Jennifer Saginor - Playground: A Childhood Lost Inside the Playboy Mansion

Playgrou A Childhood Lost I nnside the Playboy Mansion d J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R In loving memory of Ashley Boyer,who inspired me to speak the truth I n the journey to unravel our past we are con-fronted by our demons. In order to avoid our demonswe create distractions. Its in these distractions wewill find our own personal playground.JS Contents Its 1975. Im six when I see sex for the first time. Its Thursday, Dads day with us, and I cant wait to jump in his Its 1977. By the time Im eight years old, going to Hef s is like Its 1981.

I am twelve when Dad moves into the Mansion J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R After the remodeling, Dads house becomes a mini Mansion. By 1984 Im a freshman at Beverly Hills High School. My bedroom at Dads is stocked with all the latest high-tech Life becomes more exciting when I get my drivers permit and Kendalls intensity overpowers me. The thing is, Im not sure I hit all the hot spots in town: Nicky Blairs, Vertigo, Helenas At home I shower, letting the water run over me for almost an Its the middle of the night when Dad receives a phone call that I attempt to call Hayden, but he does not answer. Finally, I pick As summer rolls on, Kendalls phone calls grow less frequent. vi Playground The night of my seventeenth birthday I dont have plans with I wake up to someone knocking incessantly on the front door On my way to school one day, not long after the night when Most days after school Kendall and I meet at the park across Its 1987.

I graduate Beverly Hills High School with the rest of Alone in Dads house, I beg Carmela not to leave. But by 2:00 a.m. At eighteen years old, I feel twelve or even younger. After college graduation, I move back to L.A. with a new set of vii J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R viii I ts 1975. Im six when I see sex for the first time.

After school, I wait alone by the fence. Most of the other kids have gone home. I push my Coke-bottle-thick glasses up my small nose as my green eyes squint against the sun. I pull my long brown hair back into a ponytail. Dads housekeeper, Carmela, a Hispanic woman with broken English, blares the horn of Dads champagne Rolls-Royce convert ible from across the street. She picks me up today because Dad is too busy.

Carmela cooks, cleans, and drives, but mostly she is my friend. Jennifer! she hollers. I rush to the car and duck inside. Wheres your sister? she asks. Shes at Moms. She stayed home sick, I tell her.

J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R Carmela drives the car carefully to my fathers five-bedroom, six-bathroom estate in the heart of Beverly Hills. Pulling into the circular driveway, the automatic gate opens. Water trickles down a large Mediterranean-style fountain. Inside the foyer, a huge staircase parts to the left and right, di viding the room. The walls display the works of Alberto Vargas: nude women with perky breasts and thin legs, and nude women clad in black fishnet and holding whips posing next to white dogs. Dads favorite is titled Temptation.

Arcade games and pinball machines line the living room walls and an air hockey table sits in the center. In the corner is an old style jukebox. I punch in Linda Ronstadt and Kenny Rogers since my fathers always telling me how lucky I am to know them. I throw my Hello Kitty purse on the leather sofa and play a quick game of pinball. After beating my highest score, I go into the kitchen for a grilled cheese sandwich. Carmela tells me now theres a note from my father at the top of the staircase in the pair of oversize porcelain breasts designed to hold mail.

The note is placed between the breasts and reads, Im up at the Mansion. Have Carmela drop you off if youre bored. I crumple the note, flicking it at the enormous Andy Warhol por trait displaying six different angles of my fathers face on the wall. I tear my eyes away from his multiple faces and ask Carmela to take me to Dad. As were driving down Sunset Boulevard my curiosity gets the best of me and I ask, Whats the Mansion? You know, Jennifer, I am just supposed to drive you, you should ask your father, Carmela rambles. We pull up to a gigantic barred black gate.

I start to get a sick feeling in my stomach. We look around for a few minutes until we hear a voice coming from a large rock next to Carmelas window. If you look closely, you can see a small round speaker inside the rock. Carmela Delatora. I have Jennifer Saginor, she announces and the enormous gates open. Playground We drive up a long driveway and I notice at least five gardeners working on the cliff-like lawn.

A castle comes into view and I in stantly feel like Alice in Wonderland, diving into the Great Un known. My nerves take over again as we near the massive gray stone mansion before us. I tell Carmela Ive changed my mind and to please take me home. She assures me that my father is waiting inside as she pulls around the circular driveway. I ask her to come in, but she says that it would not be right. Reluctantly, I slip out of the car and begin the journey of my life.

I enter a grand marble foyer to find men lined up in funny black penguin suits. The men smile at me creepily; they already know my name. One of them escorts me through an enormous living room with the biggest television screen Ive ever seen. Its like a movie theater, but with soft plush couches, a fireplace, a grand piano, and as much free popcorn as you want. Lounging girls in short shorts, poufy hair, and Heaven T-shirts stare at me as I pass. The butler opens the doors to a smoky room where five men glance up for a split second.

Theyre playing cards. Theres a built in backgammon table that is surrounded by a comfy couch and leather chairs. My fathers eyes instantly light up at the sight of me as he proudly introduces me to the men one by one. They nod, dis tractedly, and wave hello. Dad motions for me to say hello to Hef, the handsome, kind-looking man dressed casually in a silk robe. Hello, darling.

Hef smiles graciously, as if hes known me my whole life. Its a pleasure to finally meet you. Doc, you have such an adorable daughter, are you sure youre related? Why, thanks, Hef. Your girls arent so bad themselves. Dad excuses himself and leads me through the screening room, where four young blondes jump up to kiss him and wrap their skinny arms around him. Dad is a powerfully built man in his forties, with broad shoul ders, an athletic body, manicured hands, and a handsome facea J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R face people turn to look at.

Hes a doctor, but he looks more like a movie star playing the part of one. Hes the kind of guy everyone wants to know. My father, a bookworm from Ohio, graduated at the top of his Dartmouth class Phi Beta Kappa, and from Harvard Medical School. He then moved to Los Angeles and opened a private med ical practice in Beverly Hills. He soon became a renowned Holly wood fitness internist during a time when various weight-loss regimens, including the Beverly Hills diet, a pineapple and grape fruit diet, the cabbage soup diet, amphetamines, and unidentified vitamin shots, were beginning to peak in popularity. As far as his rich and famous Los Angeles patients were con cerned, he was not just a world-class doctor but also a true genius.

He regularly prescribed the appetite suppressants they so coveted. Pill popping was trendy and purses had become portable pharma cies. Everyone knew if you were famous and in real or imaginary pain, prescriptions were a phone call away. Though concerned for their reputations and restricted by a code of ethics, doctors made names for themselves by providing legal ways for their clients to get high. And my dad was the biggest name in Beverly Hills. Feel Good. Feel Good.