The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling the Dice, and the Road to Reinvention by Holly Madison Page A

washed my face and changed into pajamas. In one short night, I had faced a few of my fears (old ones and new) andhad had a good time on top of it. I drifted off into a serene sleep, but that feeling of peace was short-lived.
    Around eight A.M. my phone started going off.
    “Fun night?” my publicist messaged me, along with a link to an online gossip column. I stiffened as I read the headline: “Holly Madison cozies up to Russell Brand in Vegas.”
    “Uggghhhh,” I groaned as I did a Google search, scrolling through the articles and the stock photos of him and me that were pasted side by side. Each headline grew increasingly more salacious, with one insinuating that we were already a couple. Were they insane? We had only just met! The blurbs detailed our dinner together at Tao fairly accurately, but the other part of the circulating story told a completely fictionalized account of us going up to a suite in the Venetian together. According to the report, we were having sex so loudly the people in the room next to us had complained.
    “That’s not reality, that’s a scene from Forgetting Sarah Marshall ,” I grumbled at my phone, continuing to read one ridiculous article. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who had trouble separating myself in the public eye from my on-screen persona! I was simultaneously livid and mortified.
    It was so frustrating; I felt like I was beating my head against a wall. It didn’t matter what I did, people were always going to see me as this bimbo willing to jump into bed with anyone. I was desperately trying to reinvent my image, but I was realizing more and more just what a challenge that was going to be. It seemed like the more I pushed the “single girl” card, the more anxious people were to see me slutting it up.
    By lunchtime I’d received a few dozen calls and text messages from people eager for details on my alleged night with Russell. Even one of the cute male dancers from Peepshow whom I had been rehearsing with chimed in, congratulating me on finally getting laid. I made some vague comment on social media to dispute the false rumors, but was advised against addressing it directly, as that would just add more fuel to the fire.
    I didn’t think Russell planted the rumor. He was a big enough celebrity that he didn’t need the extra press. Not to mention, tales of his sexual escapades abounded. I highly doubt that he had “plant stories about bagging women” on his agenda. The only thing I could imagine was that someone saw us at the restaurant and figured that when we left at the same time, we must have been headed back to screw. I felt confused and upset, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I was never even going to know who planted that rumor.
    I received a few messages from Russell that day, but I didn’t respond. I was too embarrassed by the entire situation, so I did the only thing I knew how to do and avoided talking about it altogether. After days of my silence he finally sent me a message saying that he hoped I knew he had nothing to do with the rumors. I believed him, but I still couldn’t bring myself to respond. When it came to men, I was scared to do anything at all. It was too dangerous to have anything to do with this one; if I should ever be seen with him again it would only encourage the rumors. I removed him from BlackBerry Messenger; I didn’t want to be tempted to text him and this way he couldn’t reach out to me anymore, either. (Clearly my communication skills needed a bit of work.)
    I started to wonder what I could do to make people see that I wasn’t the woman the outside world made me out to be. I understood why they thought that way, because for years I’d allowed myself to be portrayed as that person. While I wasn’t her, I didn’t know how I could possibly prove that. I wasn’t looking for sympathy, just the benefit of the doubt. I didn’t know how to get out from under this reputation that preceded me. I couldn’t very well open up