Playground: A Childhood Lost Inside the Playboy Mansion

by Jennifer Saginor

We don’t need to play with Barbie dolls because there are live ones walking around everywhere.

I learned too late that to leave is not the same as being left, but for some reason it feels the same.

“I’m only going to ask you this once, lady. Do you want me or my daughter?”

“Hello,” I answer in a whisper, worried it’s someone from outside. “Hey, it’s Hunter. We need to talk.” “I can’t. The Mafia’s after me,” I whisper before hanging up.

It’s painful to watch the downfall of your hero.

The wonderful thing about anti-anxiety pills is that I can be at the epicenter of my own personal tragedy and I don’t even know it.

“What’s her name?” I ask. “I don’t know any of their names,” Hef smiles, being whisked off.