I was finally standing in front of Hugh Hefner himself. Over his shoulder hundreds of half-naked revelers were filing into the mansion for the annual midsummer night dream party. The place had the energy of a powder keg about to explode. I was holding a bunny rabbit slipper in one hand which must have been confusing… because I was already wearing two perfectly good bunny rabbit slippers.
I didn’t have a clue what to say. So I just blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.
“You know the smoking jacket really adds a touch of glamour to the nighttime routine.”
Hugh laughed and said, “the neighbors are causing a racket out there, would you mind telling them to turn it down so I can hit the hay? This isn’t the Playboy Mansion.”
I thought, ok, I could get along with this guy.
Then Hugh leaned in a little closer and smiled. “Don’t burn the place down, ok?” And strided out into the night flanked by his security team.
“I won’t,” I said, almost to nobody at all.
As much time as I was going to spend in the Playboy Mansion over the next six months, that was the one and only time I ever met Hugh Hefner.
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