The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling the Dice, and the Road to Reinvention (16 page)

It was a bunch of dirty dealing and, needless to say, was super frus
trating. Here I was, thinking I finally had a reasonable amount of control over how I would be presented on television. After all, I was a co-executive producer and my name was in the title. It
was
my show, wasn’t it?

This was a valuable lesson for me to learn. Perhaps I should have learned it by now, but on
The Girls Next Door
, there was such a narrow window of possibilities in which our one-dimensional characters could operate and Hef was so picky about what he would allow on the show that the parameters were different. However, after the Benji debacle, I was beyond careful about what I said in front of the camera, knowing it could be used out of context.

While filming the season, I was experiencing my first Vegas spring, and as any local can tell you, springtime in Vegas is rough on the allergies. The cottonwood, ash, mulberry, and olive trees are just a few examples of the nonnative plants brought to the Vegas Valley over the past hundred years, and all combined can wage a serious war on the sinuses. Between the pollen, dry air, heavy winds, and desert dust constantly kicked up by the never-ending ground-breaking and construction, the air was ripe for the allergy prone. Usually there is a “honeymoon period” of about a year after moving to town before the allergies take hold, and it appeared for me that the honeymoon was over. Singers even have a term for the effect of the allergies: “Vegas throat.” Besides sounding like an STD, the “Vegas throat” can wreak havoc in the life of a performer.

I was regularly bogged down with the flu-like symptoms of recurring sinus infections. The infections would be so severe that it would hurt just to turn my head. My whole body ached. But as they say, the show must go on. I refused to miss a single performance or a day of filming, so I had my doctor on speed dial to keep me on a heavy rotation of house calls and antibiotics. When I wasn’t needed in L.A. I’d spend my days off recovering in front of the TV with Laura, watching old episodes of
Vega$
over a giant dish of penne pasta smothered in cheese from room service.

After several weeks of being hotel bound, I was starting to get cabin fever. A road trip would be the perfect change of scenery! As a nostalgic
tribute to
Girls Next Door
, production and I had decided to do an episode each of
Holly’s World
with Bridget and Kendra. While Kendra flew out to coach me in baseball, Bridget and I opted to do a road trip from L.A. to Vegas, along with Josh and Bridget’s boyfriend, Nick. Our plan was to stop at all the weird random roadside attractions I saw along the I-15 every time I did the drive, so I could write about them for a chapter in a coffee-table book on Las Vegas that I was working on.

Since Josh and I had only one day off to do everything on our itinerary, we flew out to Burbank (the more low-key of the Los Angeles area airports) Wednesday morning and picked Bridget and Nick up in a rented SUV. According to the show, our purpose for doing this road trip was to spend some time with Nick and figure out if he was “good enough” for Bridget. Of course, since she seemed happy, I already assumed he was good enough, but the plot line made enough sense. Why wouldn’t I want to look out for one of my best friends?

We commenced the four-and-a-half-hour drive, stopping at a few places I had seen so many times on the drive back and forth but had never had reason to pull over at. We explored an abandoned water park, ate at Peggy Sue’s 50’s Diner, and took pictures next to the World’s Largest Thermometer. The best part of the drive was having the time to catch up with my old friend and see places we wanted to visit. When we reached Baker, which was just an hour and a half away from Vegas, we were instructed to take a detour north up to Death Valley. For fun, production had arranged for us to stay at the haunted Amargosa Hotel.

The hotel is located in Death Valley Junction, a town surrounded by barren desert for thirty miles on all sides. Originally known as Amargosa (meaning “bitter water” in Paiute), the settlement began as a Borax mining community built in the 1920s. Today, Death Valley Junction has a population of less than twenty people. Smack in the middle of one of the most extreme environments on Earth, home to record-setting heat, Death Valley is not for the faint of heart. The town consists of one building, a U-shaped Spanish Colonial revival, without so much as a gas sta
tion to call a neighbor. The building was erected to serve as a dormitory for miners and company offices, but over the years has held a hospital and assembly hall, among other things. In 1927, Borax moved their headquarters and the community became a virtual ghost town. Today the building operates as the Amargosa Hotel.

After we drove the desolate road through Death Valley, our headlights landed on the austere, blindingly white building. The sudden vision was a bit jarring, since we were out in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night, having seen nothing but the road in front of us for the last hour and a half. A cracked hand-painted sign was propped up near the driveway. A few people sat at a folding table on the patio, sluggishly playing card games by eerie lantern light. There was an odd quality to the property, as if everything happened in slow motion.

We checked in and grabbed a seat in the lobby with some fast-food takeout the crew had grabbed for us in Baker, the nearest city with dining options. I happily dug into my chicken fingers with ranch and barbecue sauce. Josh and I peppered Bridget and Nick with every annoying question we could think of (marriage? kids? when?), but the questions felt silly. Sure, they were for the sake of the episode, but I was the last person who wanted people checking up on my marriage status, so who was I to grill someone else?

After dinner, we spoke a bit to the property’s caretaker, who told us that because she was ailing, we would be unable to meet the hotel’s fascinating proprietor, Miss Marta Becket. Marta became a bit of a legend in 1970 when
National Geographic
magazine made the journey to Death Valley and photographed her painting the newly acquired property. Born in New York, Marta studied piano, dance, and painting as a child. Her talent and love of the arts prompted her to become a Radio City Music Hall ballerina and Broadway dancer in her teens. In 1967, at the age of forty-three, Marta set out across the country on a road trip with her husband. While her husband tended to a flat tire, Marta found herself in Death Valley Junction, wandering around the colonnaded building,
peering into a hole in the back door of the old assembly hall. Something spoke to Marta, and she knew, right then and there, that she was going to perform in that hall.

Marta and her husband decided to make Death Valley their home. They leased the building, eventually buying it outright. She then spent six years painting intricate murals on the walls and ceilings of the assembly hall, now renamed the Amargosa Opera House. She performed, dancing and acting in original plays, every Friday, Saturday, and Monday at 8:15
P.M.
sharp, whether an audience appeared at the remote location or not. Marta’s murals covered the walls with spectators, a Spanish Renaissance scene of nobility, clergy, and commoners alike assembled in box seating painted around the room, most of their faces trained toward the stage. For over forty years, Marta followed her passion and regularly performed each week.

Marta has since become a source of fascination for many who hear her story. She braved loneliness and the elements and did what she was inspired to do, even though everyone else might have thought she was crazy. She painted and she danced because she loved it.

I found Marta’s story inspiring. In a way I could relate to her. I went to Las Vegas to pursue what I was passionate about, even though some of my L.A. acquaintances turned up their noses at the idea. There is a bit of snobbery toward Vegas from the L.A. crowd: sure, they love to visit, but they regard it as less than, a place they wouldn’t want to stay in for more than three days.

But Marta’s story also inspired me, the way I am sure it has awed so many who have heard it. For forty years, she has faithfully pursued her dreams and what makes her happy, for no other reason than that it was fulfilling. She wasn’t pursuing fame, money, or anyone else’s admiration. Could I ever get to that point? Sure, I followed my dreams out to Vegas, but I knew that there was still a part of me that felt as if I needed to prove something to the world. Even though I had already checked off the goals on the list I had made only one year ago, I still had an emptiness inside
of me that I was trying to fill with more, more, more. I wondered what I would be inspired to do if I knew there was no chance of winning anyone’s approval, no matter what I did. What path would I follow? Where would my heart take me?

After learning we wouldn’t be meeting Marta, we got down to business and started exploring the haunted hotel. First, we walked down the hotel’s hall, which was lined with black-and-white group photos, instantly reminding me of
The Shining
. A particularly creepy one showed the building’s residents in Halloween costumes, taken sometime in the twenties. The guy dressed as a clown was enough to give me nightmares.

We spent the night hunting ghosts and scaring each other silly. One of the hotel’s wings, which served as a hospital at one point, stood in crumbling disrepair. The caretaker informed us that they referred to that part of the building as Spooky Hollow, and it was no wonder why. The dark, decaying corridor was littered with personal items, as if there had been a sudden mass exodus, increasing the ghostly feel of the place. We explored it with flashlights, waiting for the unexplainable to happen. While we didn’t experience anything particularly paranormal during the hunt, the spooky atmosphere was enough for us. We were already scared out of our minds, even more so when one of the crew claimed to have had a “sexual encounter” with a spirit in his room! Ooh la la!

The next morning, we packed up and got out before the midday desert heat could catch up to us. We drove back to Las Vegas, dropped Bridget and Nick off at the airport, since they had to get back to L.A. right away, and scurried back to our regular
Peepshow
schedule.

I
WAS HAVING A
blast shooting the show and reveling in my good fortune. But just as every cloud has a silver lining, everything good comes with a price. While I was living my dream, working on both of the projects I had wished for and living a life of luxury with the most fun group of friends I could imagine, I was neglecting my body. I worked hard and
played even harder. When I was going through the chronic sinus infections, I refused to miss a show or a minute of filming. My diet left much to be desired. I wasn’t exercising and had to make a real effort to get adequate sleep. My nerves were frayed. It was only a matter of time before something had to give.

I loved my life and all the opportunities I was getting. I never complained about anything. But not taking care of myself was taking its toll and was slowly sneaking up on me. The waters were rising higher and higher behind the dam, and that dam eventually broke.

I was in my bedroom getting ready to shoot a scene with Angel and my manager, Jason. We had only a few minutes to do it, as I would have to go straight downstairs to the theater afterward. I knew Angel and Jason were ready to shoot; I had seen them sitting at my dining table as I walked in, talking about Angel’s upcoming World’s Largest 21st Birthday Party at Tao. I knew the crew was there, too, and had touched base with them before going into my room. When I walked through the door, I expected everyone to be ready to go. Time was money and we were on the clock.

But they weren’t. Laptop in hand, I walked out of my bedroom door and not one camera was up. The field producer that day was someone new. “Hey, what’s going on?” I asked. “I thought we had to get this scene wrapped really quickly.” The producer rolled his eyes and slowly stood up.

“Okay, we’ll be ready for you in about five minutes,” he grumbled, with the enthusiasm of a sloth.

Let me be clear: this was an anomaly. The entire crew of
Holly’s World
had been more than a dream to work with, and I became close friends with many of them. They didn’t devise the plot to get Benji on-camera; they were just following orders. They were always fun, creative, and professional. The rude reaction from this new member was the last thing I expected. All of a sudden, all of my stifled emotions flooded me at once. I went back into my room and promptly called a higher-up to let him know that we were on an incredibly tight schedule and the new person in
charge that day hadn’t been ready. The tears were flowing uncontrollably, and I think the man on the other end of the line was a little taken aback by what probably seemed to him like a massive overreaction.

He suggested we wrap for the day, as I was obviously not myself.

“No. I want to shoot a scene,” I demanded through sobs. “I don’t want to waste time.” I was never a very outwardly emotional person, so I wanted to get this rare outburst on camera. “I just want to go out there and talk about how I’m feeling.”

The crew was directed to start shooting again. I came out of the room and sat down at the table with Angel and Jason and let everything I was feeling pour out of me. Through the tears, I tried to explain to my friends why I was so upset, but I wasn’t very articulate. All I could manage to say was how tired I was all the time and how I felt like I couldn’t keep up with the demands of my work.

But articulate or not, it was by far the most emotional I had ever been on-camera. Even though that day may have felt like a lemon, we made lemonade out of it. Overall, I was proud of the season and couldn’t wait for people to see it. I hoped it would do well, but I didn’t count on anything. Maybe people would think I was too boring. Maybe I really couldn’t stand on my own on TV without the backdrop of the mansion. Who knew? I was just grateful to have the opportunity to try.

Right before
Holly’s World
premiered, the network scheduled a round of press to promote the show. It was more press than I had ever done before, not to mention of a better quality. I couldn’t believe I was finally on magazine covers, solo! The team at E! was wonderful and everything went smoothly. E! even put up a
Holly’s World
billboard near Planet Hollywood as a surprise. There I was, larger than life, perched on a giant disco ball. I couldn’t believe my good fortune—I felt like I was being treated like a queen! The network’s faith in me and the show helped to quell any nerves I might have had.