“We’re disappointingly moral here,” Bunny Starr said in a voice that could break up a party. Disappointing was right: Sherri had had a million crushes on the boys at school, and she’d daydreamed about encounters with celebrities like Leif Garrett and Shaun Cassidy. Her notebook was filled with her signature combined with the last name of whichever boy she liked at the time: Sherri Parker, Sherri Hackbarth, Sherri McBride, all with a heart as the dot for the i in “Sherri.” But, aside from Tommy, she’d had little experience. She didn’t know how to flirt, much less act sexy. She’d hoped to change all that—wasn’t the resort supposed to be the sexiest place on earth? But with all the rules, she felt like the mystique around Playboy was a total lie. Rhonda seemed relieved, while Sherri felt she’d been betrayed. “We may as well have joined a nunnery,” she whispered to Ginger.

“Don’t worry.” Ginger winked. “I heard there are ways to have fun.”

“Don’t ever let a guest touch you,” Bunny Starr said, “and if they so much as give you a sideways glance or ask to squeeze your tail—and trust me, they will—tell security. This is a family resort first and foremost. See?” She pointed at some teenage boys who were taking a break from skiing. They played cards at a table in the lobby area and blushed when they saw the group of women looking at them.