jill Ann, I loved your book for a variety of reasons, but primarily because it is a story about ‘True’ character overcoming and emerging victorious over ‘False’ character. In that sense, your focus should remain upon the dynamics between you and Hefner. You and what you represent are the most important part of this message. Your True character is the heroine of this story."
Tom Wilson of the legendary cartoon character, Ziggy
Character Matters
President




"Once I began reading, I simply could not put UPSTAIRS down. Jill Ann Spaulding is an author of remarkable natural talent and an inspiration to women everywhere. She's someone who manages to turn her dreams into reality without compromising her core values.

"Ms. Spaulding is a brilliant point of light who has managed to illuminate us all with answers to questions the world has been seeking for the past 50 years of Playboy's history. She also possesses the determination, drive and intestinal fortitude to shine the light of truth upon the shadow of darkness, no matter how great and powerful the villain casting that shadow may be. Truth seems to be one of her strongest character traits and, above all, she's a woman who not only steadfastly remains true to herself, but through her book, brings the truth to us all. Her motives are both sincere and selfless and her generosity extends beyond her merely sharing the truth with her readers. Ms. Spaulding is also donating all proceeds from the sale of her book to charity.

"Among Ms. Spaulding's other impressive attributes, is the fact that she was an honors student in school, that she began a cleaning business which enabled her to purchase and pay off her first home at age 18, and that she is currently an entrepreneur who built, and now owns, a chain of retail clothing stores. Beyond all of that, Ms. Spaulding has managed to become one of the top Professional women poker players in the world today. I agree wholeheartedly with her perspective and Ms. Spaulding has definitely earned my admiration and respect."

-Ivy Supersonic
Hat maker for the stars


It’s sad when you think of her wasted life,
For Youth cannot mate with Age.
And her beauty was sold
For an old man’s gold.
She’s a bird in a gilded cage.

By Virginia Vandiver (my grandma)




It’s like a pinup girl version of Survivor.

Bruce (friend)



Well...I read your book — cover to cover. Wow...I had no idea!! I couldn’t put the book down.

Kimmie (girlfriend) California




I read your book - wow!! I couldn’t put it down. I’m sending it to my niece. I believe it will be an eye opener for her. As it was for me. You are truly my idol! Congratulations on the book and thank you from not just women but everyone all over. You are proof that “Real” people can live in this world and not compromise their morals. Thanks again!

Katrina, Security, Las Vegas


Jill Ann Spaulding’s book, Jill Ann: Upstairs, is a much deeper and more personal account of her life than the book cover photos might indicate it might be. Once you get past some of the shocking revelations of life at the Playboy Mansion, you will find a tale of young woman caught up in chasing her own dreams and finding it wasn’t entirely what she had bargained for. Her story is takes us on her search for meaning and understanding in world that few know anything about. The choices she makes and the people she meets along the way make this more then just a sexual tale of misdeeds and exploitations—this book is truly a personal journey of inner discovery. Her experiences become an epiphany which causes her to reflect on the true destination of her life path. Her warnings at the end of the book are sober reminders of the dangers and the seriousness of what she saw.

W.H. McDonald Jr.
President of the American Authors’ Association
Award-winning poet and author


Not a single dull page. Nicely done ;-)
Alex Mandossian
www.askmylist.com, California




I found your story fascinating. Getting out from under Hef’s domination was a good thing for you. You saved your pride, your integrity, and you learned you can survive and flourish by being free, rather than living in thrall to a man whose apparent sole interest in life is in possessing people as though they were books www.loukriger.com play things.
Lou Krieger
Author of Poker for Dummies




As I started to read you book I couldn’t stop (laugh out loud)—there are just so many things that I can refer to. I hope your book will help other girls realize the reality of the whole business because I know there are so many young girls like me who have dreams of being in Playboy and don’t really know what is really going on

P.S. it is a great idea putting all the diseases that you might get through having sex at the end of your book. Maybe some people will wake up and realize that the reality today is vicious.
Sincerely,
Katerina, Go-Go Dancer




It is remarkable that in all the years of Playboy, this is the first book by someone who really wanted to be (and was equipped to be) a Playboy Playmate, who has told what it takes to be part of Hef's inner circle. And what is even more remarkable is that it appears that the author has written the book on her own, describing how badly she wanted to be in that circle and what happened to her. I applaud her honesty and openness.

Robert, New York




I received a copy of Jill Ann: Upstairs at the BEA 2004. My interest in her book was at first purely philosophical. As I have an interest in the phenomenology of feminineness (that's a bit different than the physiology). I decided to take a look to see if her book could give me any insight into that impenetrable mystery, toujours aeternal, of the universe: woman. I wanted to get more insight into the self-image the female sex projects (both for-itself and for-others), the clandestine nature that supervenes in the conflictions of reality with that simulacra, and finally, the motivations, the source of that "will to power" that operates therein.
However, when I began reading Jill Ann's book, I forgot my intellectual inclinations and began to enjoy myself instead. Spaulding spins a story, histrionically, beginning from her childhood to adulthood, and then supplanting that with a history of the impulses that operated in the creation of her ideal (the Playmate). She weaves it well, and takes you on a journey into the Hefner mansion, giving you an idea of the glitter and glamour of high society one will find therein, and the disillusionment that tends to come after seeing through the pompery. There may be a few people who criticize Spaulding's intentions in writing this novel. However, those tend to be the type of people who make a nice person such as myself misanthropic, those selfish busybodies who always have something to say, but as a result, never have time to think about what they say (or the effects in has on another person's disposition). The truth is, Jill Ann has a story, and she tells it well. She portrays herself as a likeable individual, full of qualities that we all possess: longing, anxiety, hope, and determination, among many others. And in the end, when one comes to a book such as this, that is what matters. Some may condone the way she describes Hefner, however, I found that she made him into the ideal of every stereotypical male (even if beauty tends not to be the judge of good character, what man would not love to be surrounded by beautiful women? Even the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle, when asked why he associated with the most beautiful women of Greece, responded, "Only a fool would ask such a question.") Concerning the events that happened in the mansion, I know nothing, as I was not there to verify them. Nor do I find it of little account if they are true/untrue; my post-modern understanding makes me belittle the veracity of literature (in other words: truth is relative to the observer). And, so long as it is enjoyable and/or edifying, and teaches us to live well, and think reasonably, a book is worth reading. Jill Ann's book definitely qualifies.

Michael Szymcyzk Vienna, Austria
Author, Toilet: The Novel





Yup, I too have been there and done that. Jill Ann tells it like it is. Her story is entertaining in a sad way. Great read. Anyone who has any illusions about the infamous Playboy Mansion needs to read this book. And all profits go to charity! Congrats, Jill Ann. You had the guts to tell the world the truth.

Starlet, Los Angeles



I read this book after reading about it on Page 6 of the NY Post. My curiosity was piqued and I wanted to get some dish on how things are "really" done at the "mansion." I wanted to know, the "TRUTH" about what goes down there. I have heard interviews with former Hef girlfriends and they don't really say if there is sex involved with being a Playmate/Girlfriend or not!? It really bothered me, because like Jill Ann I have always thought highly of the Playboy magazine and thought the girls were not having sex to get to a certain level. I guess I was disillusioned. I appreciate the brutal honesty of this book. I feel she has written a book from the heart and have a hard time doubting her. Some of the conversations that may have taken place seem very well remembered, and I did a few times wonder if she took artistic license to maybe fill in some blanks, but honestly her tone didn't give me that impression. It was just the fact that (I) am totally unable to remember conversations that I automatically question when someone else is able to.

I feel bad at how things ended up for Jill Ann. She is a beautiful woman who was working hard towards a dream, and from the sound of things because she wouldn't "put out" paired with the absolute "catty" attitudes of some of the women in the Playboy "family" she was totally shafted. I am sorry you were rejected the way it went down Jill Ann. You have written a great book and I think it shed some light on a subject many wonder about.

Jodi Wallace, "yodster" (San Diego, CA)
Amazon Review



Jenny McCarthy:
“Hi Jenny, it’s Jill Ann. I gave you my book Jill Ann: Upstairs at the Chicago Book Expo. Did you get a chance to read my book?”
"Oh my gosh, yes—and it was great!"

Jenny McCarthy



"Jill Ann is full of energy, very professional and it was a pleasure to interview her for German TV. Her stories are very juicy and compelling."
Daniele Salm, German TV



Dear Jill Ann,

I, too, am one of the blondes who get invited to Hef's parties on a regular basis. I have been going there for several years already. I have never been “upstairs” but I have a few Playmate friends so I know a lot about what's going on. (Even though no one really tells you the WHOLE seedy story! The girls are kind of embarrassed to admit that they've had sex with an old man). Anyway, I'm happy to hear that someone finally came out and told people the truth. It's very brave of you. I went out and bought your book last week and couldn't put it down. It was a great read, and you were very truthful in your observations. The gay stuff, of course, has been brought up by other girls before you, so no surprises there. It saddens me that people buy into this glorified lifestyle; an endless party with hot, willing beauties—especially since it's not at all what it seems. I think the parties are kind of lame, actually. I only go to hang out with my girlfriends. There is certainly no wild sex going on in the Grotto. The fun part is walking around, checking out what some celebs look like in real life, eating the chocolate strawberries and the oddly peppered sushi, and petting the animals. That's it. I think it's kind of funny that certain Macho Men are reacting to your book with skepticism. People just don't want to see that this “bachelor's dream life,” which they have read about and envy—is a total orchestrated sham. The girlfriends of the ringleader are there because they are getting paid. Though the playground is more stylish, it's certainly no different from the transactions taking place a few miles away on Hollywood Boulevard. But street hookers are usually smart enough to use protection. At the Playboy Mansion, the star-struck girls are blinded by opportunity. Gamble with your health for fifteen minutes of fame. Unfortunately, I'm thinking Hef can only benefit from your book—people used to snicker that 'the old fart doesn't have sex with those chicks, it's only for show.” But now the world knows that he actually DOES. Well, in his own peculiar way, anyway. I'm sure girls are going to start writing him left and right, willing and ready to participate after reading that the real “requirement” for getting into the magazine isn't based on their looks. This “shortcut” can kill them, but hey! At least they can now be Playmates! Sad. The thing is, after Hef is gone, plenty more girls are going to come out of the woodwork with their tell-all stories. They will no longer be on the payroll, so why not cash in on all those strange nights with the old geezer? The National Enquirer will have a field day with those stories, don't you think? Until then, we can only hope that people will stop treating Hef like he's some kind of Sexual Semi-God who deserves respect, especially since all he really does is engage in prostitution. People can call it whatever they want, but any old man with money can buy girls for sex here in L.A.— and it's indeed spelled prostitution. I feel bad for Hef, I really do. He should have stopped while he was on top, when the hot girls would still show up in his bedroom without requiring hefty handouts in little white envelopes. It's so pathetic. Whatever happened to “growing old gracefully”? His children will be left with the legacy, and it must be quite embarrassing for them. Hef has already arranged for his demise. He will be buried next to Marilyn Monroe, whom he has never met, in a Westwood Memorial Cemetery crypt. She will be the oldest woman he has ever laid next to. I wonder how much he paid for her company?

Isabella,
Los Angeles



Hi Jill Ann,

How are you?

My name is Bob Prince and I read your book recently while on a flight to Dubai. I was very impressed, both with the book and with you, because it took courage to pull away from your dream, when in many ways it would have been easier to have continued, having come so far already.
I'm not an expert on books, quite the opposite. This is the first book I've read in a long, long while. One of our Sunday newspapers (I live in England) ran a short article on it a couple of months or so ago, and I was intrigued to find out more. I ordered the book immediately although it took quite some time to arrive.
Having now read the book in full, I find it very sad that this guy Hugh Hefner uses women in the way that he does. You had the courage not to fall into the trap that he no doubt had hoped that you would, and thereby avoided being another notch on his bedpost. I can fully understand why you and so many other young ladies make such an effort to become a Playmate. But I'm sure that many would not even start down that track if they knew what they might have to do to finally stand a chance of becoming one. Your book has lifted the lid on Hugh Hefner and his sordid attempts to lure naive young girls to be, quite literally, his playthings. He obviously has no respect for women in general and believes that the "magic" of Playboy is enough to get him any girl he fancies. You proved him wrong and in so doing retained your self respect.
Well done, and every success in the future.

With kind regards,

Bob



"... Heard you this morning on Howard Stern. Thanks so much for mentioning PREHAB and telling others about us. Glad to hear you are doing well. We really appreciate your Name Brand Stores continuing support for stores and clients who need clothing."
Torrie A. Taj
Director of Development (480) 464-4648
www.prehab.org
PREHAB of Arizona: Helping Families...Changing Lives




Sex is the coin of the realm, November 28, 2004
Reviewer: Andy Nelson (Colorado) - See all my reviews
This book is a good read. The author, even though a tall, blond, buxom and beautiful woman is also a decent writer. And her experiences in the shadow world of "glamour" are incredible. She certainly blows the top off the Playboy mystic.
When it comes to getting exposure in the media, sex is the coin of the realm. The exchange of body fluids becomes necessary to move ahead and get the exposure. The body and the face are just not enough. Ms. Spaulding makes a fine case for every young woman who aspires to this world of glamour to be warned of the rampant vicious charlatans that prey upon these vulnerable people.
I look forward to the next book.



A sexy adventure that you won’t be able to set it down!
What does it take? Does he really? Can all the rumors be true? Jill Ann’s well-told, arousing story is written for both men and women alike. The story is so alluring and filled with such intimate details that you’ll find yourself riveted to your seat with your eyes completely glued to the pages! Some young girls play with dolls, while others grow up wanting to be one. Upstairs is a true story about a little girl’s dream of becoming a glamorous pin up model in the most renowned of all men’s magazines. The desire to be etched on the glossy pages of ran deep in Jill Ann—as it does with many other beautiful women. Her story tells of the influence Playboy magazine had on her as a child, and how that influence became the sole obsessive driving force in her life. She takes you through the vigorous paces of the ridged workouts, extreme diets and the painful surgeries that she, and others like her, endured in their quest for their Holy Grail. But as she starts closing in on her prize, she discovers much more than physical pain and discipline is required before she can achieve her goal. The pursuit of her childhood dream firmly places Jill Ann in a precarious situation that, in one way or the other, will forever change not only her life, but also the lives of those closest to her. As she walks up the stairs and down the hall, Jill Ann’s thoughts became filled with how many careers have been made and broken in one brief moment on the silky sheets in “the bedroom.” She had gotten this far, but in her heart she comes to realize what others have tendered before her, now set the bar for what she must do? With only a few fleeting moments of indiscretion, she would be in—her dream of being a Playmate would become a reality! Just how far was this beautiful woman willing to go to fulfill her dream? What was she willing to sacrifice at the soft quilted altar to secure her place on the indelible glossy center page? What were other gorgeous young women willing to give up that night to advance their careers? The answers will surly surprise you! Jill Ann: Upstairs is the provocative account of Jill Ann’s own personal experiences combined with the real-life experiences of her gorgeous girlfriends as they pursue the most coveted of all glamour model prizes—the centerfold. You won’t be able to set it down!
Joe Ullrich
President
Omni Publicity & Public Relations Group


These sexual escapades are more astonishing than I imagined. Part of his aphrodisiac and appeal is his financial and professional success at building the Playboy Empire. The details are juicy, explicit and jaw-dropping, it exposes the reality of being a Playboy model, which is not as glamorous as it seems and it has a really powerful message. I can’t believe they don’t use condoms and have no concerns for STDs. It’s like Hugh Hefner is living back in the 70s.

Anne, New York City


Jill Ann didn’t "hold 'em" and she sure didn’t "fold
'em" in "passing" on Hef and "dealing" with the
"Naked Truth" behind the Playboy Mansion..... AND the
proceeds are "all in" to Charities to help victims of
domestic violence and fight the spread of STDs. A
winner on all counts....while Playboy is left playing
52 pickup.

=====
Tom Edon



Hi Jill Ann,

An employee at PREHAB heard you this morning on Howard Stern. Thanks so much for mentioning PREHAB and telling others about us. Glad to hear you are doing well. We really appreciate your Name Brand Stores continuing support for stores and clients who need clothing. Take care.

Torrie A. Taj
Director of Development (480) 464-4648
www.prehab.org
PREHAB of Arizona: Helping Families...Changing Lives


“Hey Leo did you get a chance to read my book? His response “Hey yeah! Reaches his hand out and shakes my hand! And says “How you doing”
Leo DiCaprio






Dedication
This book is dedicated to Bruce Gifford, my best friend, and
companion who stood by me through it all.







Help the victims of the recent hurricanes and thousands of other disasters across the country each year by making a donation to the American Red Cross Disaster Relief Fund.

Call 1-800 Help Now or Donate Online by going to www.redcross.org

To the Readers


(Spelling errors, grammar, etc. please help and send changes directly to jillann@jillann.com) Don’t be afraid to send them, It is much appreciated!







Contents


Dedication . . . 15

Prologue . . . 19

Introduction . . . 21

Chapter One Preparing . . . 30

Chapter Two Glamourcon . . . 34

Chapter Three Sneaking in to the Playboy Mansion . . . 54

Chapter Four Playmate Test Shoot . . . 56

Chapter Five Making the Cover of Poker Digest . . . 60

Chapter Six Why Poker . . . 63

Chapter Seven Strip Clubs . . . 65

Chapter Eight My Playboy Photo Shoot in Chicago . . . 67

Chapter Nine Hef's Birthday Party . . . 79

Chapter Ten Making Playboy . . . 91

Chapter Eleven Hef's Letters . . . 95

Chapter Twelve The First Night at the Mansion . . . 104

Chapter Thirteen Day Two at the Mansion . . . 124

Chapter Fourteen Day Three at the Mansion . . . 137

Chapter Fifteen Day Four at the Mansion . . . 146

Chapter Sixteen Day Five at the Mansion . . . 156

Chapter Seventeen Gossip . . . 167

Chapter Eighteen Kissing Ass . . . 173

Chapter Nineteen Midsummer Night’s Dream Party . . . 175

Chapter Twenty New Playboy Friend and Cyber Girl Party . . . 182

Chapter Twenty-One Letters to Dig Myself Out of the Hole I Was In . . . 185

Chapter Twenty-Two Halloween Party at the Mansion . . . 187

Chapter Twenty-Three Playboy Golf Host Arizona . . . 191

Chapter Twenty-Four Playboy Golf Host Las Vegas . . . 195

Chapter Twenty-Five Sex at the Mansion on My Terms . . . 198

Chapter Twenty-Six Tidbits of Fun about Celebrities at the Playboy Mansion from Hot Girlfriend . . . 219

Chapter Twenty-Seven Agent Scum . . . 227

Chapter Twenty-Eight Moving to Los Angeles and Party at the Mansion for New Year’s Eve . . . 233

Chapter Twenty-Nine Breaking the Inner Circle . . . 242

Chapter Thirty Playboy Super Bowl Party San Diego . . . 245

Chapter Thirty-One Playboy Party Mardi Gras New Orleans . . . 248

Chapter Thirty-Two Money from Hef . . . 259

Chapter Thirty-Three Mardi Gras Party at the Mansion . . . 261

Chapter Thirty-Four It's Over . . . 274

Chapter Thirty-Five No Longer Welcome at the Mansion . . . 277

Epilogue . . . 281

Playboy in the Media . . . 285

Miscellaneous Stuff . . . 296

History of the Playmates from the Beginning . . . 300

Sexually Transmitted Diseases . . . 316

After My Book Was Released . . . 324





Prologue

“First, you have to take a bath.”
Looking over as if I was going to drown, I zoned in on the tub for a moment. It was rectangular but double the size of a normal bathtub. It had old yellow square tiles inside the tub, and I looked down only to find that it was very deep. I felt scared. Kelly saw it in my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You only have to participate if you want to. It’s hilarious, and you won’t ever forget it. When you’re older, you can write a book!” She turned the dials on the tub and adjusted the water to get it to a perfectly warm temperature, and she grabbed a large bottle of floral-scented bubble bath and squeezed it loudly into the water. The bathtub began to stir up with bubbles like mothers ran for there children except these children standing near the tub were much older and the ending result probably was not going to have the same warm and fuzzy feeling.
She quickly began to undress and unbuttoned her jeans and kicked off her heels and let down her top and was naked in less then a minute with all of her clothes in a huge pile on the floor. I removed my shoes and stood barefoot on the cold tile floor. I began to take off my necklace and she stood closely behind me to help me unlatch the clasp. I unscrewed my earrings and belly button rings and laid them gently next to my necklace. My bracelet that clutched my arm was next and struggling to get it unclasped with one hand, Kelly touched my hand softly and removed the bracelet and set it next to my other belongings. I could feel the warmth of her naked body next to mine and her hair touched the back of my neck as she unzipped my dress. I used my fingertips to move the straps from my shoulders and the dress fell to the floor. I moved slowly to remove my g-string still scared of what I was doing at the moment or what I was feeling. The room was silent except for the water running in the tub. I noticed two or three large candles around the bath tub and a bar of soap, some lotion and face wipes. Behind the bathtub was a completely out-of-place white cabinet with toiletries in them and a little white piggy bank sitting on the top. The wallpaper on the walls was a strange yellow flower print seemingly from the 1920s. A “name” plant was in one corner of the bathroom. A doctor-style white stand-up scale was against one of the walls to make sure none of his Playmates had gained too much weight!
While the warm water ran, Kelly started to whisper quietly to me.
“We’re going to go in and sit on the bed. If you don’t want to participate just keep your bottoms on. Otherwise, take them off. I’ll be with you the entire time, and we’ll stay together. I’m going to pretend to give you oral sex and you can touch me, or kiss me or whatever you’re comfortable doing. All the girls will be around us doing the same thing. They’re all faking it. No one is bisexual so don’t touch another girl unless she touches you. If you watch you’ll be able to tell that they’re totally acting—nothing is really going on. Just follow my lead, and you’ll be fine.”
I started to relax. In my mind, I talked to myself. I knew it. I knew it. I can do this. I can pretend to kiss another girl. No problem. I can handle this. He probably just sits there and watches all of us pretend to pleasure ourselves, I thought to myself.
I assumed it was all for show, like a put-on private striptease. On some level, I naively thought it was about showing off our bodies, but not actually doing anything sexual.
A girl named Isabella came into the bathroom and asked us what we wanted to drink. I ordered a diet coke and Malibu. Kelly had the same. Kelly, as if rehearsing for her Playmate Video, dipped her toes into the bathtub and then slowly immersed herself among the bubbles. She grabbed another bottle of probably some sexy-smelling liquid soap and started touching herself. I watched admiringly because I had actually never seen a girl bath before. She lathered under her arms and then her private parts. She quickly got out and dried off with a huge fluffy towel that was next to the tub. A girl named Britney walked in completely naked. I wasn’t sure where she had dropped her clothes or had been in the past 10 minutes, but she arrived knowing the routine and immediately immersed her self in the bathtub. She was not shy at all and was not covering herself up with bubbles. She was standing up and really giving herself a good scrub-down. The bathtub had a hand-held attachment to rinse you off or to pleasure yourself in some cases such as in shower, but it was mounted in the bathtub. Kelly told me that I needed to get a move on, and I asked her if I should wait for the other girl to leave the tub.
“No. Go on in.”
Being a clean freak I already felt a little weird bathing in the same water as these other two gals. I mean, this is not a typical experience. I tried to blow it off thinking it was just like a swimming pool except smaller and put the thought out of my mind. Still, I was an only child. I didn’t even have brother and sisters to bath with, and I wasn’t use to sharing! But the night was shaping up to be pretty life-altering anyway, so I just tried to go with it.
This was a cleansing ritual done by every girl invited upstairs. All the official girlfriends were supposed to be doing the same thing in their own personal bathrooms. I pictured that back in my shared bathroom, my roomie Michelle was scrubbing up for the big event and putting on her special pink PJs.
Holly Madison - The Girls Next Door came into the bathroom and did not look thrilled to see me. I didn’t want to get my hair wet and Kelly diffused the situation by asking if Holly Madison - The Girls Next Door had a hair clip. Holly Madison - The Girls Next Door gave me one, and I thanked her over and over again. Holly Madison - The Girls Next Door was near the sink with a stack of hand towels, and she was soaking them in water and wringing them out before placing them in a bowl.
I found a rubber duck on the side of the bathtub and squeezed it out of child’s play. Stepping slowly into the bathtub trying not to give eye contact to the girl in the bathtub figuring she might not appreciate it. She smiled at me and said “Don’t worry, you can look”
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked as I got into the tub.
“Wash under your arms, privates, and elsewhere, just like a regular bath.”
“This isn’t regular for me.” I smiled.
Hef walked into the bathroom in his signature bathrobe with his throwaway camera in hand. I felt a little shocked, kind of like your dad just walked in on you using the toilet and you were embarrassed. Kelly asked if it was okay if he took a picture. I said “Sure.” Britney and I put our arms around each other and our nipples smashed each other as we hugged to pose for the picture. I didn’t give my huge normal smile but my naughty sexy smile with my arm dangling out of the tub. By this time all of the bubbles were almost gone but the bathtub was so deep that you couldn’t even see our belly buttons. Still suds were hanging off my right breast and covered my arm that was out of the tub. He took a picture of Britney and me naked in the tub. Hef went into the small toilet room adjacent to the tub and Britney got out of the tub and began to dry off. I stepped out of the tub leaving it fully standing with water and began to dry off. Kelly reached in and unplugged the tub to release the water. Hef walked by and headed into the other room.
All of the girls seem to have vanished, and it was just Kelly and me in the bathroom together. The room echoed as we spoke with the marble all around us. I went to the restroom and took my time. I was very nervous. I sat on the toilet—not doing anything but trying to collect my thoughts. Part of me wondered what I had gotten myself into. I already had my pink pajamas on, which were full-length pants all the way to past my ankles and the buttoned-up top, which was also oversized. Isabella came rushing in and told us to hurry up; everyone was waiting for us. I quickly came out of the bathroom and shut the door. Kelly grabbed my hand and led me into the main bedroom of Hugh Hefner. It was very dark. I looked down on the ground as we walked to find my way around stacks and stacks of videos that consumed the floor. The only light came from two gigantic big screen TVs. Extremely loud techno music was playing. On the big screen TV was, to my surprise, guys having anal sex. It was very graphic and noisy.
I felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Only I hadn’t landed in Wonderland, but in a dark and dangerous world from the imagination of Hugh Hefner.


Introduction


I’ve always been an open-minded individual. I guess it’s because I was raised by liberal parents from the 1970s. I was privy to the magazines my grandparents and my boyfriend subscribed to—Playboy—and the Playboy channel on television. Why would a girl like me buy Playboy and let my boyfriend read it? And why would I let him watch the channel?
“Tell them they can’t have it, and they’ll want it all the more,” my mother always said.
I’m sure she was not talking about this subject, but I used this advice in my everyday life. On some level, I guess I thought that men with girlfriends and wives who forbid them from looking at Playboy would then sneak around to look at it—or worse . . . they’d cheat. I intended my relationships to be based on trust. Of course, like many people, I thought Playboy was classy, upscale, and acceptable. Anything else was porn. Playboy featured the women like gorgeous art, airbrushed to perfection, with taste and style. The lighting was always sexy, not harsh. They were like paintings brought to life.
In the 1960s when women were more voluptuous and zaftig, they reminded me of Renaissance oil paintings. I had always dreamed of being a Playboy centerfold, and if it was good enough for me to have been willing to do it, then the magazine was okay for my boyfriend to read. Besides, my grandpa was a Playboy collector and proud of it. He had read Playboy as far back as I could remember. I think that was one of the biggest reasons I wanted to be a Playmate. Of course, my grandpa made it very plain he did not want to see his sweet granddaughter nude. However, he thought the magazine was great, and my grandma always said Hugh Hefner’s publication had the most beautiful girls in the world. They allowed me to look at the magazines as far back as I can remember, and to be honest, they were the most beautiful girls in the world, as far as I could see.
I started collecting autographed Playboy covers. My first signed Playboy was bought at a memorabilia store in Harrah’s Casino. Drew Barrymore was the featured star. The very next day, my boyfriend and I purchased a gigantic framed collection of four different covers of Jenny McCarthy, that sexy and outrageous blonde, all autographed and another of her signing a Playboy book. The collection grew to be huge with seventy-six, very well-known autographed covers from Madonna, Vanna White, and all ten of Pamela Anderson’s appearances in the pages, as well as Anna Nicole Smith, Bo Derek, Caprice, Claudia Schiffer, Sharon Stone, and many others. I became obsessed with the collection. I had an eight-foot by eight-foot, airbrushed Playboy bunny mounted in my pool/bar room. I had pool sticks with Playboy bunnies and playmates on the handles, a cue ball with the bunny; the entire room was filled with bunny glasses, napkins, and a large street sign that read “Honorary Hugh Hefner Way.” Everything was Playboy, and I loved it. It was a great hobby. I would surf Ebay for hours and bid for celebrity signed covers and Playboy memorabilia.
My boyfriend was the hero in all this collecting. Anyone who came into our house would tell him “You’re the Man!” Not only for having a girlfriend who liked Playboy but who allowed him to have a subscription and the Playboy channel. During every party, Bruce would turn on the television to show all of the guys and women how lucky he was. Every woman wanted to know which cover I was on, what month I appeared, etc. I felt so beautiful and loved with all the attention, even though I had never appeared and had never posed nude. Everyone assumed I had been in it because I had that classic Playboy bunny “look.”
So how did this wonderful collection of mine that I worked so hard to get, so hard to have—each and every cover custom framed and mounted—turn sour? How did it happen that when I put my house up for sale, I put it up as completely furnished leaving the new owner with the entire seventy-six-picture collection? All the Playboy memorabilia, including my first personal letter from Hef, autographed with pictures and framed, were eventually auctioned off, placed on EBay® and for little to no money without a care.
I have been asked how I became so obsessed with Playboy, and this is the only way I can explain it.
To reflect, I found a picture of me, about 10 years old, posing sexily in a chair with a bunny on the ground next to me. At the time I don’t remember thinking about Playboy or even know if I had a sense of the magazine. I just always wanted to be a model or an actress. I took drama in school, was in all the school plays and at one point two friends of mine and I volunteered at a theatre in Everett, Washington, when I was about 13. We didn’t get paid anything. We cleaned bathrooms, vacuumed—just to be close to the world of the stage. I would practice in front of the mirror and even wrote my first version of a Nancy Drew book. I always wanted to be famous. My girlfriends and I would dream about Holly Madison - The Girls Next Doorwood and the glamorous life it represented to us. And there was nude wallpaper in my parent’s kitchen, scenes by Alphonse Mucha, the famous artist of the Art Nouveau pictures, so seeing a naked breast with a daily bowl of breakfast was a norm for me.
It wasn’t until I was about 15 and I moved back to Arizona that I would find my grandfather’s magazines near his chair. My dad was completely the opposite type. He wouldn’t even look at a magazine and would not go to R-rated films because of their sexual nature and profanity.
He said at one time, “Why would I want to look at a girl in a magazine that I was never going to have? It seems stupid.”
There was a lot of talk about sex between my mom and me when I was a teenager. She wanted me to be well informed and spoke very openly about it. I was not allowed to wear makeup until I moved out—nor could I get my ears pierced. I was allowed to look at the centerfolds at my grandpa’s. I’m not sure why my grandma would let me, but she was so intrigued by their beauty and artistic portrayal that eventually lead to our having a conversation about why grandpa was allowed to have the magazine. He had a huge collection and must have saved every edition. This was the one area my grandma called “art.” She would always say how they were so beautiful. She told me time after time I was pretty enough to be in Playboy and that I should send my pictures in to them. At this point in time, I was over 18 and she said it often.
Nearly every time I went to their house I would look at the magazine, and Grandma would always tell me the same thing: You could be in there. I never thought I could. I figured it was a proud grandma thing. I did do a little modeling but then, at 18, I moved out, bought my own motor home and had to support myself. I got a stable job to pay bills and launched my Playboy Collection. I don’t think I was really obsessed so much as I was a collector—like people who spend each Saturday tromping through flea markets. I think that after I began collecting the Playboy magazines and putting them on the wall that I became fascinated with the entire Playboy world. I had always wanted to look like a centerfold. That doesn’t mean that I ever thought I could. But as more and more people that came to my house asked which cover I was on—and they were serious—I started to consider maybe I could
It didn’t become an obsession until I was turned down by Playboy. I had been a positive person all my life and really believed that anything I set my sights on I could achieve. I was 30 before I decided to look like the girls in the magazines. I hired a trainer to get into shape—not to get into Playboy. I just wanted to look like I was there. When the trainer reminded me I would never have the body I had at 20 it was a catalyst to disprove him.


Chapter One
Preparing


It all started when I arrived at the age of thirty. A woman’s worst nightmare: getting old. One day that look in the mirror will prove the dreaded evidence that all those childhood dreams of being an actress, model, or someone famous could not be realized. I had put all those dreams and fantasies aside when I was twenty-one while I pursued a successful career as an owner of a chain of clothing stores. It was true that I had a beautiful four-thousand square foot house that was completely paid for, great cars, furnishings, financial success, and the admiration of my employees. It wasn’t enough. The one dream that stood out the most was being a Playboy centerfold.
It wasn’t just that I was getting older . . . it was a turning point. I wanted to do something special. Maybe for someone else this moment happens when turning forty. Maybe someone else might want to climb a mountain, enter a marathon, bungee jump or skydive. Fly to Paris. But I had all the material possessions I wanted. I wanted to do something so that when I was sixty, I could look back and say, “See what I did!”
I was in the poolroom amongst all my Playboy memorabilia when it hit me. I was going to do it. It wasn’t too late. How come I had never thought of this before? Not at any time in my life did I take the time to actually submit my pictures. I decided I needed a strategy. I was a businesswoman. I could do this. I applied all the common sense and drive that had taken me to where I was to the goal of being a Playmate. I realized that at thirty, realistically I had only a very remote chance of being a Playmate. I researched about a year of Playboy magazines and found that the oldest one was twenty-six. If I were going to have a chance of achieving my goal, being four years older than the average, I would have to really look terrific. I would have to have an edge, the look, the figure, the personality—everything.
For starters, I would need someone teach me to do my makeup well. I never really wore makeup through high school and still didn’t, just a little blush and mascara. I was going to need to look the part. A model friend of mine gave me a list of makeup artists, and I called the one she recommended the most. I told the makeup artist that I had just turned thirty and wanted to look younger, sexier—more “Playboy-ish.”
When she came to our house, Bruce, now my boyfriend, videotaped the makeup session so I could watch it over and over again to learn the techniques. Within a week, I threw out all the old makeup I had and purchased everything new from different stores all over town. It cost hundreds of dollars, but I was thrilled with my new look. I watched the video daily. I was on the way to a new me! To demonstrate how little I knew about self beauty the gal that was doing my makeup started to pluck my eyebrows.
My first reaction was “Ouch.”
Makeup Lady: When was the last time you had your eyebrows plucked?
Jill Ann: I never have. Why . . . do they need to be?
Makeup Lady: Oh yes!
Flipping through a local paper I came across an ad for a personal trainer. To get the look I wanted, dedication was the name of the game. Having already had breast surgery a few years before, they were still perky and beautiful. My teeth were straight from having braces as a child. I had been told by many boys that I had great legs a tiny waist and outstanding breasts. I was lucky to be thin and a natural dirty blonde.
Through the years, many friends had already told me I should send my pictures in to Playboy. Many people thought I was a model.
If I was in danger of being automatically dismissed because of my age, I also needed a gimmick. Playboy often featured women who were firefighters, police officers, featured on a reality show . . . women who were some sort of celebrity or who had something unusual about themselves or their career. I was none of these—but I had been playing Texas Hold ‘em on nearly a daily basis for over eight years. So I hatched a plan: Get in shape and send in my pictures and tell them that I was a tournament poker player. If they had a rule on age limit for being a Playmate, then they could do a poker article on me like they do the firefighters and police gals.
I tried not to get depressed and started reflecting on other people’s ages. Thirty was the old twenty, and forty was the old thirty. People were exercising and staying in shape . . . the old definitions of sexy were flying out the window. People over thirty at the time were very popular. Jennifer Lopez, thirty-one;
Lucy Liu, thirty-three; Faith Hill, thirty-four; Nicole Kidman, thirty-four; Ashley Judd, thirty-three; Gwyneth Paltrow, twenty-nine; Sarah Jessica Parker, star of the sexiest show on television, thirty-four; Julia Roberts, America’s biggest females star, thirty-four; Cameron Diaz, twenty-nine; Sandra Bullock, one of America’s sweetheart actresses, thirty-nine; Carmen Electra, thirty-two; Pamela Anderson, thirty-seven; Angelina Jolie, twenty-nine; Beth Ostrosky, Howard Stern’s sexy girlfriend, thirty-two; Lisa Marie Presley, thirty-six; Meg Ryan, forty-two; Jennifer Aniston thirty-five; Cameron Diaz, thirty-one; Winona Ryder, thirty-two. I took heart that the last playmate was twenty-nine (Tina Marie Jordan) instead of the prior twenty-six years old being the oldest in the past few years. The stars of Beverly Hills 90210 were also no longer high school kids. Tori Spelling was thirty; Jason Priestley was thirty-three; and Jennie Garth was thirty-one, and so on. No, I told myself, I was not too old!
The personal trainer came out to the house. I didn’t tell him about my plans for Playboy. I’m not sure if I told him that I wanted to look like a Playmate, but I did say I wanted lean muscles, great curves—not bulky.
You can skip this paragraph if you choose, but a lot of people asked me how I got into shape. Here is a list of all the exercises I was to do. Day One: prisoner squat w/chair, lunges, side lunge-straight leg, calf raise, abduction w/tube, one leg dip squat, leg extension. Trunk; roll up, bicycle, leg lift to sky, 45-degree leg lift, physioball crunch, feet on ball angles, machine crunch. Day Two: Chest—close grip, lat pull down, shrug, seated row, DB Front Raise, DB Lateral Raise, DB Rear Delt Raise, DB Curl, Cep Pushdown-elbow in side, DB Hammer Curl, DB Triceps Extension, Finger pumps. Trunk—Half Crunch-legs still, Opposite Elbow to knee, Leg Straight Reach, Arms Middle Crunch, Side Crunch, Full Crunch, ridge hip to sky, Superman. Day Three: Ball Squat, Tube Walks for side, Leg Extension, Leg Curl, One Leg Squat, Calf Raise, Wide Leg Prisoner Squat. Trunk—Roll up, Bicycle, Leg lift to sky, 45 degree leg lift. Physioball Crunch, Feet on balls—Angles, Machine Crunch. Day Four: Chest-close grip, Lat pull down, Seated row, DB Triceps Kickback, DB Triceps Kickback, DB Padded Curl, DB Front Raise, DB Lateral Raise, DB Rear Delt Raise, Machine Curl, Triceps Dips, Finger Pumps. Trunk; Half Crunch with legs still, Opposite Elbow to knee, Leg straight reach, Arms Middle Crunch, Side Crunch, Full Crunch, Bridge hip to sky, Superman, Holdem-up Elbows, Holdem up-Side, Physioball, Bug Opposite arm/ Opposite leg, Side to Side with weights.
I was feeling good. My trainer had me on a special diet. By the time he was through, I felt I was ready. The only things I didn’t like were my thighs. No matter what I tried, they didn’t change. Most women, I suppose, have that one body part they’re displeased with. I knew that, realistically speaking, most women would have been thrilled to look like I did probably, but I wanted nothing but a lean, mean, sexy body, and I continued to complain. The trainer continued to make me do more and more exercises.
Finally, point blank he said, “You’re thirty. You’re never going to have the body you did at twenty.”
I was literally devastated. I wanted Playboy to have no excuse except my age. Because I had already undergone breast surgery a few years before, I guess for me, plastic surgery did not seem like a drastic option. I sincerely believed if there was something you did not like about yourself, and you had the power/money to change it through modern medicine, you should. I went to a local doctor in Arizona, even though I was 115 pounds and 14 percent body fat. I showed him what I didn’t like. I told him flat-out what my plan was. He suggested inner and outer liposuction. I figured that, while I was at it, I would get larger implants. I had to stand out—not freaky—but I had to have an edge over the hundreds of other twenty-four-year-old girls who get implants. I also asked about my lips. The doctor said that he could weave a rope to the upper and lower lips to make them slightly fuller. I added that procedure to the list.
In one day, my inner and outer thighs were slimmed, both lips were fuller, and my breasts doubled in size. The pain was incredible. My lips were so swollen I looked like a monkey. I could not lie on either side and wore spandex pants for optimum results.
I was told to purchase a ton of frozen peas. Bruce, my nurse, would put them in a zip lock bag and set small amounts of peas on my lips. As soon as the bag of peas would start to get warm, my lips were in tons of pain. This is when more new peas would be applied to stop the agony. I was told by Bruce not to look in the mirror, and I didn’t. He later told me after I was well that they were so gross and blue that he could not get that image out of his mind. They looked like they were going to burst and explode everywhere. He begged me never to do that again. The breast pain was nothing at all and my arms were not even sore like the first time. I figured they would be in worse pain because of having to remove the prior saline bags and then insert another bag in their place. Also breast tissue was cut out to give me more cleavage in the middle because my first set of breasts was fairly wide with not much cleavage.
The lipo was the worst experience because of the removal of high-pressure shorts that you could barely move up or down. I had to have the smallest pair of shorts on to firmly hold my new movement of skin. By removing some excess fat in this procedure, like all patients there was some loose skin and the longer I wore the compression pants the smother my “new” legs would be. For over three months I wore these damn things. The best thing about the entire operation was the new breasts were perfect in size, and amazingly the toothache that had plagued me for years was gone! This was worth a celebration.
The next problem was the liposuction seemed not to be perfectly even on my legs. I had very high expectations, and if I was going to grace the pages of Playboy this was not going to do it. They had to be perfect. I showed them to the doctor and instead of a normal doctor saying you need to wear the compression pants longer or that is the way your body reacted or something along those lines, he said he needed to go back in and redo them and he wouldn’t charge me anything but the hospital room and anesthetics. I had already been told I could not exercise for six months and now having to go back in again was going to set me back additionally. He took me in almost right away and did the procedure. This time a slight problem happened. I am not sure why, but the anesthesiologist did not give me enough medicine. I had lips, lipo, and breasts the time before and the pain was bearable for the entire time.
This time waking up in the recovery room I noticed a pain that was so incredible that I felt I was going to pass out. I wished so much that I could have passed out. I explained to the doctor my problem of severe pain and they said they could give me more pain medicine, but then I would have to stay in the hospital for an additional amount of time to monitor my results and what they gave me would not be anywhere near the strength of my own medicine I could take once I got home.
I decided to risk going home instead since this doctor was much closer than the prior doctor. The drive was only about a ½ hour till I would be home. On the way home the most blinding pain came my way. Almost unable to control the crying I was not sure what to do. I felt it was unbearable, unbelievable, and undesirable. The pain pill did nothing to stop the pain. Calling the doctor about an hour later he told me I could take an additional pill. Instead of being in “la la land” and waking up the following day sore and miserable, it was the longest night of my life. The following week continued to be severe with pain. I was told there was nothing wrong and that it was normal. I wasn’t sure if going right back in so soon to the same areas had done it or not enough drugs on the operating table at the hospital had made me flip around so much that I had wounded myself inside. The bruises this time from the lipo were so frightening that I could barely stand to look at my legs. They were a deep black and blue.
My lips had gone down, and now it seemed completely as though no rope had been hand woven from one end to the next. I was disappointed to say the least. I had thin lips again. I would be forced to draw them in again with lip liner to get them to look pouty and full.
I stuck to my strict diet that my fitness trainer had me on. I did not tell him my plans of surgery and just told him I was going to take a break for awhile. I was going to surprise him with the results. I didn’t tell anyone in my family that I was having this done and, until this book, I have never admitted to the liposuction. The waiting began. I had six months before I could work out again.
My age clock continued ticking away. Talk about a boring six months being on my strong diet not allowing the time to become fat or have more appear on my thighs! I couldn’t work out; I couldn’t eat anything that was not on my list! I maintained my diet and spent time working on and preparing my plan. When the time came for my trainer to return, he couldn’t believe what I’d done. He worked with me for two months getting into the shape I wanted for my first photos to be submitted to Playboy. As a final touch, I went through the very painful procedure of Botox. (This is to remove all wrinkles from forehead or eye area, or wherever you put the painful injection. It paralyzes this section of your face so that there will be no wrinkles. Many of the movie stars use this to look much younger.) It is the process of mixing two things together and putting them in a needle and then taking this same needle and pressing them down to areas of your skin that have wrinkles and releasing the fluid to this area. To get the exact places you want the doctor will make you squint or frown and mark your face with little pin marks for him to remember where to put the injection. It is an intense pain, but since I had already been through so much what was a little more.
The saddest thing was my lips were still very thin, so I paid an additional amount of money to have collagen injected in my lips. We are talking the worst pain ever is injecting a needle into your lip every little inch all the way along to give your lips a perfect even injection of collagen. I was so glad this painful procedure was done and over with and the Botox was amazing. It was like it gave me an immediate semi facelift. It even seemed to raise my eyebrows to give me a more youthful look. I was completely thrilled with the process, and I could smile great big and happy without having any lines on my face. I looked like I was twenty-one again. I also had Epilight treatments on lower arms, bikini line, lower legs, and knees. I paid a ton for the service, and it didn’t do a dang thing. I did three full painful treatments with this intense light. They put this thick freezing cream in a large spot and then they would zap this hot electrical device on that section of my hair. They said it was supposed to be low pain. It wasn’t, and it was a waste of all of my money as well. They said it probably didn’t work because I have such blonde hair. Granted I am jumping ahead because I went thought the treatment for many of months, and it still didn’t work. I thought it would be so awesome that I would have hairless leg and bikini.
Nonetheless, all this gives readers an idea of what I was willing to do to achieve that perfection that people have come to expect of a Playmate.





Chapter Two
Glamourcon




Before I was completely ready to send pictures to Playboy, an event called Glamourcon came up October 21 to 22, 2000. It is a gathering of models—mainly Playboy models and Playmates. I decided I would attend. I was very excited to go to Los Angeles. I wanted to check out the competition.
When I arrived, many people started asking to pose with me assuming that I was a model. I told them that I was not. They still wanted to take my picture and I didn’t object. It was kind of fun to glimpse a little bit of celebrity status. It was an interesting place for young aspiring models to go and check out also because there were many opportunities there as well for work, and agencies in the room were actively looking for new talent. Unfortunately, a lot of the work was nude modeling, not regular modeling.
Most girls were Playmates, Penthouse Pets, from Hustler magazine, or some kind of nude production. I had many offers to paint me, photograph me, and draw me—of course all in the nude. I had only been there a little bit of time and noticed them arranging a main table and preparing it.
I asked someone what they were preparing for, and they said for Hugh Hefner’s arrival. I was surprised I had not heard about this. It wasn’t advertised in anything that I had seen. They informed me that he didn’t always show up, but that if he did, often he showed up on the first day. There were many vendors selling Playboy magazines so I rushed to find one that was worthy of a signature from Hugh Hefner. I found one with my birthday April 1970 and another anniversary issue so I figured these would be two good ones to get signed.
Bruce got in line since there was already a line forming to meet Hugh Hefner. I continued to go around and meet current Playmates and some of the older ones. The time for arrival appeared, and a crowd of paparazzi started to flash their bulbs as he came in with an entourage of blondes, all of whom I assumed were Playmates. The girls had on the shortest shorts; sexy jeans, little tank tops and t-shirts, and they all had their hair and makeup done to perfection. The media frenzy was unbelievable
Bruce and I had our camera, and we took as many pictures of him arriving as possible through the crowd of paparazzi. I had a picture taken with Hugh Hefner; I got to watch him come in, but only from a distance because I was in line holding our place. The line had started to curve into the following room. He stopped at a few of the Playmates’ tables and gave them hugs as he came in. The older ones and the younger ones. I thought that was really neat that he stopped to take the time. He posed with them and then headed to his area to start the massive line of people waiting to get autographs.
The neatest thing was to see what everyone had brought to have autographed. Many were not fans but business people who then would resell his signature. The most exciting ones were the first original 1953 Marilyn Monroe issue that about three people on the line had—it was a thrill to see one of these magazines up close. Others had large objects like Playboy Volleyballs and 50th Anniversary books. These anniversary editions and other memorabilia were more interesting than just a signed magazine and had bulk to it. I did not recognize the girls sitting next to him bought noticed they were all blondes. I personally thought they looked a little non Playboyish except for two of the girls. The others seemed a little rough. Not that I was an expert, but when you want someone to represent your entire organization and there are thousands of girls to choose from, you would figure they would have the most drop-dead assets and faces that would light up a room. Some of these young women didn’t. I was even more thrilled to see this because I was sizing up the competition. Not that I was downgrading them, but they looked like many girls at any bars or even close friends. They had the turn-around quick platinum hair, but otherwise nothing that jumped out of the room. Two girls were drop-dead gorgeous, and one was to the right of Hef and the other one was at the other end of the table. These two girls I couldn’t see picking if I was Hef. The gal to the right of Hef I later found out was Tina Jordan, Hef’s number-one girlfriend at the time. She would tell Hef what to write on each autographed item because there was so much noise that he could not hear what any of us were saying, and he just gave everyone a smile as if he understood what they were saying to him.
Hef got excited when the person in front of me had the first-edition Playboy, and when he handed it back to him signed Hef said “that just went up in value” (just from him signing it!). Seeing the young whippersnapper with it, I am sure Hef knew it wasn’t for him but for resale. He sneaked another one for Hef to sign, and Hef signed it without a hitch.
It was then my turn to step up to meet Hugh Hefner. I was more worried about getting a photo because I have always been addicted to photos, and Hef leaned forward and stretched out his body and neck to seem closer to me since he was on the other side of the signing table. I told him my name, and he looked over at Tina to find out what I had said and she relayed it back to him. He wrote “To Jill, Love Hugh Hefner” I said “I am so excited to meet you” He kindly smiled. I was excited. He said “You are beautiful, darling” I smiled and replied “Really? Thanks.” I walked away as high as a kite and started to jump up and down like a kid in a candy store because this was a huge compliment from such a powerful man.
I would later find out that the other stunning beauty at the table was Buffy Tyler sitting at the far end of the table. On my scale of Playmates, she is a 10. She also was an official Hugh Hefner girlfriend and was part of his entourage, but her month was the following month that she would be Miss November. That is why I had not recognized her because I had not seen that issue yet. She was signing her centerfold for everyone at I believe $20.00 a magazine. I did not get one because I only collected girls on the cover. I did watch her in awe and thought how exciting it was that she was getting to sign autographs and she looked like what you pictured they should look like.
I was thrilled. I had finally met the most powerful man in the Playboy business—the Playboy icon himself. Everyone was taking pictures and standing in line for autographs. The thing that impressed me the most was that he took time throughout the room to greet many of the girls from past Playboy years, giving them big hugs and thanking them. It seemed like such a family atmosphere. It seemed as if he was paternal almost, caring about each girl in his Playboy empire. Never in my wildest dreams would I think that later on I would find out this so-called paternal concern was anything but.
I could feel the excitement—the glitz—in the air. I wanted to be part of it. Hef was there only a short time and left with all the blondes in tow. The best thing was almost everyone there thought I was a Playmate just stopping by to visit the others. I was both flattered and motivated. I met a Playmate named Suzi Simpson who asked me what month I was.
Jill Ann: “Oh, no . . . I’m just here getting autographs, and I wanted to meet Hugh Hefner.”
Suzi: “You’re kidding. You are definitely Playmate material.”
I was fishing for information.
Jill Ann: “You think I should send my pictures to the magazine?”
Suzi: “Absolutely not! What you want to do is go directly to Santa Monica. They test for Playmates on Thursdays, and you need to call them and make an appointment. Tell them I sent you.”
I was breathless. This was the break or inside connection I needed.
Jill Ann: “Thank you so much. How I would get such a number to the Santa Monica office.
Suzi: “I can email it to you but otherwise you could call information or go to the Playboy website and there is only one Santa Monica office. Just call them up and tell them you want to be tested for a Playmate.”
She gave me her personal email address, and I thanked her for the information. Prior to going to L.A., I didn’t know about this test, so this was a big leg up on my list toward my goal. A few other Playmates chimed in while I was talking to Suzi. Kimberly Donley and Barbara Moore both were super supportive and saying such great things to me. Telling me I had to go to Santa Monica and that I was Playmate material!
This attractive blonde girl named Echo Johnson was signing magazines, and I waited patiently to get my cover signed. It was a cover with about five or so other girls in and around a telephone booth with Jerry Seinfeld. It seemed as if I had waited forever watching the gal talk on the phone to one of her friends. I was the only one at her booth, and I was a paying customer but where they were going to each lunch the following day was much more important. I laid my $20.00 on the table to get my magazine signed and she gave me back $5.00 in change still talking on the phone and signed the cover and handed it back to me and then turned away to continue talking. I decided to come back later when she wasn’t on the phone, but there was not a time that she was on the phone. I overheard her say that she was sitting around the pool at the mansion prior to coming to Glamourcon. I butted in and said “Wow, you were just at the mansion earlier.”
“Yeah, I stayed there overnight to go to Glamourcon today.”
I said “He just lets you come up whenever you like?”
She said, “Yes.” I was shocked by this mainly because she was not a current Playmate, and it was a few years back that she had done her spread. I thought that was really something you being able to come up whenever you wanted. I remarked, “That has to be great.” She shrugged her shoulders and squinted her forehead and eyes as to say I guess in her “blonde” language.
Since I had been collecting autographs on eBay I knew what items sold the best, and I had stopped at Wal-Mart on the way and picked up a five-pack of blank white underwear to get the playmates to sign. Why? Because other people were selling such things on eBay and they were getting a good amount of money for them. I figured why not pay for my trip to LA with a few things I could sell on eBay. I noticed Jennifer Walcott sitting at her table.

Jill Ann: “How much would it be to get a few pairs of these underwear signed?”

Jennifer: “I would never sign a pair of underwear. That is disgusting.”

Jill Ann: “Oh no they are brand-new.”

Jennifer: “You think that just because I posed for Playboy that I am that kind of girl? Well, I’m not and I won’t sign them.”

Jill Ann: “I am so sorry. I had seen some other Playboy girls selling signed underwear on Ebay so I figured I would do the same.”

Jennifer: “That is what gives Playboy girls a bad rap is a few stupid ones doing such a thing. I’m not that kind of girl. Just because I took my clothes off doesn’t mean I’m some bimbo.”

Not knowing how to get myself out of this embarrassing situation, I apologized and dashed away. I got many of magazines signed and got to have many conversations with older playmates. One told me that when she made the cover of Playboy it was taken with a Polaroid camera and not touched up at all. That actual photo went to print.

I had found out they were having a VIP party that night down in the hotel for certain special guests and booth holders. I figured it would be easy to find and it was. I walked right in without any hassle without an invitation that other people had. The entire party about three Playboy girls showed up out of all of the girls that were present earlier. I had heard girls earlier saying that if they were not getting paid to go they weren’t going to go. Lots of disappointed participants and of course like a regular bar night not enough girls to go around. I, too, left not wanting to be part of the 98 percent guy ratio scene. I would have stayed if one of the gals from earlier would have been there, but since it seemed no one was interested in having me join them I willingly left. The following day I asked a few of the gals where they went figuring there had to be another VIP party that I just missed. Most said they lived in California and just went back home. It was Sunday and the attendance was nearly half from the day before. Many of the gals didn’t even come back the following day to sign autographs even though it had listed they would be there signing. So I suggest if you go to this event make sure to go on Saturday. This is the best way and actually only way to easily get an autograph of Playmates and or Hugh Hefner.
Anyway, the event ended and I really felt positive about my chances of becoming a Playmate. I felt like nothing could stop me now.



Chapter Three
Sneaking in to the Playboy Mansion





In between my time scheduling my Playmate test shoot we took a bus from Grauman’s Chinese theatre to all the movie stars’ homes. Of course they did drive by the famous Playboy Mansion. I actually had not gone on the tour to see it. This was the first time I had seen it. Bruce and I had often thought about going on these tours but had never gone. We were there on business for the clothing stores and had taken a day off to goof around in Hollywood. After the tour was over, I wanted to drive by and check it out myself without having to be hurried. We did not have a vehicle on this trip so we had a rented driver in a Town Car come pick us up at the hotel. Now that we knew were the Playboy Mansion was, we were ready to try and get in. We asked our driver if he knew were it was (otherwise we were going to tell him). He said sure. Bruce said, in a playful voice, “Drive on, to the mansion.”
We ended up getting scared about trying to get in so we had the driver pass by the mansion and head down to in front of Tori Spelling’s house. There was a park nearby, so we walked over to it while the driver waited for us.
Taking our dog for a walk near the park, there was a movie being filmed near their house. It was already closing time. and it began to become dark. We drove up to the Playboy Mansion just to look at the lights and the gate from outside. Tons of cars were parked for a long distance up to the mansion. The cars were not parked there prior. We slowed down to get a good look at the front door when a security guard motioned us over. We rolled down the window, not sure what to make of his waving us down. He handed us a little map and told us that we could not drive up to the party that we had to go to UCLA. I told them my name and told them I was on the list; the security said no.
I’m nothing if not determined. I said, “How about cash is that on the list?” The guard smiled and said sorry that he could not take money either.
I said, “How about a thousand dollars to let us in?”
He said he wished he could, adding, “If you only knew how much we guys in security have been offered and had to turn it down, then maybe you would understand.” He said, “Go over to UCLA, maybe you are on the list over there!”
I thanked him and jumped back into the Town Car, headed with my map that he had given me with directions to the Playboy meeting place at UCLA. The driver, I, and Bruce discussed it, so we then decided, “What the heck, let’s go to UCLA.” We looked at the map, went into where the directions told us to go, and the lady at the gate said, “Oh sure go on in.” The driver was so cute, he was so excited, he thought getting in through this gate was all we needed to do and now we could get onto the shuttle to the mansion. He was hysterical: “We are in! We are in!”
Of course we were not so lucky. We parked and saw three people sitting at desks with A-H, I-O, and P-Z. We saw people walking up in pajamas, all dressed-up in robes, etc. The driver parked. On my sheet it said “Driver’s License required.” I thought this was another party for Playboy, but it was just where you have to go to get to the Playboy parties. They don’t have enough parking for everyone, so they make you leave your car at UCLA and then you are shuttled over to the mansion.
Sitting in the Town Car, I decided I was just going to be topless and wear a pair of underwear to the party because I knew that you had to be wearing lingerie. Bruce refused to wear no shirt and underwear, so he told me to go alone. Not knowing any of the rules or how to even go about it, I should have walked up wearing just underwear but instead I figured I would see if I could get in first and tell them I was going to change. I must have looked like an idiot, trying to pretend that my name was on the list, without any identification in hand. Instead of making me feel stupid though, they just kindly said that I was not on the list and that it was too late to put my name on the list and that I would have to wait for the next party. With my tail between my legs, I headed back to my vehicle in the close proximity for Bruce to unlock the door to let me in from the embarrassment.
Of course, now that I know all the ins and outs of Playboy parties, my first mistake was I walked up there with no nightgown on (this was a first telltale sign I was not really invited). Second, I got in the line for S, and of course my name was not on the list. Oh well, I tried. I bet they thought I was pretty funny. I asked two girls that were in line how they got invited and the one said that she had met Hef at a party and had been invited ever since. I was so sad; I begged them to let me in. I told them I had my nightgown in the car! I said to the lady, “It there any ay that I can get in?” She suggested sending my picture to the Playboy Mansion and that this was how many of the girls get to go to the party. I thanked her. I went back to the car, discussed it and told the boys. I said, “I didn’t try the money on them,” so I had Bruce handed me six hundred-dollar bills, and I went back up. This did not work either. We then decided to leave. Oh well, it was exciting trying. Bruce was really nice. He said that he did not think I would be able to get in with him so that if they let me in by myself that I was allowed to go since it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing and that he trusted me.
Now that I look back I had no idea that the person who created the entire party list was sitting right there in one of the lines. She was named Jenny. Not only was she in charge of the entire list she knew everyone who should be on it—she was a very sharp woman. The security was tighter then the FBI building with Jenny already having a picture of what you looked like and your correct spelling on the list. Also having to show identification to match to make sure that it was really the person on the list. Not only did they stamp your hand, but they checked the stamp two additional times: one when you get on the bus so you couldn’t even sneak upstairs and onto the bus to avoid the downstairs check-off. When you boarded the bus they checked for the stamp and then when you got off the bus they checked it again! This must be to make sure that none of the security guards can be bought off to let you in the mansion either.



Chapter Four
Playmate Test Shoot




It took a while to get an appointment in Santa Monica for a Playboy Test shoot because there were so many people on the list. I had maintained my workouts and diet, and I finally got my opportunity for my first test on December 7, 2000—about two months after my trip to L.A.
Before I arrived, I had the works: manicure, pedicure, hair, facial, bikini wax, and a fresh fake tan for the perfect glow. I arrived dressed in a pink sequined tube top, black cloth pants that hugged my body, sexy black heels, and a white fluffy cropped jacket that had an almost Marilyn Monroe aura about it.
Worried about being late and not sure how far the drive was from Los Angeles to Santa Monica we drove about two and a half hours ahead of time and had about two hours to kill when we arrived in front of the Playboy office. By the time my appointment arrived my hair was flat and my makeup was barely there. Still not really great at doing my makeup or even thinking about bringing a touch-up kit I had nothing to make myself look any different. I had little to no makeup on with some mascara and rosy red cheeks. I couldn’t go back now and change things because I had already waited two months for the appointment.
I entered the office having Bruce drop me off back away from the front door to make it look like I arrived alone. A girl and guy were in the waiting room, and she was filling out paperwork. I signed in, and they gave me a test application. I provided the following information: Measurements 38-25-35, 118 pounds, 5 feet 7 inches tall, blonde, blue eyes, 30 years of age, no piercings (including ears), no tattoos, and was currently a resale clothing shop owner. I wrote that my hobbies were poker and playing with my beloved poodle. I purposely did not mention too much about the poker because I was trying out for Playmate, and if I didn’t make it I would try a different approach.
During the wait for my turn the gentleman waiting there started to flirt with me.
Guy: Oh my god I can’t believe I am getting to meet you in person. Can I get a hug just one hug?
Jill Ann: Sure, but I’m not anyone famous.
Guy: Yeah right! [Pointing to a big picture on the wall of a Playmate (can’t remember if it was Anna Nicole or Victoria Silverstedt that he pointed to)] He insisted it was me and I just smiled.
The people behind the counter seemed to start to get annoyed with the guy, and I felt bad for his girl who was with him because he needed to act like she was the most beautiful girl on the planet. That’s what Bruce has always done with me. I have always been his princess.
An official Playboy photographer came out and had to pry him away to get him to stop speaking enough for him to take me to the back room. I gave him his hug and made my way to the back with the photographer. As we walked down the halls, gigantic life- size covers of Playboy filled the walls: Anna Nicole’s Playboy Issue, Pamela Anderson’s Playboy Issue, Cindy Crawford’s Playboy Issue, and Jenny McCarthy’s Playboy Issue.
I could feel my pants becoming wet from the excitement and the feel of being whisked away to wonderland past walls of the most beautiful girls in the world. It was like a Playboy Museum.
My heart was pounding—excited and scared. This would be the first time I had ever posed nude, but I felt confident that my hard work and cosmetic surgery would pay off. The photographer led me into a room, told me to put on the silky robe hanging by the door and to come out when I was ready.
The floor was filthy with debris and hair and I put my feet on my own outfit to make sure that the bottom of my feet would not be black, in case they happened to be photographed. When I walked out no one was there, but they were doing a photo shoot in a big room to the right with another girl. Tons of staff was in the room with the girl buck naked. It didn’t seem odd, but there were a lot of people seeming to do nothing but watching. My photographer was nowhere to be found, so I patiently waited there covered up in my robe for his return. Finally he came to my rescue from the stupid look I had on my face of standing there undressed, nervous and not sure of what to do with myself.
He led me back down a hallway to a small dimly lit room. Closing the door behind me and leaving just the two of us in the room, he had of all things a Polaroid. I was surprised just because they tell you to send in Polaroid’s but never thought they would use them. I figured they would have a regular camera or digital. Pointing to the door there was a place to hang my robe and he informed me I could put my robe there. I slowly took off my robe and was standing there with nothing on but my heels.
He showed me a few positions that were customary for them to take pictures of and demonstrated the first one for me. I mimicked immediately, and he snapped the Polaroid. He then had me lean up against the wall and give the Playboy stance and he snapped another Polaroid. Then on the couch that was in the room he asked met to arch my back on my knees and look back. I felt very nervous and my heart was still jumping out of my chest. I would have thought being in a room with just one person would make me more comfortable, but it made me more nervous. I felt weird being naked in a room with a stranger, while meanwhile my boyfriend outside was waiting in the vehicle around the block.
After about eight Polaroid shots in a variety of positions, all designed to imitate the poses you see in Playboy all the time—some with that sort of “peek-a-boo” playfulness, I said, “It’s so hot today. My makeup is almost gone.”
“It’s better with less makeup. That way they can see you raw. Don’t worry about it. You’re perfect—absolutely gorgeous!”
“Oh, you say that to all the girls.”
“Really, I don’t,” he said.
I must have smiled a mile wide. He wanted me to look at the pictures. I didn’t want to and just glanced quickly at them.
“We’ll be calling you for sure either tomorrow or first thing Monday.”
“Really?”
He smiled and nodded.
He led me back to the room where my clothes were. I changed back into my clothes and headed out to the car where Bruce was waiting around the corner. I talked all the way back to the hotel. I was sure that, with the photographer being so confident, I would make it. I was on cloud nine and had no intention of getting off quickly. My cell phone went with me everywhere. The following day came, and every time the phone rang I was instantly sick to my stomach as I picked it up to see who it was.
Friday went by with no call from the Playboy office. It seemed that the weekend would never end for my impatience to have Monday arrive. Monday I was so nervous I was afraid to answer it if it did ring. As the day went on and no one called from Playboy I began to contemplate a million things through my head. Was this good they were taking longer to call or was this bad? Maybe they were doing a background check or maybe they were not going to use me and then decided to get a second opinion. I was going over and over it in my head why I had not received the call.
By Wednesday the 13th with no call, I called the Santa Monica office. I spoke to Tashanna Williams in Playmate Submissions and told her what the photographer had said.
“Our procedure is to send out a letter,” she explained.
“But the photographer seemed very sure that they would call me directly.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you.”
While waiting for the letter I decided to e-mail Suzi Simpson, Miss January 1992, and contacted her via e-mail on December 13, 2000. I brought her up to speed on the week’s events and wondered if that had been her experience as well.
On Wednesday the 20t,h I received a letter from the Santa Monica Playboy Office: It basically told me that though the photos were good, they only select twelve centerfolds a year—from thousands of girls—and I didn’t make it. They reminded me how tough the competition was and signed off pleasantly.
The letter was written the same day I had called her. I didn’t understand. The photographer was so positive. What had happened between him and the editors? Was it only his opinion? Naturally, I was already concerned about my age and that was the first thing that came to mind. The photographer did not return my data sheet when I left. Maybe he was sure I was perfect but when the editors noticed I was thirty, they decided to pass. I decided to write Tashanna back.
I just could not understand that if it was procedure to write a letter why a photographer would flat-out tell you they were going to be calling you Friday or Monday. They wouldn’t purposely give girls hopes for no reason. This would be stupid and a waste of their time. He said I was perfect, and he would call, so what had gone wrong?

I received my regret letter on December 19th turning my application down. I was wondering if there was a special edition or lingerie I could do. I had left it blank where the application asked what I was applying for because I was open to anything Playboy would want me for. Can I have those pictures back to forward to a different department or is this decision final for anything with Playboy? I met …Suzi Simpson, Kimberly
Donley and Barbara Moore back in October and they all thought I would be perfect… I know you must have a million people call and write you … Please fax or mail back a response or advice. You can also reach me on my cell.

She called me back. “The editors said that even for special editions or lingerie they were not interested at this time. I’m sorry.”
I asked if I could have the photographer call me back directly so that I could just speak with him. She asked me who took my photos. Drawing a blank since I didn’t write it down I asked if she could look to see who was working that day. She said she was not able to do such a thing. I was back to square one. But I also know any dream worth having is worth pursuing to the fullest.


Chapter Five
Making the Cover of Poker Digest



After speaking to different people, I found that if I was not in print somewhere or had national exposure an article would not be done on me for poker. I had won a lot of money playing Texas Hold ‘em. I actually bought almost all my jewelry, furniture, etc. from the game. I had done well in many tournaments around the local area—California and Nevada. I named my dog “Hold ‘em” for the love and passion I have for the game. I realized this was, maybe, my edge.
I was one of the few successful Texas Hold ‘em Women players in the United States and was known by hundreds of the top players in the business. This was before the huge poker craze you see now. I had never entered a huge tournament such as the World Series of Poker that costs $10,000 to enter. These events get you lots of exposure if you win. I was professional enough to win money, but I was not a gambler. I knew it when I started playing years ago. Texas Hold ‘em is one of the few casino games that are not played against the house. It is played directly against the
players at the table. This is why you will not find many poker rooms in the large casinos in Vegas because they do not make enough profit for the house. The house makes money by taking a drop (a little bit of money) for each hand played. You could lose hundreds of dollars and the house would not gain any more than the forced drop per hand. This is one reason that you will get hardly any comps in Vegas when playing because they really don’t want you to play. Comps mean the casino, if you are a big gambler, lets you stay for free.
Anyhow, since I had not won a large event, or even entered one, for me to get noticed and be in one of the nationwide poker magazines I would need to win a large tournament. Or would I? I was playing poker at a local casino in Arizona when I spoke to a guy sitting next to me. It was a fluke—or fate. He was from Vegas and was a known writer for Poker Digest. I batted my eyes, my mind spinning, and asked him to dinner at a nice restaurant in the casino. He had done the last cover of Poker Digest. Bruce accompanied me.
I made a proposal to the writer: “You need to write a story about me for the magazine. I’ll pay you to write the story and if you can get it on the cover I’ll give you a $500 bonus.”
“Good idea, good material. I think I can make this work,” he said.
Why not? I was a professional poker player, good looking, and well known. I hadn’t won a national title, but I was still a local champ. We emailed back and forth, and I wrote many pages for him to make his story.
Here is the unedited version of what I sent the writer of Poker Digest Magazine:

Jill Ann Spaulding, Age 30, Birth date 4-29-70, Bust 38, Waist 25, Hips 35, 118 pounds, 5’7”, blue eyes, blonde hair, never married, only child. Never pregnant, I have an 8-pound toy poodle named Hold ‘em after my favorite game. No tattoos and nothing pierced, not even my ears.
I was born in Phoenix, Arizona, and moved to Washington State when I was four and grew up in a very small town called Granite Falls. I lived there until I was fourteen years of age, and then our family moved back to Phoenix. My major interest in high school was retail marketing. I won a lot of trophies for Apparel and Accessories. I graduated from Mountain View High School in Mesa, Arizona, on the honor roll. I had a job at a donut shop. I was a tool girl at the swap meet and worked at Miller’s Outpost my senior year. I moved out when I was eighteen. I had saved up enough for a large down payment on a mobile home and purchased my own mobile home for $31,500. My monthly payment was $333.38. Why at such a young age did I have so much money saved up? My father was a consistent influence in my life. Every conversation was about money. When I think back on my childhood, I remember my parents would fight about money. I vowed to never have this as one of the arguments in my life. This is why it was easy to save money. I wanted to move out! When my parents found out that I had saved up this much money, instead of being proud of me, they assumed I was having sex for money, selling drugs, or blackmailing someone. I guess I did not have a good rapport at home. I had actually saved the money not doing any of those things. By the age of eighteen, I had never been drunk, never smoked or taken anything illegal. The worst thing I ever did was to send a lot of Pizza Hut pizzas to a guy who broke up with me when I was seventeen.
My family was very happy to see me move out. I was a teenaged know-it-all. Actually my family did make a winner out of me. I had been drilled and lectured for so many years that I was determined to put what I knew to good use. My biggest motivation was that my mother was certain I would be back living at home in six months and would have lost my down payment. I didn’t even have a job when I bought the trailer. I soon got a job working at Village Inn. I didn’t make much on tips; the patrons were mostly coffee drinkers. I had worked my entire shift on Christmas day and when I was about to leave I was told that if I did not stay and work a double shift that they would be firing me. How little did they know if they would have just asked me I would’ve stayed. I decided to let myself go and took off my apron and walked out. I tried several different types of work, but nothing really clicked.
I loved to organize so I decided to start cleaning homes. I put an ad in the local paper, and before long I was doing nothing else. After one year I had over 100 employees and was no longer cleaning—but managing and training. Within two and a half years I had paid off my trailer. I owned it and the land free and clear.
Finally at the age of twenty-one, I went to a little country bar on Valentine’s night. I went alone. As it happened, a man I had met a week earlier was there, alone as well. Bruce Gifford was forty-three (twenty-two years my senior). It never occurred to me that we would have anything permanent because of the age difference. He showed up at my door for a casual evening with roses and candy. I was hooked. My family was not. They threatened to disown me. My father threatened to kill him. We didn’t speak for almost five years. Not just because of Bruce—there were other issues as well. Now my mom and I talk a couple of times a year. My father and I do not have a relationship anymore. Bruce and I have been together the entire time.
I admit he is the father figure I longed for because my dad and I were never close even when I was a toddler. We never did marry because of Bruce’s family’s reaction and my family’s reaction. At this point we probably never will. For anyone curious, his wife was involved with another man before I ever met Bruce, and she is married to this guy till this day. This will hopefully stop any questions. As for me being with him for his money, he did not have any money at all. He only had his job and the clothes on his back. He was left with virtually nothing. He came out of the entire relationship with no house, no vehicle. The only thing that he was left with was half of his retirement, which was $15,000. He is my best friend, and I feel this is why the relationship works.
Taking a few steps back, I opened a new and recycled clothing store. Why? I was ridiculed when I went to school for not having all the name brands. I named the store Name Brand Exchange. It fit. One day I woke up and took stock of my life. The trailer was paid off, and I decided I didn’t want to deal with the employees in my cleaning business anymore. It took about six months to get up the inventory to open my new store. It was an exciting time—and still is. I love it. Not every day did I love it, though. I got so stressed out from employees stealing, quitting, or me having to fire them for ridiculous things. I was at my wit’s end. I had moved into a new house and had it paid off in two years. I paid $125,000 for it so it wasn’t so easy to close the doors or sell the business that was making good money. I went to a doctor for the stress. He advised me to double the employees’ pay and don’t go back. That was three years ago, and I have held true to my commitment. I don’t make as much money, but my employees are well-paid, they don’t quit, and I don’t have to see the place. I still make a comfortable living and can play poker every day of the week. Life is great. My passion is going to the movies. That is my other hobby. I can get completely immersed in a movie and take myself away.
I live in a large house now. It was paid off until recently when I purchased two commercial pads to build a small 8,000 square foot strip mall. I’m in debt again. I will be putting my store in about 3,800 square feet and renting out the rest, planning to use this for my retirement. I still work out three times a week with weights and riding my bike. My favorite shows are reruns of Ally McBeal and Sex and the City.




Chapter Six
Why Poker



I was nineteen—and Harrah’s first opened in Arizona. Bruce and I were psyched and went out there to play the slot machines. Having lost all of our money we had set aside for slots, we wandered through the casino trying to find something else to do. We found an instructional table of seven-card stud for free, with fake money. After a little persuasion I talked Bruce into sitting down. We learned how to play right then and there. I was not hooked yet. Marques, the instructor that day, advised me on how and what to play. I was doing so well he convinced me to enter a tournament to get some cheap, free practice. I entered the “name” tournament that day. A week later I won second place and approximately $800. That’s when I got hooked, and I’ve been playing ever since.
Why do I love poker? To me, it’s like a great big party that doesn’t end until you want it to. You can come and play any time you want, day or night. If you play the same casino, you will always recognize many of the players and most of the dealers. Like going to a local place, it has a sense of camaraderie. Over the years, all these people have become friends. Most people know me by my first name. Now I am known all over the world because of poker. I have many friends in Europe, Australia, Canada, France, and many other countries—all thanks to poker. I love the sensation of my heart in a flutter when I get a great hand. I love the adrenalin from check-raising, re-raising, folding, and bluffing. It is an incredible drug I cannot get enough of—but I am sensible enough to know when to stop. I know all of the world champions and have played against most of them in poker tournaments on “my” same table. I consider myself a professional poker player because when I tally my wins against my losses, I’m in the black. My favorite casino is any one that has a Texas Hold ‘em game.
Women should love playing poker. Their husbands or boyfriends could stay playing longer—which they would love—and since there are not as many women poker players we do get all of the attention. Everyone is so nice to me.
Back to poker, being a woman playing poker has its difficulties. It seems especially that, with blonde hair, most men figure I don’t know how to play. Bluffing is sometimes impossible with many of the gentlemen because they always assume that I don’t know what I have or that I don’t have anything. In turn, I will then have to play very conservatively because they will call me down. I will need to have the best hand, but again, they will drop because I have to play so conservatively they will know I have a hand. This relates to the good players, of course.
The comical thing about being a woman playing poker is that some men are such gentlemen that they will not raise me or even bet. I will think I have a good hand and keep betting, and then they turn over this monstrous hand. I was the one betting . . . they were nicely checking as gentlemen. Oops. This is confusing. When men check (which means they are not trying to “raise” me,) I think they are weak and I will bet, but a lot of times they are strong and just being nice to the “little lady.” So, the button advantage is different for me because of this. I don’t mind. I love everything about poker, and I understand that many of the men don’t like a woman playing poker. They feel it’s a man’s game. I’m just glad to be a part of the action and am having the time of my life. And, as you can see . . . I am no “dumb blonde.” I have to think through all the various possibilities at the table in order to win the way I do.










Chapter Seven
Strip Clubs


As a girl, maybe a little too liberated, I would accompany my man to strip clubs. The funniest of thing is, knowing that he could go made him not as interested in going. I think one of the reasons guys go is because it is often considered a taboo. Not all guys I am sure. But if you can get on an equal standing on this issue with your man, I think they won’t want to go. I might have been more of a party pooper when we would go to strip clubs. Not that I meant to be, but I would say things his guy friends probably wouldn’t say. I would always sit right up front closest to the rail because I wanted to get the best view. Guys that are sometimes shy or cheap try to sit back so that they don’t have to tip each dancer that appears on the stage. Not me! I tipped each dancer and would get so much attention because girls get bigger tips if they are teasing girls especially in the audience. The girls would put dollars on my head and remove them with their breasts. Make me put the dirty money in my mouth and removed it with their breasts. I would get a kick out of it and had so much fun. I was amazed what they would do for a dollar. I would get bored right away and be like “come on, get the next dancer out on the stage.” The guys liked to watch because when a girl would do such a thing I was so embarrassed I would close my eyes and never watch. This made it I guess even more exciting for them. However, I never did get a lap dance from a girl. That was just too much for me.
I remember one night in Vegas a girl came by and asked if Bruce wanted a dance. He looked at me and I said sure—let’s go for it! Bruce usually just wouldn’t spend $20 for a lap dance, but this night I said how much for both of us and she said double. So we went into a private room, and she danced for both of us. Her breasts were huge, and she was blonde. She did more pounding then dancing which I guess if I had a guy part it would have been good but on a girl it was mostly annoying. I wanted her to do some dance so I could learn how to do it for Bruce in our own home. It was fun and it lasted a whole five minutes or less and we went back out to the floor.
I had my rules even though we were in a club. A few years later, we were at the same club and a girl that Bruce had mentioned was beautiful asked if he wanted a dance. It is difficult for your man in a club to not say anything to upset you. It is already a slightly tense situation. It was fun when I was getting the attention, but it was better when he was not. That is why it is tough for your guy to have as much fun as they would on their own when they are inhibited and not worried about what you are thinking. He mentioned that one girl was gorgeous and she had dark long black hair and was pierced everywhere. This was an all nude strip club so when I mean everywhere, I mean everywhere. Instead of enjoying that he was having a good time, I was thinking, “Okay, you fucking want me to change my hair color—done! You fucking want me to get my nipples pierced—done!” I agreed that he could have a lap dance, and he willingly went. We had been to this club many times. When we were in sin city and feeling crazy, I had watched many of guys get lap dances, and you could see them in little booths across from the stage. They would barely play a song and the guy would be back in his chair. My guy left and figuring he would be the same as the other twenty fellows in the club, he told me he’d “be right back.” I didn’t watch him walk away and turned back to the stage. I had been in the booth and nothing had gone on when I was there. One song played and he did not return. Two songs played and he did not return. Three songs played, and by this song I was searching with my eyes to figure out where the heck he was. By the fourth song I was out of there.
I went to the front door and jumped in a cab and left. I went back to the hotel and believed that was the last night we were
going to be together. Getting back to the hotel without a key, in a rip-roaring mood, I had to prove my credentials to get a room key. When he finally arrived back at the hotel a half hour later, I was already packed and overly pissed.
He was freaked as well, Looking back on it a little humorously; the hotel had changed the door key, so his key didn’t work any longer!
I said the first thing that came into my mind. “What took you so long? Your credit card wouldn’t go through?”
Bruce replied, “No, Jill Ann, I couldn’t believe you had really left so I went searching all over the place for you. That is when I asked the door guy if he had seen a big-breasted blonde with a blue dress and heels. He informed me that you had left in a cab.”
I was pissed and screamed “It’s over!”
Trying to defend himself he insisted, “Jill Ann, I didn’t have
sex with her. Please don’t be so upset.”
I retorted with my hands on hips, “I waited over four songs and
you didn’t return.”
Again with the excuses he replied, “She made me buy her a drink first and then she talked and I just wanted a dance.”
I just didn’t believe him and snapped, “Whatever.”
He demanded, “You have to believe me. I would never do
anything to jeopardize our relationship.”
I was so angry, I just said, “Fuck you.”
We went back and forth for some time and after much manipulation we ended up having sex. He argued that he would not have been able to perform within an hour’s time if he did anything with that girl and that this would prove it.
I don’t think I had ever been that crazed before and haven’t since. But the combination of tons of alcohol and a naked girl missing with my man was too much for me to take. However, I did know he was speaking the truth. Bruce was older than I was, and his “return time” after sex was usually at least five hours. He said firmly, “We are not going to go to any more strip clubs.” I said, “No, the strip clubs have not been a problem, but back room dancing was! If you want to have a lap dance then it is in front of me not in some shady back room.” He said “I’m just not going to any more strip clubs.”
Of course we have been since, but he has yet to have a lap dance in a private room or even in front of me and we have only gone lately with friends and other couples. I guess I am liberated, but only within certain boundaries.


Chapter Eight
My Playboy Photo Shoot in Chicago


Why pose for Playboy? As I mentioned before, I was getting older and most people I met thought I had posed for them! So I thought I better do it before it’s too late! You know, it kind of reminds me of when Samantha posed in the nude on Sex and the City. In that episode, she decided to get nude photos taken of herself. Of course, her three pals thought this was a little odd. But Samantha said something like when she was ninety and her ass was falling, she could look back on those pictures and think, I was hot. I guess I honestly was just embracing the idea that this was something I wanted to do. Mainly I really wanted to go to the Playboy mansion and go to some of those crazy parties!
You may think the exciting life of a woman gambler, would be enough. Actually, poker just wasn’t respected as a sport a few years back or even as popular as it is today. The poker world has had a real transformation and acceptability like no other time in history. Just think, there are currently two prime TV shows based in Las Vegas. Fortunately, there is a real poker boom for kids of all ages happening now, but just a few years ago it wasn’t as mainstream. Now there are so many websites catering to poker players. Mine, of course, is one of the better ones. Check it out: www.jillannpoker.com. But five years ago, it just wasn’t the be-all end-all for parties and exposure. Don’t get me wrong, I love poker and fortunately, I am very successful player. I do love winning! And especially when I am the only woman at the table. Men get so distracted by a blonde with big tits! It’s my secret advantage, I guess.
And then I thought about what my mother taught me, and I’m sticking to it. Keep him tired, and he won’t cheat. Let him look. What’s the harm? So I tried to follow the rules of plenty of water, sex, and food—the basic necessities for a man. If you tell men they cannot look, they look more or become obsessed that they can’t look! Just like a schoolgirl not being able to wear makeup and putting it on when she gets to school and washing it off before she returns home. So what did I do? I ordered Playboy television and Playboy magazine. I took him to any strip bar that he wanted to see. This way I wouldn’t wonder what he was doing there. I got to see it up close.
I always enjoyed the jokes in the Playboy magazines but never had read an article in them. Does anyone? I would look at all the pictures in the magazine and wonder what it would be like. My favorite part was the front section “Hanging with Hef,” which would have tons of pictures of Hef with celebrities and Playmates hanging out at the mansion. They looked like they were having so much fun! I guess I just wanted more than a glimpse of the world I had seen in the pages of a magazine—a fantasy come to life. I always felt I was the girl next door type that Playboy is famous for. I am very honest, down to earth, and feel that everyone has something good inside.
I had already done all the hard work and was really getting my body in excellent shape. So it was finally time to start working harder on obtaining my goal of getting in to Playboy. Seeking out all the information, and finding all the ways I could penetrate the Playboy scene. Remember, too, that my store was self-sufficient. That’s not to say I didn’t have to oversee it, but frankly, I had the leisure time to play! I had the leisure time to try to obtain this goal. If I had been working sixty hours a week, I probably wouldn’t have even had the energy, but I was lucky enough to have worked so hard when I was younger, and now I could take a few months and just try to do this.
It seems being a well-known Poker Player along with my gorgeous body got me the attention I needed to succeed.

* * * * *

While I started planning my Playboy debut, I also entered to play in the World Series of Poker (WSP) and the Tournament of Champions (TOC). I had not previously entered one of these large events yet, as I had been preparing in the smaller tournaments in Vegas to make sure I was ready.

I needed exposure and decided to set my sights on making it on the cover of Poker Digest first. I knew that if I was going to make the cover that the picture would have to be terrific. So I started working up an idea that would be so good that they would want me to be on their cover. I also decided that if I was going to submit my pictures to Playboy that I would want them as great as they could be, not from my own personal camera with whatever lighting was in the room. I realized that this was the perfect opportunity to do both at the same time, a perfect shot for Poker Digest and a great nude for Playboy. I decided to stage my own photo shoot. Again, I am the type of person who believes you can take control of your own destiny. I called my favorite makeup artist who had originally helped me to learn how to improve my skills and told her what I had in mind. She recommended a photographer, and we discussed all the details and plans for the photo shoot including the pricing, which was huge but I had no choice if I was to achieve my goal! To save some money we did the photo shoot at my house.
I tried hard to explain my goals to all the people involved. I had the perfect purple card table and all the props to play poker. I was so excited—it was all coming together. If you can imagine this, I had every centerfold I ever loved opened out on top of the pool table for inspiration. I practiced how to stand, and tried to emulate the pictures Playboy had published. I had tried on every high-heeled pair of shoes I owned for the shoot. Both the photographer and Bruce had the final decision on the shoe selection. And I have to say, it was very empowering to be in control of my own shoot. I was the boss!
This was the second time ever in my life I posed nude. And I must say it was very exciting. The makeup artist spent about an hour working on me. However, once I started working with the photographer it seemed he was inexperienced, and I am sorry to say unprofessional.
Everything was there, so even thought I sensed he didn’t know what he was doing, I just couldn’t walk away now. I thought for sure we could get some great shots of me playing cards, but I knew we also needed the shot that I was planning to send to Playboy. After a while I got a little anxious. Just about the entire shoot his equipment continued to fail or the flash would not go off. He didn’t seem to know how a woman should look or how I should angle myself. I would show him a few pictures in the Playboy magazine and never once did he suggest tilting my head or angling this way or that, etc. I had told him prior to the shoot what I was looking for but he just was not crafty enough to run his own equipment and set up a shot. I was so disappointed in this photographer. I had the vision that I wanted, but it just wasn’t going to happen with this guy. He gave me all the rolls of film and told me the best place to have them developed. When I got them back they were mostly dark, without light, it was a waste of time and money. I was so disappointed! It seems I had the brains and imagination to stage this shoot, but I couldn’t very well take the pictures myself!
About this time, I heard back from Suzi Simpson. This is her email from January 31st, 2001.

Hi Jill!
I just found this e-mail. So sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. I get over 600 e-mails a day . . . a bit overwhelming. Anyways I hope they loved you! I’ve seen them reject goddesses and wonder to myself how I ever made it. I’d be happy to put you on my site if that would help you get traffic back to yours!

I responded on 2-2-01:

Dear Suzi,
I got turned down. I got my regret letter about a week later. I really felt that I had a chance since the photographer said that they would be calling me the next day or first thing the following Monday. Then when Wednesday came and no one had called I spoke to the lady who writes the regret letters and said that she did not understand why the photographer said this, that they contact everyone by mail and it would be about two weeks, and then the following week I got the letter from her saying no. I have not given up though, I just had some other pictures taken, and I am going to send them in again. This is what she suggested doing; just keep sending them in, so I am. That is so nice of you to offer to put me on your site; I will think about this. I don’t have a site at all, but if I get one, I will sure take you up on it. I will put you on my site also. I will write and tell you the latest news. Thanks for all of your support. I really want to just some day go to the Playboy mansion, I just have dreamed about it, and this is the main reason that I wanted to pose—just to go. I want to see the grounds, the mansion, the exotic animals, and just what goes on there. I went to bid on being able to go to the mansion on Playboyauction.com but it goes for $10,000 almost every time! This is what gave me the idea to pose and I thought that maybe I wouldn’t have to pay the $10,000. I want to go before I get married because I probably won’t be allowed to go after I’m married. Well, lots of love and luck.

About a month later, she responded on 3-1-01:

Hi Jill!
There’s an event coming up in April called “Road to the Playboy Mansion.” Check it out because if you know any corporate people it’s a tax write-off and you could be their “Hot Date.” I’m going to be there working, and it should be one heck of a party. It’s impossible to get in anymore, but this could be a good way and if Hef saw you maybe he’d pick you to be a centerfold.
You’re pretty, don’t give up! Suzi

I didn’t go to the event, but it was nice that she thought of me. Again, I was fooled . . . I thought everyone would be like Suzi. I thought there was a “sisterhood” of Playmates. I also took heart from her telling me not to give up. She could just have easily written, “Oh, it’s such a shame. Too bad. “But instead she seemed to think I had that unmistakable “something.”
So, I sent a few of the pictures that I liked best and the story to the writer for Poker Digest. He submitted the story, and the edgy, sexy profile on me was a hit. The writer did get many of the facts incorrect all the way down to stating my dog’s name was Aces. Who knows how he dreamed up this name, as my dog’s name has always been Holdem. The magazine was perfect. I had made the cover, and to top it off, it was during the biggest two weeks in poker—Binion’s World Series of Poker, where every champion from far and wide attended—and there was my picture on the cover. When I went to Binion’s, not only did I sign autographs and take pictures with everyone, I was a semi-celebrity. It was terrific. The magazine came out April 20-May 3, 2001, Vol. 4/No. 9 $2.95. I was on the top of a purple card table and the cover read “Poker’s Wonder Girl Jill Ann Spaulding: Advantages and Disadvantages of being a Female Poker Player.” It was a four-page article with full color pictures. It was just what I needed. I was so excited to try again. Loaded with my Poker Digest magazine and my nude photos taken from the same photo shoot, I was ready to send my submission to Playboy. I contacted the writer from Poker Digest and told him I was ready for him to write the letter for me to Playboy. We e-mailed back and forth and came up with the following:

I just discovered a poker player who wins major tournaments—and she’s gorgeous!
You’re probably aware that poker is the most popular card game in America, and its appeal is growing internationally, as is evidenced by the growing number of poker tournaments in England, Australia, Germany, France, and the Caribbean. Although more men than women enjoy the game, its appeal is spreading to the fairer sex.
Jill Ann Spaulding is a stunning blonde whose measurements are 38–24–35 and are proof of the game’s popularity.
The enclosed article and photos speak for themselves. Jill Ann is a very unusual woman who would, I feel, make a welcome contribution to your magazine.
1. She has an incredible body and has cover girl good looks. The editors of POKER DIGEST felt that was the case, and I hoped you agree.
2. She works out regularly to keep in shape.
3. By age eighteen, she had saved enough money to buy her own home and launched a successful business
4. She began playing poker and got so good at it she became a professional, traveling many months out of the year playing in major poker tournaments. Her ambition: to win the World Series of Poker. She knows poker players all over the world, and is acquainted with many poker legends including
Amarillo Slim Preston, Puggy Pearson, Oklahoma Johnny Hale, John Bonetti, Tom McEvoy, Johnny Chan, T.J. Cloutier and Phil Hellmuth, who, at twenty-four, became the youngest person to ever win the World Series of Poker.
Would Playboy be interested in doing a photo article on Spaulding? I believe your readers would be interested in her philosophy that older men make better lovers. Her skill in a male-dominated game and a disciplined training program that has given her a perfectly proportioned body would also appeal to Playboy readers. I am a journalist and magazine writer with some
2,400 articles published in PEOPLE WEEKLY (I served as Arizona correspondent for eight years), WESTERN HORSEMAN, FORD TIME, SKI MAGAZINE, TV TIME, and ALASKAN AIRWAYS, HUSTLER, THE STAR, ENQUIRER, SEX OLOGY and many other publications.
If you are interest in pursuing the project you can call me at XXX-XXXX or e-mail me at xxx@xxx.com. I would appreciate the return of the enclosed photos when you are finished with them. Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Geno Lawrenzi
Director of Marketing-Publicity

I received two regret letters. I sent the above letter to the Chicago office and also to the Santa Monica office. The letters were almost the same as the one I got from the first Playmate test. Basically, they reminded me how fierce the competition was . . . and I was just not quite right.
I waited about three month’s of the same year around July or August and sent them again and received the same response.
I resubmitted them again the first of February and received a very similar response thanking me for submitting . . . but no.
To top it off the photographer that I had paid so much to do the shoots was suing me and Poker Digest for using his pictures without paying him additional fees. This was such bull crap because he was informed what the pictures were going to be used for ahead of time. That they were going to be shot for the cover and inside the magazine. I told him that is why I had hired him because they aren’t photographers, they asked me to send in pictures of myself and that was what they were gong to print. I wanted the pictures so great they would have to use them for the cover. Poker Digest paid the creep and I had to sign saying I would not use the pictures without his knowledge prior to print. This was one thing I learned since this was my first staged photo shoot—get everything in writing because there are many starving photographers and even though they tell you one thing they have the rights to your photos if you don’t have them sign an agreement. Even though it was verbal, his lawyer scared me enough to just agree to whatever he said.
Well, with all of the surgeries, the frustration, the pain, the workouts, the let-down, I decided to submit my pictures to www.Playboy.com. I had only submitted to Playboy for Playmate or for an inside article in the magazine. I really did not want to do Playboy.com. The magazine was the pinnacle. Twelve women a year are chosen, so there was something about that cache. However, it was the year 2000 when I started this venture, and now it was 2002! Not that I knew I would be chosen, but looking at the competition, I felt that it was a much easier option based on four girls online a month, and overall fifty-two girls a year—instead of twelve for the entire year for the magazine. (Hey, as a poker player, I know all about the odds, and my chances online were better!) I had this article that I had printed out from many months prior so I decided to submit my Poker Digest magazine, the following letter and three pictures of me nude.
ACTUAL AD THAT WAS ON THE PLAYBOY WEBSITE:

MODEL SEARCH
Playboy.com is looking for women 18 and older for upcoming pictorials, features and other modeling opportunities. Please send photos – preferably a full body shot and a headshot – in any format, demonstrating your finest features and a clear copy of a photo ID that shows date of birth. Send them to Jill Norton, Photo Editor, Playboy Online, 680 N. Lake Shore Drive 14th Floor, Chicago, Il 60611. While nudity is not required, it is preferred. Please include any information about yourself that may be interesting to us. Selected candidates will be brought in to our Chicago offices to be tested by a Playboy.com photographer.
I sent my letter to Jill Norton and called about a week later to follow up to see if she had received my pictures, letter, and magazine only to find out that she was no longer with the company. They gave me two different names that had taken over her department: John Thomas and Chad Doering. I immediately made two new packages with my pictures, letter, and magazine
for these two gentlemen. I sent the packages certified mail, return receipt requested, on February 6, 2002.

Dear (Jill Norton, John Thomas, and Chad Doering):
I would love to become a cyber Playboy.com girl. I am 5’7’ blonde hair, blue eyes, 118 pounds 38-24-35. What makes me unique is that I am Poker’s Wonder Girl. I am one of the most famous women poker players and I was recently (April 2001) put on the cover of Poker Digest, a nationwide magazine, with a full-page story about my life. I know that I am thirty-one and it is probably over your age limit, but many of the most beautiful photographed women in the world are around my age (Jennifer Lopez 31, Lucy Liu 33, Faith Hill 34, Nicole Kidman 34, Ashley Judd 33, Mariah Carey 32, Gwyneth Paltrow 29, Sarah Jessica Parker 36, Julia Roberts 34, and Cameron Diaz 29). A recent playmate was twenty-nine (Tina Marie Jordan). Please make an exception. I am willing to travel at my expense, take off whatever time is necessary for events.

The same day I sent the letters to Playboy.com, I sent a letter to Hugh Hefner with just one nude photo and the following:

Dear Hef:
I would love to be invited to one of your parties. I am single, 5’7” with blonde hair, blue eyes, 118 pounds 38-24-35. What makes me unique is that I am Poker Digest’s Wonder Girl. I am one of the most famous women poker players, and I was featured on the cover of April 2001 Poker Digest, a nationwide magazine with a full-page story about my life.
With love,
Jill Ann Spaulding.

It finally happened. I remember the call. I was upstairs in my office when the phone rang, and Chad Doering was on the line saying that they would like to do a special on me about my poker skills, and he told me it paid $750 for the day and that they would be flying me to Chicago to do the shoot. They would take care of all the expenses.
I was so excited, but tried to stay calm. I had a totally positive attitude. I said, “Let’s do it.” Chad said it would be in about two to three weeks. I took his number and thanked him. I went out into the hallway and started screaming! “Guess who called! Guess who called!” I shouted to Bruce. He could not guess. I said, “Playboy! They want me for a shoot in two to three weeks in Chicago!”
Bruce gave me a great big hug and said that I deserved it. I had worked so hard and kept at it, and he was so proud of me. Of course, there was no real celebrating—the working out and diet were on! I had been slacking because I had basically given up. I called Trent Clark, my trainer, and told him the news and he started coming over two to four times a week all the way up to the shoot to get me prepared. He mapped out a diet plan for me (not losing weight, but building muscle by increasing protein). I could eat whatever I wanted as long as it was on the list Trent gave me.
It was a long weekend, and I was excited about Chad Doering calling me back. This happened to be the same time we were going to Vegas with Bruce’s parents. We drove to Vegas Sunday; no one called on Monday. Tuesday came and I had just gone into the restroom and handed the phone to Bruce, and Chad called asking for Joan, Bruce said sorry no Joan. They both hung up. A few minutes later the phone rang again, and Chad asked for Joan again. Bruce said, “No Joan. Maybe you mean Jill Ann?”
“That’s it . . . sorry,” Chad said. Bruce put me on the phone. Chad apologized for calling me by the wrong name; he told me my shoot was scheduled for 3/4/02 to 3/5/02.
“Is that okay, Jill Ann?”
Of course, even if I had to reschedule something it would have been okay! Chad said he would call me back with the flight times. About two hours later, we were in our hotel room, and Chad called and I wrote down all of the times etc. After we hung up, I was so excited. I called my grandma and told her right away. She was very excited for me. I finished the trip to Vegas on cloud nine (of course, I did stick to my diet the entire trip!). When we finally got back, I called Chad and finalized a few things (how to do my nails, hair, bikini line, etc.) About four days later, Penny Ekkert called and told me that Chad would be gone for awhile and she was taking over. I was suddenly terrified; I figured he got fired and now, after I had already been through a couple of disappointments, I might not get chosen because of the change in personnel. Everything that Chad had told me was slightly different from what
Penny Ekkert told me. I was so confused. Chad told me no bikini line, Penny told me that I must have a bikini line because completely bare in the pubic area was too revealing for Playboy. At the time, I had no hair so I knew I had to grow it back right away. They told me short, natural-looking nails (and color clear). About four days before the shoot was to happen, I still did not have plane tickets, or information on where I was staying. I was very concerned that it would be canceled at any time. Finally the packet came from Penny Ekkert.
I was glad and finally asked her what had happened to Chad.
“Did he quit or get fired?”
“Who told you that,” she asked
I said no one. The real story was Peggy said she had no way of calling or contacting him before my shoot. This didn’t sound good. She then said Chad was actually photographing Miss Cyber Girl of the Year in some exotic Mexican locale. I was so relieved Chad wasn’t gone. I ate correctly and exercised for the two and a half weeks prior to the shoot. I started to believe that this was finally coming true.
Believe it or not, while I was preparing for my shoot, Hugh Hefner himself wrote back:

February 27, 2002
Dear Jill:
With that impressive nude photo, I feel obliged to put you on our party list.
See you soon.
Love, Hef
Hugh M. Hefner
HMH/dr


I was amazed. It was as if all these dreams in my life were coming true at the same time.
To get ready for the shoot, I had Jenny at Ulta Source color my roots. I had Connie do my eyebrows, lip, and chin. I had a lady named Claudia do my bikini line, underarms, and a facial. I had my nails done and used Perfect Tan for that sun-blushed look. I was set and boarded the plane with the tickets Playboy sent me.
After the flight, I went down the escalators to find a large sign saying “Jill Spaulding.” The man holding the sign called for them to bring the car around. The driver offered me any of several beverages; I accepted water. I called Bruce and my grandparents to let them know I had arrived safely. The driver let me out at the front door of the hotel, and I checked in.
Believe it or not, to give you some idea of how sheltered I was in many ways, I asked one of the front desk gentlemen to walk me to the room. I was scared. I had not stayed in a hotel alone or anywhere alone and was a little worried about my safety. The young man walked me to my room. I pushed a chair up to the door so that the door could not be opened and felt much safer. I let my family know that I was locked safely in the room. It was already
11:00 p.m., and I needed to get sleep, but I also had to have my legs and body freshly-shaved for the mornings shoot. I had to use little water as to not remove my tan, but be careful to make sure I did not cut myself in any place. Overwhelmed by the event, my eyes were bloodshot. They looked awful. I think the anticipation and a mixture of fear took over me, and I had not slept well in a few nights. Thank goodness for eye drops.
That night, I did not sleep well. Like a lot of people in a long-term relationship, I slept differently without Bruce there. Worse, the hotel did not give me the wakeup call that I had asked for. Luckily my grandma and Bruce both made sure to call me at the time I was to wake up. I ate a banana that I had brought with me and grabbed another one when leaving the hotel.
Next I took a cab to Playboy Headquarters. The driver seemed to know exactly where it was. My heels clicked on the marble floors as I made my way to the appointed floor, my heart beating rapidly. The receptionist on the 15th floor was very nice, and after I gave her my name she said someone would be with me shortly.
“You must be the poker girl.”
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“I’ve seen your set. It looks very cool.”
We chatted for a little while. I had to sit there without any makeup while the entire crew from Playboy entered to go into their desk areas. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t mind (as I said, I used to wear very little makeup), but here at Playboy headquarters, I knew some of the most beautiful and sexy women in the world—household names!—walked through those doors. The receptionist offered me Playboy magazines to take home, but I already had those. I showed her my pictures of my Playboy poolroom with the eight-foot by eight foot bunny on the wall and all the autographed pictures. She was very enthused about them.
At about 9:15, they took me to the studio where the makeup artist was waiting for me. She was very nice.
“Take all your clothes off and put on the robe hanging there. I’ll be back shortly.”
She took me to another dressing room filed with hundreds and hundreds of outfits, belts, shoes, and more and showed me some outfits that she had picked out that she thought I would look great in. They were mostly gold. I never wore gold and couldn’t imagine why it would look good on me now. She was persistent on a particular one, and I tried to trust her expertise. We returned to the makeup station, and she put hot rollers in my hair. As soon as she was done, she started on the makeup. The photographer came down and introduced himself as George Georgiou. Then Chad introduced himself—he popped in and out of the shoot from time to time, though he mainly shot things on location.
It seemed like hardly any time had passed, and I was ready. The surprising thing was she did my make up in less than a half hour. I looked in the mirror, and it looked like I had hardly any makeup on, including my lips were not very pouty (full and overdrawn). I didn’t feel like I was able to tell her how to do my makeup specially since I wasn’t an expert, but I was surprised it did not look much different from when I did my own makeup. I noticed some mascara on my top eyelid and showed it to her. She said, “Oh, they will airbrush that out.”
For my outfit, I was offered gold stretch pants about three times the size of me, G-string underwear, a bustier with little hose that attached an additional bra, a gold shirt, belt, bracelet, necklace, and earrings. To me, it was not flattering and the gold stretch pants were so huge they looked like a skirt than a pair of pants. I wasn’t feeling necessarily sexy in this get-up but felt that Playboy is the one that makes the rules. I didn’t speak out to try and get an outfit that made me feel sexier.
Finally, they were ready for me out on the set. It was very cute with a velvet-looking red background. Everyone introduced himself or herself. Pat, the makeup artist/stylist/wardrobe, stayed on the set the entire time. Brynne Rinderknecht was the set coordinator. George Georgious was the photographer, and David
Goodman was his light man. Chad came down a few times to check on how it was going. The shoot area was very dark, which made me feel very comfortable. It was seductive somehow, intimate. The photographer showed me where to stand and what poses they would like. Before each roll of film they took a Polaroid to check the lighting. They showed me the pose and then would tell me for each picture to just slightly move my head, mouth, and arms to make each picture slightly different. It was really helpful, and I could tell they knew what look they were looking for and what position was best and they were going to make sure I got into it. I felt like I was in very capable hands. They told me to undress slowly. Instructing me to not take off but one item at a time and that one item to only partially take off as they slowly photographed it in many different positions till it had came off. The photographer would tell me the pose, come up and help me achieve it. This went on for nineteen rolls of film. I felt very confident. I was in good shape, and I felt I looked like a real Playmate, and that confidence made this whole experience much easier. The confidence showed through.
We broke for lunch, and I still had not even bared my stomach. I was told that Stephanie Heinrich had worn these same pants in another shoot. I said, “Isn’t she one of Hef’s girlfriends?” They said she use to be, but she had recently moved out. One person looked at the other person and said, “Did she leave on good terms or not?”
“Yeah she left on good terms.”
I said, “I can’t believe she wore those pants. She is so skinny.”
They started to laugh. “Oh my, gosh, that girl gets so fat and balloons out. We had to send her home to lose weight. We were supposed to shoot her, and we just couldn’t. She just fluctuates in weight so drastically.” I was excited to hear another girl struggling with her weight. At least she was human. I think many of people think Playmates are inhuman, just objects, or different from the rest of us.
I brought my letter from Hef with me to Chicago, thinking they would somehow be nicer to me knowing that Hef approved of me and was inviting me to his party. It didn’t go over well at all. Most of them had worked for Playboy for a long time and never had been invited to the mansion. The few times that they had gone were only for work, and they were forced to leave before the festivities started. A not-happy glow went through the room, and a very outspoken crowd started talking among themselves complaining about the Mansion. Not at one time had they ever been invited just for a good time or to be shown a good time for their hard work. They were irritated and going off. I felt they were jealous that I was getting to go, almost pissed that I was going.
I felt like creeping away to a hidden area and hoping that they forgot what I had shown them. Suddenly I felt out of place and uncomfortable following their reaction. They got into a huge discussion about it and were very upset.
I couldn’t understand what the problem was, but apparently I was it. Instead of being impressed by my invitation, they were quite petty, accusing me of using them. Worse, nothing could have been further from the truth! I don’t live my life that way.
Lunch ended, and Pat touched up my makeup. We finished the rest of the shoot. After the nudity was done, I figured I was finished.
Then Chad asked, “Do you mind slipping on this visor, shirt and underwear? Afterwards we are going to have you sign them and auction them off on our website.”
I was thrilled. “How exciting . . . of course!”
I knew was going to have fans. I felt like I was embarking on a whole new life! They gave me a regular marker instead of a marker designed for signing clothes. Every stroke I made trying to sign my name had to be gone over because the pen caught on the material. My handwriting didn’t look very good, but I continued to sign them anyway. It was exciting just getting to sign something. Then the light guy told me that the pictures were done.
“Do you want to see them?”
“Absolutely!” I followed him into the photography room. A lady in there got really angry that I was in there. “She’s not to be in here!” The photographer was quickly reviewing the negatives with an eyeglass. I looked only for a second and returned to the lunch area of the studio, not wanting to upset anyone in the photography room. I never got a tour of the place and pretty well stayed down in the basement the entire day till someone came and got me to leave. No one was down there but me. I sat at a fold-up table in a sort of lunch room area waiting for someone to come down and get me.
A freshly polished Town Car with leather seats was waiting to take me to the airport. While waiting to board I still had a lot of makeup on and people were staring at me. I was wearing an “I Love Playboy” shirt! Two people asked if I was a Playboy girl. I said I was and gave out two autographs. It was fun. I even had some guy who was traveling on the same flight take a picture of me so he could remember what I looked like.
I was instructed after returning home that I needed to write an article for my Playboy.com pictorial about Texas Hold ‘em. I ended up getting a writer who unfortunately had no concept at all about how to play the game. I guess, because I am a
naturally good player and have done so well with it that I didn’t realize how complex the game was until I had to explain it to someone who had no knowledge of it. I realized how much experience I had throughout the years and that I was a very educated Texas Hold ‘em player. I put together an initial
article for Blair R. Fischer, the man from Playboy who requested it, closing with:
“…I could write a huge book. There are so many details of each one of the ideas I have presented here. I just tried to keep it simple—similar to the pool and tennis article so not to overwhelm the readers who are not advanced Hold ‘em players. If more detail is needed or wanted I can provide a million different small or large details of this very exciting and fast-paced game…”
Blair responded weeks after I had e-mailed him, saying that my draft was too focused and he needed something more for the layperson, the guy who knew nothing about poker. The article needed to be more general. This is the second draft I wrote —friendly and easy:
“Hi guys. I am a professional poker player, but I am going to teach you how to have a great time, win money and not have to know all of the ins and outs of poker. When I go to Vegas, I like the free drinks and the fun of chatting with everyone at the table. This makes it very hard to be a great player. Mix alcohol and talking and you are not paying attention; you are easy pickings for the professional poker player. When I am in this mood—just there to have a good time, let loose, flirt and joke—I do the following: Don’t play too many hands. Just play large pocket pairs and large suited connectors (Ace and King in the same suit, King and Queen in the same suit, etc.). Enjoy the conversation, the free drinks, and the great time of playing poker. If you follow my hand selection guide you will not only have a great time, you will also be a winner at the game.
2. The higher the limit the more advanced the players get, stick to the smaller games and there will be more weekend warriors out to have a good time. They are less serious, you won’t win as much, but you can’t lose as much either and, with the professional skills of the advanced players, stick to the lower limits.
3. Making friends at the poker table is going to always happen. I have the problem with talking with everyone and then I don’t want to take his or her money. On nights that you are out to have a good time, that’s fine. If you are really serious about winning and being a pro, no talking, no drinking, no fun—all business.
4. Know your players. Just because they are blonde and blue-eyed does not mean they haven’t been playing for a long time. Know which players you can bluff, raise, or just know when you need to get out of the hand. Categorize your players when you sit down at the table. This will make it easier for you to know who to call, bluff, or raise.
a. Conservative: You can easily make this player lay down a better hand than you have because he may think you have him beat and the extra money of a check raise or re-raise will often make him fold.
b. Weekend Warriors: This player is here to play. They have worked all week and no matter what you can bet they are not getting out—this is not a player to bluff.
c. Pro: He knows you are capable of bluffing so he is going to figure you out. Bluffing works on a now and then basis with this player. Raising and check raising can only work if they are trying to make a move on you.
5. Why play poker? It is a game where you have the advantages against the house (the casino). You are actually playing the players at the table, not the casino. The house does take a drop, but it is very minimal compared to slots and other table games. You can actually win consecutively at poker. It is not
so much a game of chance like a slot machine. You decide your own Bridget Marquardt - The Girls Next Door by what hands you choose to play.

Blair’s response to this was a criticism that the article was now way too friendly and said he’d like to interview me over the phone and try to get the story that way.
When he called me his first question was “If you have a pair, when do you split the pair up and go for a straight or flush?”
“Blair, this is not draw poker.” I had to start at ground zero and try to explain to him the entire game. It was very difficult. I realized then how much I had progressed from an intermediate Hold ‘em player to a pro. I had down all the slang terms like fold, muck, river, turn, and flop. He had never heard them and was very confused. I realized right then how difficult the game was and how much I really knew.

* * * *


Next, in anticipation of going to a party at the Mansion, I had already been to Los Angles to go to the premier place for Lingerie called Trashy Lingerie. It’s where many of the Playmates and party-goers would go to purchase their outfit for Mansion parties. It was also often frequented by Anna Nicole Smith and many other famous gals. I went there feeling like Cinderella picking out the perfect evening gown except this even gown was little left for the imagination. A huge store of custom lingerie was there for the picking, and I found a floor-length nightgown that was so beautiful. Lace and small diamond-like crystals. The gals at the store came out and attached higher shoes to my feet to get the correct height for the train of the dress. With two gals pulling and shifting they pinned my outfit and took measurements of the changes that I wanted. Bringing in the front to hold my breasts in a more upright position to give me support throughout the night. They had matching string bikinis to go with the gown. I thought they were a little too tiny for what I was comfortable with. Finding a pair of boy shorts in see-through lace, they took it down to make a custom pair of boy shorts that were the same color and fabric as the gown. They said they would make the adjustments and Fed Ex the gown to me. I had never had a custom outfit made for me in my life. Not even for my high school prom. When I purchased a prom dress I remember buying one for $10 at a Chinese place and that was the dress I was going to wear. I share that so readers can perhaps understand that for me, I was truly being swept into a world I had never seen up close before.

Chapter Nine
Hef’s Birthday Party


I had received my first letter from Hef inviting me to his birthday party! Based on Hef’s letter, it was coming up, so I was expecting to get an official invitation. Bruce thought that the party list had been made long before I wrote Hef and his staff probably didn’t get a chance to put me on the party list. He suggested that I would probably get on the next one. I read Hef’s letter several times and couldn’t help but think it really seemed as though he was saying how excited he was to have me come. Additions to the list didn’t seem like a problem—a t lest to me—for him to make. I waited for a week or so, hoping to receive an invitation, but without success. I decided to write another letter. And thank goodness I did!

Dear Hef,

I can’t believe you took the time to write back personally. It was a complete shock! I will keep this letter forever. Thank you so much. I so hope that I get invited to your birthday party so that I can wish you Happy Birthday in person, but if you have other plans for me, I will understand. I have been excited to check my mail every day since your letter arrived.

P.S. My photo shoot for Playboy.com is going to be published April 11, 2002. It is going to be under Guy 101 Poker. I teach the guys how to play Texas Hold ‘em—my best game!



A few days later the Playboy Mansion called, telling me I was on the party list. They informed me of the time, date, and dress code. I was so excited I screamed with joy!
The whole experience was so amazing I decided to write my family a letter explaining lots of the details of the party just so I could replay the my visit to the Playboy Mansion for Hugh Hefner’s birthday bash again in my mind. The letter read as follows:

Dear loved ones,

I am writing a letter to all of you so you can read about my adventure to the Playboy Mansion on April 6, 2002, Hugh Hefner’s 76th birthday. To prepare, I had a guy named Jeremy do my hair at 2:15 and Zethina do my makeup at 3:00 at a salon in Scottsdale. From there Bruce and I went to the airport and took a flight out at 5:30 pm to LAX. Commerce Casino, the hotel where we were staying for the night, sent a van to pick us up. We checked in and then went downstairs to get a floor man to see if they would authorize dropping me off at the Playboy Mansion. Luckily, they recognized me from playing tons of poker at their casino, and I had called prior asking for it. It was written on a piece of paper that I would be going. So, at 8:30 the hotel provided us a free limo to UCLA where the pickup point was for the party. The driver did not know where UCLA was! We had the letter with me from Mr. Hefner and his home address so we went to the mansion, but they would not allow the driver to drop us off there. We had to make our way to UCLA. The door person at the mansion told the driver
how to get there, but he didn’t listen and we were lost again. A half-hour trip turned into about 1 hour and 15 minutes.
We got to the destination point at UCLA and then came the big scare— was my name on the list? There was also a huge sign that read NO PERSONAL CAMERAS, so I took my camera out of my purse and gave it to Bruce. The driver and Bruce waited for me to make sure before leaving me there. There were lots of people. They had the alphabet divided up in threes and everyone stood in the line their last name corresponded with. When it was my turn, to my delight, my name was there. I had to show two forms of ID to prove my identity. They stamped my left hand with some kind of stamp. I gave the shuttle driver and Bruce the thumbs up and they drove off.
A man with a Polaroid gave me a number to remember and snapped a picture. He wrote my cell number down and then put my picture with that corresponding number. This way they could decide if they would invite you back to the next party or not, based on looks or whatever. We all piled into an elevator and at the top we got into a shuttle bus that took us to the mansion less than a mile away. They indicated that there was not enough parking for
everyone to drive their own vehicles. The only people allowed to park at the mansion were the stars or close friends.
We entered the gates of the mansion, and it was so beautiful; the entire pathway was lit up with tiny white Christmas lights. When we stopped at the front door and we all got out, they checked each hand for the proper stamp. Through the door there was a coat and purse valet. I chose not to, but the lady suggested I look around first and then decide. I had seen a line of girls when
I first walked in and took my place there. It was a line for a one-stall bathroom. All of us wanted to check our appearance.
It didn’t take long, but while I was in line I asked a girl next to me if this was the only bathroom. She replied “Aren’t you a Playmate? You should know.”
At that point I was in great spirits; felt I really fit in. I could tell right away that almost everyone knew each other and that most of them had come with two or three of their girlfriends. All of the guests seemed to be from California and live pretty close to the mansion. I felt a little nervous, too. Like high school all over again. The mansion was decorated into art deco Old Hollywood. The front entry room was a no-holds-barred techno rave room in what they called the Great Hall. I decided to walk around—see who was there. The dance floor was right near the entrance, and I made my way through the people dancing and found a room filled with desserts—chocolate-covered strawberries, cookies, chocolates and fresh strawberries. I asked two very cute, very young guy waiters if it was alright to be in there. They told me that anywhere was okay. Off of this room there was another with tables with older people drinking. None of them were in lingerie. I passed an open bar where there were many people in line for drinks and a full complement of bartenders serving.
I wandered down some steps and there, to the right, was Hugh Hefner and all of his girlfriends. My heart stopped and I started to forget to breathe for the moment. Suddenly I heard my name called. I turned around to see the photographer from Chicago who had picked me for the shoot—Chad Doering. I was so excited to see him since I didn’t know a soul at the party. He was pleased for me that I had gotten the invitation to the party. He told me to go over to Hef, and he would take my picture and e-mail it to me. So I scooted over to Hef and asked if I could take a picture with him. He stood up and we posed. Then I went right back to Chad. He
showed me what it looked like on his digital camera. I thanked him, and he wished me a good evening. I was off again.
I passed another open bar. I headed to the pool area where there was yet another large open bar. I wandered down another hallway where I found a sauna, steam room, and about three bathroom areas with styling stations. No one was in the pool, but there were a lot of people sitting around it. There were electric heaters everywhere to keep guests warm. Finally, I hooked up
with this beautiful girl named Rhonda. She was a clothing designer, and she happened to make clothes for one of Hefner’s girls. We hit it off and hung out much of the entire night until about 2:30 a.m. when she went home.
We toured the place, doing nothing in particular. She was there with two other girls and knew everyone. I followed them as they made the rounds. I was in line waiting to go to the bathroom again and this friend of Rhonda’s asked what month I was. I told them that this month I was on Playboy.com and that it was my first time at a party; that I had come by myself. They invited me to join them, but I told them I was already forcing Rhonda to take me with her. They laughed and said if I changed my mind I could hang out with them. The rest of the night they waved and said hello as they passed by.
Rhonda started talking to this guy for a long time in one of the sauna rooms so I hung out with some other girls that we had been dancing with. The group was Miss June and her three friends. The party was awesome, and I never felt that anyone was staring at me. The stars were busy talking to whoever was trying to get their attention at the time. Otherwise there was no one kissing or having sex.
It was a fantastic party. The ratio was about one guy for every ten gals. They had two large areas with food that included gigantic shrimp, fruit, and finger sandwiches. There were no speeches, birthday wishes—nothing. I tried to sit down at the Hugh Hefner table with all of the girls. This did not work. I asked Isabella, one of his most beautiful girlfriends, about it and she said the table was only for the current Playmates and his girlfriends. I told her I thought I would ask because many of the girls at the table were not as beautiful as his girlfriends so I thought it would be that anyone could sit down. She smiled and said that was so nice. As I walked away she repeated what I had said to Mr. Hefner, and he chuckled about it. I was being truthful. The table was set for about fifteen and, at the time I asked, there were about four seats open. Can’t say I didn’t try.
I’m sure you’re all wondering if I saw any celebrities. There were a lot of stars there, but I am not the best with names. Many of them I will not even list. I recognized them but could not remember their names. The ones I definitely knew were Weird Al, 24’s Kiefer Sutherland, Scott Baio, Jeanette Jonsson, Jon Lovitz, Snoop Dog and his entire crew, Melissa Rivers, Stephanie
Heinrich, Michelle Rodgers, Michael Bay (this is mentioned right below also), Matthew Perry and David Schwimmer from the TV sitcom “Friends” and Hef’s brother. Drew Barrymore was reportedly there, but I didn’t see her—what a shame!
In addition to all these famous people I also saw Playmate Ava Fabian and Mickey Rourke. Bush frontman, Gavin Rossdale, and video director, Shawn Mortensen, were flanked by the Van Patten brothers, Jimmy and Nels. Pearl Harbor director, Michael Bay and his girlfriend, Playmate Lisa Dergan, wished Hef a happy birthday. I saw, Kato Kalin, Judd Nelson, Kylie Bax, and North by Northwest’s Martin Landau. All of the stars gave me hugs, even the guys. What a rush. They were regular people and seemed excited and very receptive to us talking with them.
I decided to look around the property. I went into the Grotto, which is the secret place at the mansion that everyone talks about. It was an incredible setting surrounded with plants, flowers—orchids in every color and blooming jasmine—and huge granite rocks. Even here, no detail was overlooked, and it had ten huge candles burning to give it atmosphere. It was very humid because it was the size of four or five Jacuzzis all in one room. If you went underwater you could swim out into the pool. There were just a few couples sitting next to each area. There were girls with painted outfits on passing out Jell-o shooters. They were doing this for most of the night until they finally got to join the rest of the party. Though they were wearing nothing but paint, it still covered more than a lot of the other people were wearing.
Everyone was taking pictures, and I could have had the best collection of shots if I hadn’t followed the rules and left the camera behind. I could have taken rolls and rolls. Everything was so amazing. I know I’ll never forget it, but it would have been wonderful to have the pictures. There were two bare-breasted girls wearing g-strings and jewels on their nipples. Otherwise, it was very tame. No one was wearing anything overly revealing—no more so than you would see in an L.A. or Manhattan club. I would say that the bathing suits I see at a local beach were more revealing. I didn’t see anyone flash anyone. I did—twice—one for the movie camera guy when he was filming and one when they took a group picture with me, Hef and his girls. I figured this would be the only way I would make the Playboy mansion party video by doing it. So I did. We shall see. I rented the Playboy Mansion party video before going to the party, and it seemed the only girls that were featured flashed or were very skimpily dressed. That’s why I did it. Okay, so it was a moment of spontaneity!
Of course, there were some more “interesting” people. Some guy said he was a movie producer and wanted to know if I would like to do some acting. I told him no; that I didn’t have the time but thanked him. He pressed a little, saying it paid $40,000 a week. Thanks but no thanks. What a freak! I figured it was probably porn or something. I didn’t have the Hollywood stars in my eyes that badly to get sucked into that. Playboy magazine is one thing—anything else is out of the question.
I stuffed everything I could think of for every contingency into my purse. I brought flip-flops in case the heel of my shoe broke, a change of outfits in case the one I was wearing got ruined, a shower cap in case I wanted to swim and not get my hair wet, my cell phone to call Bruce when to pick me up, lipstick, lip liner, and a black eyeliner pencil. I was prepared for the worst.
I did slip on my flip-flops to head out across the lawn to see his mini zoo. Can you imagine living in a house with your own zoo? And you know what an animal lover I am! Though it was dark and dimly lit there were lots of monkeys and birds of every sort and color. As I pressed into the area further it looked like a fairy tale. It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. A tropical rain forest in the middle of Los Angeles! The landscape was plush and green with that fresh, after-a-rain smell. Little droplets of water were clinging to the leaves, and there was a hush to the place as the waterfalls drowned out the sounds of the party, and beyond that the city noises of L.A. Waterfalls cascaded everywhere. It was so peaceful. I came to a pool with oversized double lounge chairs. I walked around to the front and found tons of gorgeous flowers planted in the center surrounding a fountain.
There were more areas of the mansion and grounds to see than I could wander in a week. I was told it was three stories, 300-rooms on six acres in the ritzy Holmby Hills of California. I hadn’t seen any part of the upstairs or the large guest area that was about as big as the mansion itself. I did get into the TV room where they played movies. I had read about this room and it said Friday nights Hef and his pals watch movies from the 30’s and 40’s. On Monday nights Hef and his pals watch vintage movie serials. I stopped to pause at all the history and celebrities that had been in this room and how many movies had been seen. I decided to leave and called Bruce. While going to find a quiet spot to make a call, there was a waiter playing with a cat that, when I tried to pet it, acted really strangely. Suddenly it thought the bottom of my outfit was a play toy and attacked the train. Eventually it released the fabric and went on its way. I headed out the door and, as soon as I started to move, the cat was back—even more tenaciously than the first time! I was sure the train of my outfit would have holes and pulls in it. It already had stains, from all kinds of drinks, from brushing on the ground. Even with my 6-inch heels, the gown still touched the ground. I did get lots of compliments on the dress from all of the girls.
Miss June left with John Lovitz in his BMW along with her three friends that I had hung out with a lot of the night . . . I took the shuttle home at 4:30 a.m., and Bruce, with a guy from the casino, picked me up and we went back to the casino. We flew home later that day at 1:00 p.m. That was a wrap.
P.S. I talked to Rhonda and asked her if she had noticed on Playboy.com that Drew Barrymore was there; that I didn’t see her. She told me that I had stood right next to her. She was very tiny with reddish hair. Why didn’t you tell me, I asked her? She didn’t know I liked her so much. Next time I will pay closer attention!

That was the letter I sent to my mom, grandparents, Bruce’s parents and some personal friends. I didn’t specify ALL of the details. There were just some things I left out because I forgot, or I felt were a little too risky to tell them.
Naturally the Playboy.com website ran an article about the Hef’s birthday party. They said the birthday bash is one of the toughest parties to get invited to, with a very limited number of invitees. It read “imagine the odds of making the cut for Hef’s intimate birthday bash, limited to only 500 guests.” Imagine being in business for almost fifty years and all the people and friends you have met along the way wanting to be invited. Most of us never have a chance to plan a party that big. Even weddings are less than half that amount of people. The article reported that prior to the party they watched a James Cagney movie with fifty of his closest friends and joined the party flanked by girlfriends Holly Madison - The Girls Next Door Madison, Izabella Kasprzyk, Tiffany Holliday, Zoe Gregory-Paul, Stacy Burke, Lana Kinnear, and Renee Sloan.
One thing that I purposely did leave out of the letter to my family was when I was walking through a back room above the workout gym; a girl approached me and asked if I partied. She invited me to join them. I looked down, and they were doing lines of white powder that I assumed was cocaine. However, considering that this was a Playboy party in Hollywood, frankly I thought there might be more drugs or open sex than I actually witnessed. This was one thing I had been nervous about, because I’m not a drug user.
Naturally my family would not have been thrilled to read this piece of information and so I did leave it out of their letter. But
since I had decided to write this book I decided to come out with all the details. In fact, here are more descriptive details of other things that went on as well:

As I said most females were dressed in lingerie. But three girls were completely naked wearing only body paint as faux clothes. One was painted in pink with the word “Happy” painted on her back in another color, one painted green with “Birthday” written on her back, and a girl painted in purple that had “Hef” written on her back. They really did not have a strip of clothes on except their shoes! I was so surprised that the paint looked like a perfectly fitting bathing suit on the girls and covered them very well meaning it was hardly obvious that they were completely undressed. You really had to be looking intently to realize.
Hef was in a dark red silk bathrobe with a purple collar and purple cuffs that was opened exposing his chest. He may have had a shirt on, but it didn’t seem so.
Snoop Dogg was all decked out in dark silver shades with this gigantic pure gold wine glass although I could not see what he was drinking. It read Snoop Dogg in big letters across it. He was wearing a blue silk robe with silver underneath that turned out, similar to Hef’s but much more flashy and hip. He walked by me and I said “Hey,” and he said “Hey” back, and I raised my glass and both of us cheered clinging my plastic glass against his gold glass. It was really nice, and all of his entourage seemed to be just as friendly as he was. He looked like a superstar with his fancy threads and his super huge gold drink.
David Schwimmer and Matthew Perry were side by side the entire night with many of girls trying to get their attention. Being alone, I wandered over to see what they were talking about. They were reminiscing with other guests about behind the scenes of their favorite shows. I listened to one girl tell them what she thought was her favorite show, and being kind they seemed not to mind. They probably tell the same stories over and over to every fan that comes over to meet them with not much else to add The thing that was so crazy is that they talked and acted just like they were on the Friends show. It was as if they did not have to act at all but just be themselves on the show. The voices were the same, their actions and hand motions were exactly the same. I couldn’t help but feel I was part of the Friends show. How do you talk to them without mentioning Friends even though they are probably sick of talking about it? One girl never left their side, and it looked as if she was part of their group and came with them to the party. I, of course, had to get a hug from each of them. Hey, why not? I didn’t have a camera so I might as well ask for a hug. Both willingly gave me a hug and then feeling kind of stupid I didn’t stay much longer. I listened for a while as the gals jabbered to them about different episodes. I did not mention any episode to them. I decided to mention that I was a Texas Hold ‘em Poker player, and then they started asking me questions and I was so excited that I had something to offer these huge celebrities. Since then, of course, as poker’s popularity has soared, I have seen and heard of both of them playing the game. Matt asked if my main strategy was bluffing. David asked if I lived in Los Angles and I told him I was from Arizona. It was like I was standing in a bar talking to two regular guys. It was pretty cool.
Later in the evening I saw two of the official Playboy photographers huddling over talking to each other and one was Chad Doering. I asked what was up. They said, “We were just talking about that asshole.” Motioning their eyes over. I said “Oh, he is such a great actor. Why, is he a jerk?” They said, “He won’t ever let us take even one picture of him when he is here. It would take him all of a second, and we would leave him alone the rest of the night.” Trying to be the hero and get on the good side with the photographers I said “follow me.” I thought maybe I could get him to take a picture. My nature when I meet people is very open, friendly, kind.
He was one of my absolute favorite actors. He was talking to a seemingly large group of people. Since I was alone and unaccompanied at the moment, I told them I would tap on his shoulder just to say I loved his work. They were both excited with this prospect, as their job was to take pictures of the celebrities and hot girls for the website to show Playboy fans who was there and what people were wearing, etc. Mr. Kiefer Sutherland headed over to the bar area to get a drink. With his back turned and waiting for service I tapped him on the shoulder. I had told the camera guys I would wave to them after I got the okay because I planned to talk a while and then slip in and ask for a picture. He did not turn around when I tapped him on the shoulder so I tapped again. Still he did not turn around. He got his drink and headed back to a group of friends that he had been standing with. Walking over to where he was, I tapped him on the shoulder again lightly. My tapping became more insistent. He and his group turned away and I, blonde, thought maybe if he notices that I’m a girl and not a guy he will at least acknowledge me. I moved to an angle to have him be able to see me with my pearly whites open wide. He turned around with a snarl and gave me a foul look. He looked straight at me and said, “I guess we are going to have to move,” turned back and they began to walk off. So, I have to say that sometimes getting to meet the people you idolize doesn’t turn out the way you expect.
Crawling back with my head down I told the photographers I was sorry but that he didn’t give me the time of day either. I said I couldn’t even tell him he was a great actor or even say anything and he moved away! They said, “We told you he is an asshole.” I said, “A short one on top of that.” It was true he was tiny in person. I was so surprised. He had to be a head shorter then I was. The photographers said they didn’t know why he came to a party if he was going to be so unsociable. I said, “You know, I could see him maybe not wanting a photo or maybe asking you to take a photo of him standing alone with no one else in it.” (I understand that maybe taking a photo with girl dressed too hot that wasn’t his wife or girlfriend might not be something he or another actor would want to see published.) I continued, “But he not even acknowledging anyone is a reason to just stay home. I could have been coming to tell him his car was on fire.” He did not even see me standing with the photographers so that wasn’t the case. He just didn’t want to talk to anyone unless he invited you to join his group.
These are just a few of the highlights of meeting movie stars at the Playboy Mansion. My impression was that it was like a private party, not a paparazzi event where everyone had to give interviews and pose for thousands upon thousands of pictures. It was a group of individuals who were all getting to party together—and that added to the atmosphere. There is a “vibe” there that most people will never get to experience. Weird Al was as goofy as always and very friendly.
I asked permission from Scott Baio’s Playmate girlfriend to speak to him. Both of them were very understanding. No sneer from his beautiful lady, and she actually let him say a few words to me as he held my hand. I felt they were definitely a strong couple and really down to earth. Jon Lovitz smiled when I waved. Snoop Dog and his entire crew were passing by again, and he gave me the “Hey baby!” as we passed each other. I saw Melissa Rivers. I shouted, “Melissa! You look so cute!” She was wearing teddy bear PJ’s that were not very revealing. I asked, “Do you approve?”
(I spun around like they do on E!) She said, “With what you got you can get away with it.”
Most of the stars seemed to have a guest that they had brought with them to talk to, and they came with more than a few friends. This made it hard to talk to them because they just hung to themselves and really did not mingle. I took the initiative with all the celebrities to get their attention, and I was about the only one seeming to do it. Girls would follow me because they knew I would get the conversation started. I had heard from many people at the birthday party that the Midsummer Night’s Dream party was the wildest party of them all and that this was also a really wild one.
I headed out searching for unseen territory. Passing by the fully stocked bar where I had tried to talk to Keith Sutherland I noticed people going to the right through a door way. Making my way down the hallway I found an additional coat check girl. I spoke to her for a little bit, and as the gal I always am, I thanked her for taking some of my belongings. I had decided to check in my coat after all. I began to feel comfortable dragging all my things with me all over the mansion. She gave me a little number to recover my jacket at a later time, which I placed in my purse. The hallway led to many little rooms. The first room to the left had lots of girls leaning up against the mirrors fixing their makeup. Realizing they all were in line for the one-stall bathroom that was in the same room. I politely exited to get out of their way.
The next room had a full stand-up shower and kind of a sauna room in it that was not being used. I walked in and took a look around and then walked back out. Back in the initial hallway were other doors, but they looked full of storage and things. Coming across an additional bathroom with another tiled countertop where girls were applying additional makeup and guys were waiting as well to use the one-stall bathroom. I decided to wait amongst them and use the potty myself. It was just fun to stand in line looking at what everyone else had on or how little.

Most were surprisingly in just a bra and underwear or a nightgown that was pretty “Victoria’s Secrets looking.” I guess this is one other reason I stood out amongst the crowd. I had gone all out. My outfit had a deep plunging neckline that exposed my cleavage which then cascaded off the rest of my assets with lacy material. It was completely open once it covered my breasts. More like a robe with a long train that fully opened and showed off my long legs and clear heals that I had chosen to wear. It was the most beautiful outfit I owned, and it made me feel very comfortable even though it was extremely sexy. It was not revealing too much, and I certainly never felt I had to keep pulling my underwear out of the crack of my butt like many other gals were, which would have made me crazy. I had boy shorts underneath!
Taking my turn in the bathroom, I locked the door behind. I quickly made a call to Bruce as I was sitting on the toilet. Not so romantic, but it was quiet and I could hear what he was saying. I told him I was having a great time and told him that they thought I was a Playmate. He told me not to worry about calling him to just have a great time. I told him just a little bit of the highlights and the bus ride over, and we hung up with a quick “Love you.” In the bathroom, they had certain items stocked for anyone to use including baby oil, Jergen’s original scent or cherry-almond moisturizer, and some other fun amenities. Leaving the bathroom, I had to squeeze by the line of people waiting to use the stall. But first I added more lipstick and eyeliner to my eyes.
Parting from the room I noticed a huge group of people sitting against the wall leaning on these great big pillows. They were all just talking and drinking and having a good time. Still on my Nancy Drew hunt for a mystery or secret hiding place I walked passed them to find myself in front of a rope across a certain stairway down that said “no access.” Someone, however, was coming out of that no access area and I asked them what was down there. They replied the work-out room. I did not venture down. Cowardly, I just leaned up against the wall near there watching the partygoers on the floor laughing and carrying on. Feeling awkward since I had nothing to drink but Diet Coke and a Playboy water bottle I made my way back out of this area and returned to the outdoor party arena. I really wanted to go right over and speak to the Hef party table. It was the most intriguing table and the best place because Hef didn’t walk around greeting anyone so everyone that was anyone came up to him at his table to wish him a happy birthday. This is why it was the happening spot, not to mention the sexy girls that surrounded him. It was actually a pretty cool night for LA especially for everyone being dressed in lingerie.
I couldn’t believe how all the tables had a heater blowing over the guests to make sure they were comfortable in the night air. They had thought of everything. Each table was decorated to the hilt like a high class Hollywood wedding.
I decided that I must eat. I got in line to eat some of the gorgeous food. Instead of the small shrimp that you would see at most parties, the first dish I saw had the most gigantic shrimp! Crab legs were already broken open so that they could be eaten like an appetizer right out of their shell. It looked like Wolfgang Puck had been there cooking for this mass crowd. They had a platter of fish, each of them garnished like out of a food magazine. Gosh I sure wish I didn’t look like I was holding in my stomach because damn I would have been eating a lot of this glorious food right at that moment if I didn’t have to maintain my look! I took a little bit of just about everything. I felt sorry for any vegetarians that might have been at the event this evening because they would be overwhelmed by the mass amount of fish and meat offerings.
The older folks never moved from the tables from beginning of the night and seemed to always be eating, whereas the younger folks did not seem to stay put and were roaming everywhere just like me. It was cute to see many couples with gray hair just visiting away and enjoying themselves. I could tell they were probably all of Hugh Hefner’s older generation friends. Most of them looked like they were in their seventies, with graying hair. It seemed there were a large number of these folks, so I guess it was true what they say: “Once a friend of Hef’s, always a friend of Hef’s.” I found out later that Hef invites the entire street on his block so that the neighbors will not complain about his parties. That this is one of the reasons there are so many older people at the party.
I scoured each and every table looking for celebrities and other famous personalities, while many of them did not seem to pay attention to others walking by. The more popular the celebrity the bigger the entourage. It must be that if you are a celebrity you could bring as many guests as you wanted with you. If you were a commoner such as myself, the invite was just for you and you alone.
Before coming, I had called Rhonda and asked about bringing a friend and she said she was not allowed to bring anyone and that I shouldn’t either. She lived in LA so long she knew many of the gals that were at the party so she didn’t mind. Then I asked about bringing a guy friend. She stated that she was married but that she didn’t tell anyone that and that even married you could not bring your husband to the party.
This was her first party ever at the Mansion as well, and if she wouldn’t have designed an outfit for one of Hef’s personal girlfriends she wouldn’t have gotten to come. That was the trade-off for not charging for the outfit—she got to go to the next Playboy party. She figured it was a worthy trade. She said even though she had not charged her for the outfit, Hef’s girlfriend had to take a current picture of her back to Hef to get it approved for her to come to the party. Either Hef was worried about her possibly being ugly or maybe it was for security purposes, who knew.
I decided to go back to the entryway of the mansion, which had been turned into the dancing area. I just started dancing to the music alone and then as I got into it just danced my way into different groups of girls dancing. I had been dancing up a storm for over 45 minutes and all of a sudden I could barely walk. The train of my dress was so dirty, all covered with beer, booze, food and disgusting things it swept off the floor as I walked around. The music was intense and fast and each song was so motivating it made you want to just keep on dancing. A disco ball was spinning and a film crew was filming the girls dancing. The best thing about the film crew was it got the girls to get wild. They would be dancing normally, swinging to the music and singing but when the crew started to film it was an entire different story. Almost immediately it was like the wannabe star inside each girl became alive. Not only were the dancers willing to get naked, but they were willing to start making out and grabbing each other.

As soon as the light on the camera would shut off, the action would stop as if someone had screamed out “Cut” from behind the camera. It wasn’t long for all of us to realize the camera crew would only film us if we were doing something naughty or sexy so as soon as they would look towards our direction as if rehearsed we would intentionally scream “Action” and begin our scene. Of course, just as much of a camera hog as everyone else I hogged the spotlight much as I could. I would start to tease the camera with a small pull of my top to the side not showing anything till the other girls noticed the camera moving in and then they would all come running to get in the scene. I would blow kisses at the camera and flash a breast and then everyone followed my lead deciding to touch my breasts without even the thought of a “may I” in sight. What can I say? You get very swept up in the moment!
A girl hugged me from behind, and we started dancing up and down to the music and two other gals joined in. It was our voyeurism at play, and we were having the best damn time. The moment the camera lights would turn off everyone would go back to dancing with their own group and things would become calm again.
One of the gals I had been dancing with became exhausted from all our hip motion and grabbed my hand and pulled me away to the back of the mansion to catch a breather. I found myself all the way back near the staircase that lead to the work-out room. I was just standing there with them frankly not saying anything or doing anything totally out of breath. When I took off my shoes, she quickly asked me “if I partied.” I should have said no, because honestly Bruce and I hardly do, but I danced more then I had in months and for some reason I said “sure do!” Looking down at lines of white powder, assuming that the lines were cocaine, I felt like a fool realizing this was the kind of partying they were talking about. I thanked them like a schoolmate so excited that they would thoughtfully think enough of me to share in their party favor but told them no thanks. They asked again if I was sure, and I said that I was fine. I watched as each girl snorted a line up one nostril and then one after another they continued. I saw one of my most admired Playmates among them doing her fair share.
At this point in my life, I had never actually witnessed drug use with my own eyes. I had seen it on TV, the movies, etc., but it was actually interesting to watch. I have no idea why but I just felt that I was in a whole different world and it was entertaining. Quickly they were finished and wiping their noses, and of course they wanted to head right back to the dance floor.
I chose not to go back to the dance floor mainly because I had blisters on my feet from dancing in such tall heals and I couldn’t bear to put my shoes back on at that moment. I got so tired on the dance floor and once I stopped dancing I was weak at the knees. While staying back to get strength back in my legs I was approached by a porn producer, which I described in my letter to my family. He seemed very pissed off at me because I gave him the cold shoulder. I was not interested and he gave me the evil eye a few more times throughout the night as if to say “you aren’t even that pretty to be turning me down” kind of look. I couldn’t help but wonder if Hef knew what this guy was going around saying to so many of the girls while trying to get contact numbers. I had known Hef looked down at girls who went into porn and couldn’t imagine any other film job that was going to be paying $40,000 a week. Come to think of it I didn’t even think porn stars made that kind of money and started thinking maybe this was one of those gang bang films that could afford to pay that kind of money a week. The thought gave me the creeps.
About one o’clock in the morning, Hef, accompanied by the ladies from his main table, got up and looked like they were departing for the evening. I assumed that they would escort him upstairs to say goodnight to him. Like a good host just because he was done partying didn’t mean the party had to end.
I wondered around finding a row of seven outdoor porta-potties south of the pool entrance. It also seemed to be the official smoking area. Ninety-eight percent of everyone that was out there was smoking. They were standing up at bar tables and you could tell it was a prearranged for guests to smoke in this vicinity of the party. I noticed many of the smokers were celebrities, so I made the rounds to catch a glance if it was anyone I wanted to meet.
Judd Nelson was there, and I guess he has been in Hollywood just a little bit too long since making the film Breakfast Club that he didn’t resort to using many lines on girls. He just point blank said to me, “Let’s get out of here.” I probably sounded like a star struck girl when I said “This is my first time to the Playboy Mansion. I couldn’t think of anywhere else I would rather be. “ A simple smile and walking off would have done but I always seem to have to explain to every person on earth exactly what I mean thinking I won’t hurt their feelings that way. It doesn’t always work! Not sure when that all started, but if anyone asked me to dance when I was out with my boyfriend I would simply say, “Oh you are so handsome, and if I was single I would in a heartbeat but I am here with my boyfriend.” I always had to put a little bit of sweet and low in there. I guess I am pretty sensitive, and it would just horrify me to think I might hurt someone’s feelings.
I did not act like I wasn’t single because I had already figured I probably was a party favor for guests, so I was going to play the shy type in case that was the way it was at the mansion. I found that it didn’t seem that way and I was relieved. There were still too many hungry guys for my comfort even with the huge ratio of girls. Many were either really old or nasty looking or with a girl, which meant they were already hooked up. Not the stars with their entourages but there were other celebs on the prowl, which meant about five guys total that were actually someone you would consider dating. I could see how many of the celebrities ended up with Playmates because they do go to these parties, and it is a great way to meet a huge handful of beautiful women. I had heard Pamela Anderson met Scott Baio at the Playboy Mansion and then started dating. Michael Bay (The Rock, Bad Boys II, Pearl Harbor and Armageddon, and more) had meet Playmate Lisa Dergan at the Playboy Mansion and had started dating. So it was possible to hook a celebrity at a Playboy party.
As the night went on I started realizing the crowd was thinning down. The guys had become so intoxicated by this time they were much more daring and tried to get girls to go home with them one last time before the night ended. I realized after the tenth run-in with some drunk asking what my name was that it was time for me to leave. I felt like a fish out of water and knew that the night must end.
I phoned Bruce to come and get me, and he said he would be there in about an hour. I figured instead of waiting in a deserted parking lot in the cold, it was best that I kill time at the Mansion till I was sure he was closer. I had already walked Rhonda out to the bus earlier to say goodnight. I made my way to the warmest part of the mansion near where Hef and the girls had been seated. Nearing four a.m., I had definitely had got my full night’s worth of fun.
I had already had my jacket from the coat check girl and was ready to go. I headed out the front door and got into the bus to take me back to UCLA parking lot. Getting off the bus I headed towards the elevator only to find it is turned off at a certain time at night. I made my way down the stairs instead with about four other partygoers. The covered parking lot was practically empty, and I was surprised there were no tables or security set up to make sure everyone got home safely. Sitting alone on a curb I shrunk down to keep myself warm.
Amazingly, five minutes later my chariot was there to pick me up. He had the same driver from earlier, so by this time the driver knew his way on how to get there. They had even still got a little lost and turned into a different parking lot at UCLA but still made great time. I was whisked away back to the hotel for a great night’s sleep. We then flew back to Arizona the following day.

Chapter Ten
Making Playboy

My official Playboy photo shoot was on March 5, 2002.
"I Made it!" At least into Playboy.com
My pictorial for Playboy.com launched on April 11, 2002. I could finally write Playboy April 2002 on my list of accomplishments. There was an article published with my pictorial. The actual version of our collaboration can be found on the web at the following address www.playboy.com/livinginstyle/guy101/poker.
During Hef’s birthday party it wasn't official as it hadn’t been published yet. Many people are photographed but that doesn't mean that they ever use the photos. When they finally published the photos then it’s official. I am considered a Playboy Bunny. But that wasn’t my ultimate goal. It was just a foot into the door. I really wanted to be in Playboy magazine.
But it certainly was a good start! I could finally call myself a Playboy model. I was so proud! I told everyone. Everyone around me knew how hard I had worked, and they were excited for me.
The visor and red shirt I wore in the picture went up for auction on the Playboy website. The description read: “T-shirt and visor worn by poker ace Jill Ann Spaulding on Playboy.com Place, the high bid on this high-stakes Playboy auction and you’ll own the red playboy T-shirt and visor that card shark Jill Ann Spaulding wore on Playboy.com! She slid the visor over her golden locks and squeezed herself into the skin-tight T-shirt for the sexy picture accompanied her poker tutorial from the Living in Style section! And in the spirit she upped the ante by autographing both items immediately after taking them off. If you can maintain your poker face as the bidding gets heated, and if you come out on top at auction’s end, you can say you won these sexy garments during a no-holds-bar strip poker with the incredible Jill Ann Spaulding! Bid to win this genuine outfit from Playboy.com photo shoot today! It includes a letter of authenticity signed by Playboy photography director.”
Wow, how exciting—I felt like a celebrity! I watched as the bid went higher and higher. I thought it was pretty exciting that someone wanted the shirt I wore so much.
I even got a letter from my trainer:

Hi Jill Ann,
I finally saw the pics! Great stuff! I’m so glad to see that dreams and goals and good thing happen to good people. I see a lot of kids every day, and they all have dreams and aspirations and 95 percent of them don’t make it to the Big Leagues. It’s tough to see, and a lot of kids get a lot out of their time and learn a great deal along the way, but everyone wants to meet their goals. You should be so proud of the achievement and your commitment. I know you made some sacrifices for this dream, and that makes it all the sweeter!
Yours in health,
Trent

However, according to my Mom no one was allowed to tell my Dad because he would be very upset. I was surprised but understood. I sent a thank-you letter and gifts to all who were part of my photo shoot. Naturally, I still wanted to appear in the Playboy magazine and I really did the .com shoot just so I would be able to be part of the Playboy family. It was a good thing to be able to put on my resume every time I contacted Playboy.
I actually got paid $750—but it cost me thousands to get there (not to mention all the surgery and working out!). I still was not done with Playboy. I noticed a section for Playboy Poker (where you can actually gamble for real money) and decided to tell them my story to hopefully be used for their online poker section. I wrote to care@Playboycasino.com on May 8, 2002:

I just did my exclusive pictorial for Playboy.com because I am a professional poker player and very well-known around the world and you can find me at www.Playboy.com/livinginstyle/guy101/poker.

I am the Queen of Hearts for Playboy. Many of my gambling friends place bets on your site. When I told them that I had done a shoot for Playboy they all went to Playboysportsbook.com and figured I would be there. I would love to be, so if you can use any of my pictures to help promote your site, please do.

After Hef’s birthday party, I went home with Bruce and just got back into the swing of things. Working out and trying to stay in shape for my ultimate goal of being a Playmate; nothing had changed.
It had been a few weeks so it was now time to put my next plan of action into play. I decided to call the Playboy mansion to ask if they thought that I would be invited to any more parties.
Jenny Lewis said, “If you were invited to the last one, you’re probably sure to be invited to the next one.”
“I’m willing to travel and pay for my own flight to go to the Mardi Gras Playboy party or the Vegas parties or anywhere really.”
“Who am I speaking with?” Jenny Lewis asked.
“Jill Ann Spaulding.”
“Jill Ann, Mr. Hefner was so disappointed that you didn’t come up and introduce yourself.” I could hardly believe that she knew exactly who I was when I gave her my name.
“I did. I even got a picture with him,” I told her. (I suddenly realized I did go up to him, but I never told him my name; I just posed and was really intimidated and walked away as soon as the flash went off. You know how it can sometimes be. You’re a little flustered or excited by a situation, and you sort of forget what you were going to say.)
“Oh. Well, he must have forgotten.”
Suddenly I was filled with dismay. “I feel awful. I went up to him a couple of times, but I thought he might feel I was bugging him.”
“Not in the least. He’s not like that,” she assured me.
“With so many guests I didn’t think he would have known me.”
Jenny laughed lightly. “Oh no, he was expecting you!”
I told her about my pictures having gone up on the website on April 11th. She wondered if they were from the party, but I explained they were done for an exclusive on Playboy.com. She indicated that Mr. Hefner would certainly want to see these. I gave her the web address, thanked her and hung up.
I wrote a letter to Mr. Hefner and included a picture of me on the way to the party as well as from the pictorial.

Dear Hef:
Thank you so much for having me to your birthday party. It was wonderful! April has been a completely amazing month for me with your party on April 6th and my pictorial on Playboy.com published on April 11th! Thank you so much for everything. Hope to see you sooner than the next party.
With love and luck
Jill Ann Spaulding

What did I mean by that last sentence? I wanted to be one of the girlfriends who were sitting at the table. I had done some very dedicated research. I purchased the videos “Inside the Playboy Mansion.” After being turned away from the table at the party, I was determined to find out how to become a girlfriend, who these girls are, and where they came from. There was never one current girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, or long ago girlfriend who had ever said anything bad about Hugh Hefner. I found that remarkable. Almost all relationships end with negative feelings in some way or another. In Hugh Hefner’s case, ex-girlfriends still go to many of the parties and events. They all are always kissing him, hugging him, and making a huge fuss over him. In the video, the most the girls ever say about sex came from Buffy Tyler. She said, “People ask about sex, and I say I don’t kiss and tell.” The whole video is very evasive on the subject.
Here again, I wasn’t naïve, but the “pajama party” atmosphere, and that “Playboy sisterhood” again had me thinking that all those beautiful women were for show. I assumed he had one special girlfriend, and the rest of the girls were there to make him look sexy and desirable and powerful. Esquire Magazine: June 2002 by Wil S. Hylton quoted Hugh Hefner as saying, “I have slept with thousands of women, and they all still like me. . . . My life is an open book with illustrations.”
Time Out New York by Adam Rapoport, in the issue on April 6-13, 2000, Hefner was quoted as saying, “The girls have become close friends. It may be difficult to imagine, but there is no rivalry or jealousy . . . There are Sandy, Mandy and Brande and Jessica, and they’re the only girls I see.”

Brande Nicole Roderick became a Playmate of the month® April 2000 and Playmate of the year® 2001. Sandy and Mandy Bentley made the cover and inside of the Playboy magazine in May 2000. I still was doing research before I decided to pursue such a thing. On MarksFriggin.com they have archives, and this is some of what it said: “On March 13, 2000, Brande Roderick came to the Howard Stern show to talk to Howard. Howard asked her many of details about having sex with Hef, and she didn’t have many answers. Brande said they all hang out and watch movies in bed with Hefner. She said that she’s never seen the other girls having sex with Hef but thinks that they do. Most of the guys on the show didn’t believe that she actually does sleep with Hef. Howard believed her, but asked her to swear that she does. She ended up saying, ‘I swear on the Lord Jesus Christ that I sleep in
Hugh Hefner’s bed,’ and then added that she has sex with him. KC and Gary still didn’t believe her. Even Robin found it hard to believe what she was saying. After Brande swore to it, Robin said she wanted to get out of the studio before the lightning struck. KC told Howard, ‘If she’s sleeping with Hef then I’m Jesus.’”
MarksFriggin.com Archives read that Playmate Katie Lohmann was in the studio. Howard wanted to find out about her dating Hugh Hefner and if it was all true or not. Howard went on to ask Katie about the Hefner stuff. She was one of Hef’s seven girlfriends, and Howard heard that’s all hype. She said that she never had sex with him, but she’s not sure about the other girls.
She said she loved Hef but it was a “different kind of love” that she couldn’t really explain.
Quoted from Designboom.com, May 5, 2001, Hefner was asked My Favorite Occupation. “I’m dating seven girls, and it is a wonderful, romantic relationship and at my age quite remarkable; Tina, Jennifer, Regina, Michelle, Elaine, Tiffany and Stephanie.”
I decided it had to be an act. No rivalry, no jealousy—there had to be no sex. There was no way that all of these ex-girlfriends could be so happy, continue to go to the parties and never have anything bad to say about Hef. I believed it was a publicity idea for the magazine. It was every man’s fantasy and to hold on to the Playboy image, he had to appear to be a true Playboy.
I even discussed it with my grandpa, not in detail of course. I asked him whether he thought Hefner has sex with those girls. He was adamant that it was all for show. That was the extent of the conversation, but since I looked up to my grandpa it underscored what I believed.
I looked at the girlfriends that were on the video cover.
I’m not certain who the last girl was, but all of these girls were listed as girlfriends and all of them were Playmates except Tiffany Holliday, but she still lived at the mansion so maybe this had something to do with it. I had to become a girlfriend. I would have to commit to moving into the mansion to fulfill my dream. I figured that you had to put in your time for promoting and doing events before they made you a Playmate. I looked at it as part of the job. For instance, if you are a powerful PR agent with clients all over the globe, you are basically committing yourself to living out of a suitcase. Every job, on some level, requires sacrifices. I assumed, from all my research, that part of the package deal of being a Playmate was a commitment to keep up this pretense.
There is a list of all of Hef’s girlfriends who were documented in articles and on Playboy.com and Playboy magazine in the back of this book.
I know it sounds strange, because I was in a great relationship with Bruce, to consider being Hef’s “girlfriend,” but I really only considered it to be in name only. I was utterly convinced this was no different from TV stars and models needing to do promotional events. Or think of how many totally fake “relationships” between actors and actresses “suddenly” happen when there is a movie to promote and then afterwards, it over as fast as it started. It was part of the package for promoting the Playboy name. I assumed the girls who became his girlfriends were part of an image of luxury, sexiness, and allure that made the rest of the world want to be part of the “Playboy mystique.” Boy was I in for a big surprise!

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