CONFESSIONS OF A BEVERLY HILLS MATCH-MAKER
                           

My new friend the MATCHMAKER told me why she does so well (she bought a mansion and turned it into an hotel)  "Well, I'm needed. It's rumored that there's a fundamental difference between men and women and that it's the cause of all the world's misery. But I can fix that. FREE. I am like the MARY POPPINS of LOVE"

You are? How do you solve that problem? I mean, What is that difference? What do you do?

First, I put all the information out FREE. See, I teach the FREE LUCK IN LOVE SEMINAR ONLINE. CLICK AND LEARN.  Then when I meet with the man who is getting fixed up with a few beautiful girls, I remind him that women are ingenuous and emotional, hence are generally exploited, seduced and abandoned-- and they have to obey the honor system with dates I provide.

Sexist. See, aren't men equally fragile? You telling me MEN Cannot be hurt?"

 They SET OUT TO CONQUER. That ethos has to be slowed down a little for any coupling to work.

The unspoken truth is that women generally put on perfume when they go out on a date but also a hard layer of armor. The man cannot provoke this defensiveness. Gals cannot gear up for battle with every new Harvey Weinstein that comes along. We need a change.

"COULDN'T IT BE that the big new change the fact that today, men are looking for wives and women have changed their minds? Rumors have it that increasing numbers of women are not interested in being tied to a stove and crib. They're unwilling to abandon the marketplace and high salary and just breed willy nilly. Women are concerned enough about their own survival to be very choosy when it comes to picking a man because settling down is just too close to settling!

Full of questions and in search of these answers, I have come to meet the Queen of the Matchmakers at Le Dome Cafe in Hollywood. The lady is a startlingly tall platinum blonde, once a Columnist at the Hollywood Reporter, before that a Beverly Hills meter-maid. She gives me her card. MARIANNA M. with a big pink pair of pulsating hearts next to the name. "See? Three sets of double letters, did you ever see that before?" She raps the N's and T's with a pink fingernail. "I'm about pairing off and three pairs, see? A numerologist's dream" And in truth, on her ample bosom, two platinum turtle doves pave with diamonds coo with ruby eyes.

She orders fish and white wine. "See, it's all about basic battle strategies," she says, sipping her wine and changing gears. "Who ever told us gals the real truth? The real skivvy? Were our aunties, the gold-diggers of 1926 onto something when they told us 'higamaus, hogamus, woman's monogamous; hogamus, higamus, man is polygamous!" Our flapper aunties warned us that we girls would just foolishly give away our valuable youth, and attract nothing but players who'd love us and leave us, fatherless children, poverty and pregnancy. Were they right? Or is the truth what Mother told us, that men basically do not want to be married, and that women have to be trained like geishas in the art of gentle, invisible trapping to even nail one? It's confusing but what's clear is that the basic metaphysical question can be proven by statistics, or disproven, and those numbers, those final numbers must occasion the final tactic. Can you see that? Probably not. You're a man". She seems to lose interest and dives into the tapinade with a slab of sour dough. A girl who loves her carbs, I can see. She doesn't talk for a while. She loses interest so then, I have to convince her with five minutes of my writing credits that I care about women's issues. Finally, she comes around.

"You claim you write about woman's issues, but the nitty gritty? Nobody will handle it as it's too edgy. If women could examine and answer these questions, we'd solve the world's greatest riddle which is this: 'if men and women want the same thing, to find 'the one' --- that mythical person who fulfills all their hopes, dreams and desires --- and if both sexes want that, then why is dating such a bloody, damn nightmare?"

"There are countless books written on the dating scene, the RULES, The Bibles, the do's and don'ts of dating. The hit HBO 'Sex and the City' show ponders these questions weekly and is a must see in the single sector. Its head writer did a book warning gals on the big truth nobody talks about. "What if "He's JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU?" When that happens, Women get all emotional. They know they should fish or cut bait, but they get attached to the fish, they are incapable of leaving that rock and they will sit there til there's not only no fish, there's a lethal sunburn. Women can't let go if they fall too deeply in love. Nature built 'em that way so they'd stick with grimy little infants. There's total loyalty in a woman. We named her womb-man. She has a commitment gift built in. Unfortunately, she sticks with men who don't give. Who are takers. Nature meant for woman to take, Men to give. But today they're both doing it backwards. . Guys think infant child coming, girl hooked on me, they score some sex then run like tomcats to the next whiff of hot pussycat down the street. There's no question that today's youth goes through all these dilemmas daily in a hands on, grueling way and they are seeking a guiding philosophy, the Ruthless Rules of Romance. And they want answers! Well I've got 'em and I aim to give it to women before they lock me away. With my book, " she holds up her manuscript "Confessions of a BEVERLY HILLS MATCHMAKER" I scan a few pages. It follows a week in the life of this most savvy, professional cupid as she prowls Rodeo Drive, her very own matrimony row.

Just scanning its pages, I see that Marianna has a different slant on life. She believes that beautiful women should only fool around with wealthy men. She doesn't even bother to paraphrase Marilyn Monroe's old line, 'beauty in a woman is like money in a man.' She says it outright, in clear terms and says it to the world's most beautiful girls, a hundred times a day. "What you've got there is like 24 karat gold. Don't waste it on stupid pretty boys." And her maxim. "Only stupid women give to men. Smart women TAKE!"

Marianna's mission is to remind beautiful women that they were given their gift by God for one reason. To unlock all that stuffy money from dusty bank vaults so the gals can create businesses that employ many, and create Keynsian "trickle down". Marianna wants her girls to be a mixture of Mother Teresa and Bobo Rockefeller. "Don't you see? Planetary conscience is the only real beauty and it shows in a woman's face. Look at Audrey Hepburn. Worked for UNESCO for years and she just got prettier as she got older. Look at Princess Diana and the landmines. Her causes made her immortal. Made her look better to us, didn't they? Sigmund Freud used to ask, what do women really want? I'll tell you what they want. A life of MEANING. To save the planet is what they really want and that takes MOOLA! A poor man will give you an hour of pleasure but a rich old man will give you a lifetime of joy via a business which can employ hundreds and last a thousand years and change the world. A thousand years from now Exxon will be here. Business. That's heaven on God's Capitalist earth. Face it. Women get old! How long can a Chanel make them happy? But saving the planet through a giving enterprise --- that's what matters. I have already created my charitable status with the state of California to raise money for latch key kids to have paid daycare. We are going to raise money for single mothers who work. Arnold just took away that stipend for daycare from all California's single mothers, dja know that?"

I evince surprise. She smiles. "You thought you were going to take a saucy old madame out to lunch? My dear!" She shakes her head, and I flush beet red.

It turns out that Marianna teaches her girls, the most beautiful women on the planet, that dating disco hunks is a total waste of time. "Beauty in a man is like stupidity in a woman" and the be-ringed knuckle raps the desk once more. The world according to Anita Loos or Marilyn Monroe." Marianna must be right. The cell phone in her pocket never stops ringing. The little book is being filled with names. Girl after girl, shipwrecked in Hollywood ---- where the poor dolt thought beauty alone would give her stardom ---- asking if she could somehow get onto the LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT website, and discovering that for free, she can.

They are in good hands. Marianna is not going to put them on the block at a slave auction. A double Moonchild, the sign of motherhood itself, she is a surrogate Mom to these ravishing, orphans girls who are at the end of their tethers in the Hollywood Dating game. She pulled out a scrapbook. See this girl? Homeless. No job, prettier than Ava Gardner in her prime. This one, looks like Marilyn Monroe, she's a stripper three nights a week and I fixed her up with a CEO, It's Pretty Lady all over again. He does not know what she does those three nights unlike the Julia movie, where Gere knew. That's a problem waiting to solve itself. Any ideas?"

'Yeah, she should invite the CEO to a date at the strip joint and show up on stage, suddenly."
"Guy has a bad heart. He'd walk out in shock or die right at the table. No can do." She opens the book to another face.
"See this girl? I had to take her into my home, then find her a roommate on Craigs list, then my secretary did apartment search. We finally got them a start. I co-signed on the lease. "
Isn't that dangerous for you?"
"If I don't live in the apartment, I can't be touched by the lawsuit even if they never pay rent again. Don't you know real estate law? L.A. is kind in some ways, rent control is one. But the city is harsh in other ways. Beauties who would make Angelina Jolie die of jealousy are mud-wrestling in smoky Hollywood bars. Too many beautiful, demented women have come to California, for too many generations. Their offspring wander the street starving, knock out gorgeous, dating pond scum and they still haven't put it together. So I teach them the Rules for Modern life. I educate them and then introduce these re-trained, perfectly elegant, mannerly, but indoctrinated women to my wealthy, male clients. These guys pay me for ten introductions. Ten first dates. You see, you gotta understand, these men are CEOS, only wealthy men can afford my fees, Right there I cut out the jerks. Brainy, savvy, career guys who have no clue how to meet gorgeous women. My male client is a different breed. They come to me from all walks of professional life, are of all ages. The common thread is that they're very rich and in search of 'the one perfect girl.'
"How can you be sure?" I ask How does Marianna know that?
"I have a nose for scoundrels," she says. I'm a molecule reading bullshit detector. If I think some wolf just wants to break hearts I happen to have a few girls that will tear his heart out of his ribcage ---girls whom I save just for a guy like him. That's easy. The real question is ---when I find a man who really wants a wife, how do I match them up?

She tells me that the key to her matchmaking skills, she believes --- is heart. She claims she listens with a third ear. And then, she interferes, she is hands on, the ultimate mother-in-law. If the guy's a F----r, I'm on him like white on rice. I've been known to give fees back just to get a louse out of our hair. "And I guide the GUY too. " Marianna says she has to banish men's prejudices about girls with startling beauty. Some think that beauty goes with cruelty, sluttishness, abandon, wantonness. It's very Christian era and I don't encourage it. If I catch sight of his being judgmental, I suddenly am his psychiatrist. Or for women, you see, there are the women's own prejudices, prime among these being that to marry a man just because he's wealthy is prostitution. Only prostitution is like prostitution. Middle aged Guys with big dowries and the girls who love 'em is not prostititution."

I learn that Marianna believes that brains, skill, determination and bravery went into making that fortune and in Darwinian terms, contributed to making an Alpha male. And an Alpha male is a thing of beauty. You have to really love men to let a buck be a buck. A man be a man. "These guys are never boring," she tells me. "Though I'll admit they may LOOK boring, they have that polished, smooth boardroom peace and quiet. Those are the real ones, the good ones. Some flashy car salesman, all braggodocio, I don't trust it."

Marianna claims that she can peer into men's souls and see the phonies. Likewise, she peers into her girls' souls and past lives and repeatedly has found that most of these 'lost girls' had 'beta' males for fathers, and that these frustrated beta men took it out on their families, abused them, ignored and scorned their daughters and did not father properly, hence these girls have no clue as to what makes a real man a man.

The Lost Girls tend to embrace phony values and have no radar to pick up genuine men of worth. Marianna sighs, saying she really has her work cut out for her. She has to retrain minds. And some of these minds are pretty dim and some are in horrible ruts. " But I don't put the girls out on the matchmaking circuit until I think some sense has been drilled into them. "

She obviously has the mental tools. And the other kind of tools, a website with thousands of color jpgs of girls, alongside their bios. And on the first meeting with the male client, she will meet the man, satchel in hand and proudly plunk down a thousand photos of 'her girls.' The man examines the goods, is impressed, then writes the check and she produces phone numbers and photos. The client is thrilled. The dates start and he is amazed at how fast this lady works. "Sometimes I have to retrain the men, too. Like last night. We were out at a club having a drink and viewing a sea of some of Hollywood's finest parade by. The guy remarked that one might as well pay for it. He confessed he felt that these girls wanted one thing, money, so wouldn't it just be better if they just visited a bank? I could see he was cynical, and had been hurt. So I found myself reprogramming men's heads.

Men have to come to terms with the fact that beautiful women have something very rare, which God has created for the planet, not just for one man. And that such women deserve to be placed in a setting that enhances their beauty. Jewels, clothes, hairdressing, cars and not having to mop floors was a part of the responsibility that these museum quality gals had to their own beauty and that a man who sensed what needed respect and respected it would be a good custodian for such a woman. After all, you wouldn't have cement trucks fill in the Grand Canyon, would you, and turn it into a parking lot?" I laughed at the picture.

After sitting with this woman and hearing her tales of Hollywood, one could begin to believe that maybe she had all the answers to hunger, war and joblessness. "How can women get the power except to marry it? Look at Queen Noor? Look at Diana. Give a woman the power and she can beat Gandhi at his own game."

As she sipped her wine, the bon mots just ripped off her tongue. "Beware of three things, sonny, pick-ups, single bars and blind dates." Not just disappointing--- disastrous!"

"But aren't you selling blind dates, basically?

"Not even hardly!" She leaned over. "Do I look blind? Well, I'm not and I'm doing the arranging!"
A girl in a mink coat ran over and hugged her. "Thank you, Marianna" she leaned over, a cloud of Joy Perfume flooded our noses. "Marianna found me my husband. Come visit us in Barbados in December, stay 'til New year's." The girl went off with an elegant, elderly man who guided his young wife's waist with tenderness as they left the cafe.

"True love and no pre-nuptial." Marianna sighs, finishing her chardonnay. "Garcon?" She held up the empty glass. "I should have ordered a bottle," I said, ashamed. "It's alright. You're poor. You don't have mutuals, do you." I shook my head. Changing the subject, I said, "Don't you get lonely? All this true love around you and you're single, yourself?"

"I may be alone but I have to go back to Moscow next week to arrange for fifty women to come meet their American husbands. I have to go to Barbados, as you just heard --- and she began regaling me with tales of Russian 'arranged' marriages. "Aren't these just green card marriages?" "Oh no," and she began counting happy marriages on her fingers. "Tatiana, Ludmilla, Svetlana,"... The waiter brings her a second glass of wine and her fish.

I don't want to spoil her appetite but I bring it up. I must. I'm a journalist. "On a TV show recently, the host accused you of procuring." Marianna shrugs. She can't understand what all the fuss is about. She has the trump card as she sees it as she has the 'girls.' The playboy centerfolds, the beauty queens who have been used and abused not BY their AUNTIE M. but UNTIL they FOUND their Auntie Mame. "My male clients are old enough to be very stable. They aren't going to cheat on this beauty with their secretary. They aren't going to run off on the babies. Unless they leave the babies with a pair of Nannies and take Mom to Paris for the spring collections. My girls get treated right. So does that make it WRONG? HUH? HUH?" She spears the air in front of my nose with a fork. Heidi Fleiss was a madame. I'm MOM. Big difference." The fish disappears along with some potatoes.

I page through her manuscript and see it is about dating and mating at the top of the food chain, romance and finance, beauty power and hopes. "So what if it's Hollywood. Don't people everywhere really want a love relationship? A permanent twitter of excitement in their veins and hearts? A real marriage or is being a permanent shopper more exciting and somehow less responsibility? Didn't BILL GATES marry some little programmer for gawdsake? A guy like that doesn't have to get married but he did!"

I see the book is full of interviews with celebrities, top models, multi millionaires, porn queens and everyday interesting people who share their hopes, dreams and desires for finding the love of their life in the 21st century. "Everyone wants a great relationship, better than the one Mom and Dad had, but how do they intend to go about it? Money certainly helps the men and good looks helps the ladies but as so many in L.A. and New York have money and looks why aren't all the rich and beautiful people happily married to each other? "

Marianna smiles as her chocolate Napoleon arrives. "Because they needed me, to get them together. To prepare their heads for one another. Rich men are spoiled rotten. And way too cynical And beautiful women are 'scarred stiff.' "

"Scarred stiff?" I ask, not certain I've heard her. "Yes --- hurt so many times, pounced on, manhandled that they feel like bloody raw meat that has hardened in the California sun, into a brick! Women need to be healed before they can be thrown back into the fray. I'm the healer." She sinks into the napoleon and conversation dies to a silence. She wipes whipped cream off her lips daintily. "That's not all. I put them on a pedestal when I make the introduction. I give them star billing. I am the David Belasco of making an ordinary woman into a super star. Men think they're getting Sarah Bernhardt by the time I'm finished describing the woman, in the introduction period."

Marianna isn't a Peter Pan for the lost boys, she's a Wendy, for the lost girls. Hollywood obviously had the need for her and she came.

We stagger back to her home for coffee. She lives in a massive, Spanish mansion built in the 20's. Polished marble floors, ornate fireplaces, a Scarlet O Hara stairway curling up to the second floor. The living room cornices are adorned with angels, real Persian carpets are lush under our feet. Her Russian maid, a woman of about forty, brings us black coffee. "Are you going to marry her off?" I ask. "I tried to. She picked some working class stiff Rumanian. Hey, I didn't say I can convince every woman of my vision. I never said that! Ludwiga was raised communist and they piss on money!" I laugh and we move to a huge Apple Desk Computer. I peruse Marianna's website. It's just as she has told me, hundreds of beautiful girls. On her desk is a Catholic Santo, a relic from an old Mexican church, and in his arms, uplifted to God, a sheaf of about twenty, five dollar bills. stuck in his recesses and crannies. Real money. "What you see daily is what you get," she nods. "No ranting about poverty from me. Abundance is the first law of the universe. The world is an endless treasure mine. All you need is a shovel.

This lady preaches a definite message: that money matters and to make certain that her female clients only meet and date the best, it costs her male clients a thousand dollars to get ten dates. "It certainly weeds out the slugs," she says, tapping a jeweled knuckle on the huge, antique desk of her West Hollywood office. And on her desk, a sign: "Truth" in capital letters. And in between the letters, the anagram, "That Real Understanding Takes Heart". She nods. "It takes heart to love what is, to face and accept the truth. I matchmake. Don't project any prostitution thing on me or my girls who only have a brief time of blossoming. Girls don't know that, see. They have no idea that they need to find good husbands fast while the dew is on the rose. Understand that and do not judge. Accept reality. And cherish it. God made it this way to facilitate reproduction of the race. So how could it be bad? I wish I could teach the mothers of our country the curriculum so that they could teach their own daughters the Ruthless rules of Romance. Less hookups with male hotties, less fatherless children raised in Section 8 housing with a depresso mother. Less violence and crime, you see how they're all connected?

I have no answer. It's been a startling day. When I get outside, I notice that my car is definitely ratty looking. If I'm going to find a wife, I'll need another car. But maybe it would be smarter to drive the old car for another decade, and invest the money that I save in stocks. As I drive down Fountain, I'm thinking about mutuals, bonds, and comparing the two and trying to decide which'll make me rich faster. Presently, I find myself whistling. It's going to be a fantastic choice, when I make it. And it's already a fantastic day. Maybe a fantastic life follows. Question, when it comes --will I owe it all to this matchmaker.

*     *    *     *      *   *     *     *     *      *   *     *     *     *      *   *     *

Our POSTER is ANITA SANDS HERNANDEZ, Los Angeles Writer, Futurist and Astrologer. Catch up with her websites TRUTHS GOV WILL HIDE & NEVER TELL YOU, also The  FUTURE, WHAT'S COMIN' AT YA! FRUGAL LIFE STYLE TIPS,  HOW TO SURVIVE the COMING GREAT DEPRESSION, and Secrets of Nature, HOLISTIC, AFFORDABLE HEALING. Also ARTISANRY FOR EXPORT, EARN EUROS....* Anita is at astrology@earthlink.net ). Get a 15$ natal horoscope "my money/future life" reading now + copy horoscope as a Gif file graphic! No smarter, more accurate career reading out there!

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