Our club had the prettiest girls in LA, and they all wanted to talk to him. The night before our date, I Googled him—the more I learned, the more impressed I was.
He donated his time and money to programs that benefited underprivileged kids. A socially conscious perspective was a prerequisite to date me.
As a top pro basketball player, he was used to getting what he wanted. I was working as a VIP hostess at the most exclusive club in LA.
He would show up every week in old-school sneakers, a hoodie, and jeans, and stand in the corner of the entrance, watching me emasculate men attempting to enter.
It appeared he wasn't the vapid dude addicted to panty-throwing groupies I'd assumed he was. We would be on the phone, and he would say, "Are you pulling at the cuticle on your right thumb right now? Within three months, the cover of every newspaper at my local deli informed me that my cheating, naked-picture-receiving ex had been traded to a team on the East Coast. I felt someone staring at me, and when I looked up, I saw him smiling the biggest smile. He confessed April Atlanta wasn't the only woman he'd cheated with and admitted that the chase and challenge played a large role in his obsession with me. He apologized over and over and asked if we could try again. We saw each other constantly and talked about the future.
He made me laugh, and despite being persistent, he wasn't as annoyingly aggressive as other guys.
And yes, I saw how many people walked up to him every night.
Perhaps our dinner conversation would have an ounce of substance. He was smart, funny, and charming and drove an environment-friendly car.
Finally, the owner pulled me aside and said, "I took you off the schedule Saturday night.""Why? He also paid your salary for your night off."The owner was a good friend who had known my admirer for years and said he had never seen him act like this." I asked, thinking of what I could have done wrong. I stopped assuming this guy was a prize-winning pig … The truth is, he'd charmed me enough that I was actually a little excited.I was in charge of getting celebs to come in—and keeping B-listers out. On one of the early nights, a coworker yanked me aside to hiss, "You don't know who that is? Go find a chick who's impressed with your day job."He would shake his head and mumble, "Brutal, man.The gig was glamorous but tough, and I learned quickly that many male VIPs had god complexes and felt entitled to my attention. " I didn't at first, but apparently everyone else did. Just brutal."Nights passed, and he grew more ambitious, chatting with me by the door instead of going inside to hang with his entourage.We sat at a table in the back of a West Hollywood Italian restaurant and talked about his absent mother, the father he hardly knew.
He became teary-eyed when he talked about his grandma. I loved how he picked up on every nervous habit of mine. I'm sorry."I left for the airport and ignored his calls for months. A few years later, I left LA and moved to Manhattan. "It's her."He asked me to meet up and apologized for his immaturity and infidelities. He thought I was constantly waiting for him to screw up. I couldn't justify or pardon what he had done, but I tried to understand. The first months of 2013 were a steady drive in bliss and honey.