Divorce, Drinking and Dating

by Danielle Prahl

  That night ended up being one of the most fun dates I had ever been on. We ate at Katana, a sushi restaurant overlooking Sunset Boulevard that had a balcony dimly lit by string lights. I couldn’t afford shit like that at the time, so it was a treat for me. Again, everyone there seemed to know him. We got the best seat and amazing service, and I was embarrassed to tell him I knew jack about sushi, so I told him just to order and surprise me. Dudes like taking the lead and stuff like that anyway, right?

  We talked as if we had known each other for a long time. After dinner and a few cocktails, the night was still young and he asked if I wanted to go a nightclub and do some dancing. Umm, yes?! Sometimes it sucks to go to nightclubs with guys. Okay, almost always. You have to wait outside in line, the people in line always give the guys a hard time, and it’s just easier if you are a girl to go with other girls. This time was different though. We walked past the packed line outside at a hotspot I had been wanting to go to. The guy at the door knew him and opened the velvet rope for us like Moses parting the red sea. The place was called Voyeur, and I immediately understood why. The inside was dark and saucy, and women in lingerie crawled on a rope net in the ceiling above you. It seemed very sultry and fun. We danced and laughed, and he really made me feel like I could be myself and let my hair down. The rest of the world simply stopped moving around us that night.

  A few days later, we went for a hike together in Runyon Canyon, and he asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to write a book, to own my own business of some sort, and to travel the world. I wanted to be a successful woman and to make a real difference. I just couldn’t see the exact path of how to do it yet. He was truly easy to talk to and encouraged me, that all of these things were actually possible. Where I grew up, people normally laughed at people saying things like this. Most of the people I grew up with graduated high school, went to college, got a job, and waited for a promotion. Sure, it was fun to dream, but to have someone who seemed to actually be successful on their own terms telling me that they understood my vision for my life and wholeheartedly believed that would be a reality, well, that blew my mind. I suddenly started to take him a bit more seriously.

  The only real issue I had with H was that he was clearly a cocky man. I’m not sure if he actually believed that he was God’s gift to women or if he laid it on thick for my sake, but it really rubbed me the wrong way. I was still very young and felt as if my whole life was ahead of me, so like hell I was going to let this guy push me around. I started to actually like him, but he seemed to like himself enough as it was, so there was no way I would add to that.

  One night, we stopped at his place before dinner to have a drink and he said, “I’m going to send out an email real fast, here. You can watch TV and I’ll just send it out.” I was slightly insulted that he thought this dumb email needed to be sent out when I had given up one of my rare free nights I could have been out with my girlfriends or resting, but, hey, it was only a few minutes, right? I ran across a movie on the channel guide that I loved as a kid and asked while he was knee-deep into his email, “Oh my God! Hey! Have you ever seen this movie?”

  Suddenly, H snapped at me, frustration seeping through his vocal cords. “I thought I told you to give me like five minutes.” He went back to his email. I very calmly set the remote down, walked out of the room and right out the front door. Like an idiot, I had actually let him pick me up this time, so I didn’t have my car. I went downstairs, hopped into a cab, and headed back to my apartment. I wasn’t going to sit around and be snapped at by some dude just because he was buying me dinner. He called later and was flabbergasted that I would actually leave and walk out over that. I didn’t find it odd at all. I didn’t need to be there. I certainly had other things to do, and I didn’t know him well enough for him to be snapping at me over things I had zero to do with. We made up eventually.

  Time marched on. I had been dating H for a few months, but I never let him come over to my place. He had picked me up and dropped me off a few times, but I always had him drop me off two apartment buildings down, and I would walk in the front door and wave bye. When he would drive off, I’d walk outside over to my real building and go up to my apartment. Sure, you can say I was a being a little bit crazy, but one can really never be too safe. After some bad experiences with crazy men in the past, I’d learned my lesson.

  One evening, I “stumbled” across his driver’s license when he had to run downstairs for some reason. (When you are newly dating a man and he leaves you alone in his apartment, you go through his shit. Sorry, it’s just an unwritten rule. You can find out a lot about a person from his things.) He had told me several times that he was 33 years old, which seemed like a bit of an age gap since I had recently turned 22. But we had a lot in common, and I figured it wasn’t the end of the world.

  Turns out H wasn’t 33 at all; he was 36. What in the world would make him lie about being three years older, I had no clue. I called him out on it when he got back, and he assured me that he was just joking about being 33 and said that he thought I knew. 33 was his “Hollywood age.” It was an inside joke with him and his friends, and of course I knew that information. Clearly, I didn’t know that, and I also didn’t like that he was playing this off as a joke when I had caught him lying. If you are going to be a liar, at least be a good one. (Although I would find out later that he was a much better liar than I had given him credit for.)

  We worked through this problem, too. There were so many good qualities about him that every time he did something stupid, we would eventually make up. I would call him out on it, we’d have knock-down, drag-out fights, and he’d finally admit that he was being an idiot. He was so damn easy to forgive, with those soft, gentle eyes, smooth way of talking, and contagious charisma. He always said the right thing, even though I knew his actions didn’t always match; I wasn’t anybody’s fool.

  He also had a tendency to play petty kid games, which required special tactics on my part. If he walked into a bar where my friends and I were having a drink and tried to pretend he was a big shot, I’d walk past him as if I didn’t even know who he was. If he flirted with a waitress a little too much, I’d bump into the guy eyeing me at the bar on the way back from the restroom and have a conversation. I was not about to let this man fuck with me. He figured it out eventually and stopped playing games.

  Around this time, I had moved into a studio apartment off Sunset in West Hollywood. I loved my independence and started going out to Chateau Marmont alone for drinks at night, taking myself to the occasional movie, and stopping by coffee shops solo on my day off. I still saw H, but I also had great girlfriends. We explored LA, went to brunches, did yoga at Runyon Canyon, and hiked together.

  Eventually, I started spending more and more time with H. He was fun, hilarious, and very easy to be around; even my friends enjoyed him and would invite him to come out with us. We had been “dating” over a year by this time and finally had the conversation about moving in together. At first, I said no, since the lease on my place wasn’t up for another three months. But after many conversations with him asking me to move in with him and me saying it wasn’t a good idea, I finally said I’d try it out.

  Right after I met H, he had apparently run into some financial trouble. He’d had a very successful business for years before this and had been living the high life. He owned several cars that were so luxurious, I never dreamed I’d see one, let alone ride in one on a regular basis. Some kind of funding with his most recent business had a shift with the venture capital firm funding it, and he was in a bad spot. I had no idea how bad, but I could tell he was extremely stressed out.

  I offered for him to move in with me until my lease was up. This would give him time and space to figure things out without having a ton of huge bills over his head. Initially, he thought this was a really dumb idea, but he did have to move out of his place, and I guess he eventually decided he’d survive. So, H and his multiple luxury vehicles moved into my studio apartment where his
clothes hung on a collapsible rack; as for his cars, I only had one parking spot that wasn’t permit parking, and that parking spot belonged to me.

  Finding parking in LA, especially the neighborhood I lived in, was extremely difficult. There are basically 15 signs that say you can park there, but only with a permit after 8 AM every day, except on Tuesdays after 6, Thursday mornings from 8 AM to 12 PM, and Monday through Friday before 3 PM. Long story short, H spent most of those three months playing car shuffle, looking for spots on side streets, and moving cars to avoid getting towed. I don’t know why he didn’t just sell them to fix his financial troubles, but he wasn’t a practical person. Eventually, he found a part-time job with a company through a friend doing some sort of debt settlement something. He started making pretty great money again and planned to stay there until things worked out with his company.

  I had decided at this point in my career to go off on my own and start my own hair business that I would be in control of. I had started feeling stifled in my hair career early on. The higher-ups in my first salon seemed to always preach that “you have to pay your dues,” or “after you put in the work for a long time you will get those benefits, too,” and even “well, that’s just the way it goes in this industry so get used to it.” But I had never been one to shy away from hard work, and I had ideas for how I would make my own business better; it was always really easy for me to see what would improve the situation. I really enjoyed color and extensions, and if I focused on doing that, I could make more money in less time. And as I improved in that skill area, the good results would attract more clients. I was often told that I would need to take men’s cuts and haircuts anyway, and I quickly realized this niche wouldn’t allow me to live my dream until I went out on my own. H encouraged me to go off on my own and told me that if things went south, he would be there to back me up and help me get back on my feet. I would have never made the jump if he hadn’t encouraged me and supported me to step out on my own.

  At the time, I truly didn’t think I could do something on my own or without help. All my friends had help from their parents, and I had really struggled thus far on my own. I don’t mean struggled as in people let me starve, but I definitely have always been super hard on myself and wasn’t where I wanted to be in life. It’s almost as if I knew this other world existed, but I just couldn’t quite find the portal to get to it. I was terrified to jump from working at a job to working for myself. The idea of going from employee to owner absolutely scared me. I believed that making money meant being hard on yourself and working nonstop, but at the same time, I held on to the belief that there had to be another way. I just didn’t know what that way was yet.

  With H’s emotional and cheerleading support, I went out on my own. People were pissed. My salon owners lost their minds and took it personally, not understanding that I was answering a larger calling to my soul. It was hard and uncomfortable at first. People questioned my ability to own and run my own business, because of my age, or this or that. And I even questioned myself. In the end, it turned out to be one of the best learning opportunities I have ever had. Later on, some of the people who had questioned me or turned their backs on me when I went out on my own, messaged me and asked for advice. I was happy to give it to them, but it goes to show that it sucks being first sometimes.

  My business grew, and H was starting to get back on his feet, too. He was clearly spoiled and used to living a certain lifestyle that didn’t include a studio apartment with no dishwasher and no air conditioning. My lease was coming to an end, so we started apartment hunting for our first official place together. H wanted to spend an exorbitant amount, and I kept reeling it back in. I didn’t care how much money I was making or how much money he was bringing in, throwing it away on rent just seemed stupid. We finally settled on a place that was outside my comfort zone in budget and way below what he wanted to spend. I guess you call that compromise.

  We moved to the 20th floor of a high rise on the west side of LA, in a community next to Brentwood. We went from sharing a single room to having a two bedroom with an ocean view, and life was going well. My business was growing like wildfire, and I found myself busier and busier. Things seemed to be going well for H also, since he was always doing deals, with meetings here and meetings there (even though he somehow managed to sleep in until 10 AM every day and go to the gym for three hours to play basketball).

  He started wanting to travel, which I kept turning down, because I needed to be in town for my business to thrive and survive. I had things to keep an eye on, clients to be there for, money to be made and accounted for. I also wanted to work fewer hours to have time to pursue other avenues. I wanted to learn about comedy, to write a book, to build a location independent business of some sort—but maintain a growing physical business made that difficult. I started to resent everything.

  After a few really hard months dealing with the death of my grandmother, H sat me down and encouraged me to sell out of the hair business. He didn’t like me working so much. I was rarely home, and, if I was, I was exhausted. I could be set financially for a bit, take some time off, and decide what else there was in the world that I wanted. I knew I wanted a business I could do from anywhere and which involved a lot less drama than working with a bunch of female hairdressers (it got to be a lot of drama). There just had to be more in life. He also said he’d help with the bills, so I could relax for a bit if needed. We could travel. I could have freedom. After a lot of debating, I decided to go for it.

  I was completely terrified. Working hard was a purpose that had always defined me. It had given me meaning, definition, a rope to hold onto. In many ways, I thought what I did was part of my identity, even though I struggled with that. I never wanted to just be, do, or accomplish one thing. I was passionate about a lot of stuff. I enjoyed comedy, I wanted to make videos, I wanted to write, I wanted to have a company, I wanted to change the world. I had dreams and ideas that went beyond expansion. H made me feel as if anything was possible. He seemed to believe in me and would build me up, always boosting my self-esteem. It was addicting. He was the type of person that really thought big and had this larger-than-life personality. Everywhere we went, people knew him and liked him.

  He made people feel special in his presence, and he carried himself with an air of importance. While he had a natural gift for charisma, I later realized it was a strategy that he had thought out and practiced over time. He actually told me that he had studied successful people and had learned that, if you didn’t carry yourself in a fashion that showed an air of importance, some people wouldn’t give you the time of day. I now realize he was talking about the wrong type of people. He also dressed for the occasion (although I did have to work on his fashion sense in the beginning and talk him out of the old school suit pant cut). As an entrepreneur who relies basically on connections, I now appreciate the importance of perception. It was a well-thought-out strategy behind his perception.

  As a black man, H had grown up most of his life seeing the stereotypes and had fought really hard in many ways to overcome them. Maybe that’s one reason why perception was such a strategic thing for him, and he was good at it. He carried that air of importance around so well that when we went on vacation, people would ask how they knew him, asking if he was a pro athlete or some celebrity. He loved it. He ate that shit up like it was morning oatmeal after a long fast. He’d always wink and say something cheeky like, “Yeah, something like that.” When they’d press him about it, he would shift focus on them, responding with something like, “Ah, I’d rather hear about you. What do you do?”

  At first, not working was hard for me, but I started going to the gym, learning more about nutrition (something I’d always been interested in), and catching up on all the shows I had missed for the past several years. I started taking comedic acting classes to explore that part of my passion. I read every entrepreneurial book I could get my hands on. Even though I didn’t have to do anything for the first time in my entire life, I knew
there was more that I could learn. I remember reading The 4 Hour Workweek by Tim Ferris and realizing there was a way to work less and ultimately make more. It was the first time I learned about the art of outsourcing and the genius behind leveraging your time. Then, I fell in love with the message behind The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari. I was slowly realizing that there were other ways to live beyond working constantly in back-breaking or spirit-breaking environments, that there was more to life, and that it required balance and being present in the moment.

  My mom had always instilled in me the sense that life was about the little moments and that money wasn’t everything. She raised us by example; even when we had nothing, she found ways to infuse joy into small things. We used to go to the Denver airport and ride the tram and escalators, in the days with looser airport security. All it cost her was a tank of gas and a trip to the food court, but she made it as fun as a trip Disneyland. From her, I learned to focus on the things around me that brought me great joy, and I found myself practicing that more and more. I also had the opportunity to travel more, fulfilling one of my passions. It was on one fate-filled trip to the Bahamas that my life changed in ways that I couldn’t have imagined.

  I had always been easy going about marriage with H and had never pressured him. I was still pretty young, and I wasn’t sure if he was necessarily 100 percent “The One.” Life was changing at a rapid pace, and although it seemed to be heading in a good direction, who can ever really be sure? He had been married once before to his high school sweetheart, and it hadn’t worked out between them. H told me that, towards the end of their marriage, he had started to make amazing money for the first time in his life. He owned a mortgage company, and they had purchased several houses. Women started to notice him more, which led to more fights. He admitted to being unfaithful, because he hadn’t wanted to settle down, and most women couldn’t keep his interest for a long period of time.