The Magical Potential Of True Love


The Magical Potential Of True Love
As lovers, we must not only love what we see, we must also truly see the one we love.

Bruno would constantly saunter around the apartment au naturel. He went so far as to answer the door in his birthday suit. Frankly, I was appalled. His best friend James would knock on the door, and there came Bruno, treating his buddy to a full frontal extravaganza and a big bonjour! James wasn’t fazed in the least. One day Bruno shocked a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses.
“Aren’t you embarrassed to have your privates on display?” I asked.
He gestured toward his package and shrugged his shoulders. “C’est une partie du corps.”  It’s just a part of the body. “You are so uptight, Marla.”
For all the French freedom, I watched the girlfriends and wives as they discovered their young men cheated on them all the time. I couldn’t figure out if they were just dumb, or if they had their own flings going on. I didn’t think I would be able to recover from a betrayal, but then it happened to me. I stayed with Bruno after he had an affair with James’ sister who was visiting from France. My self-esteem crashed to a rocky bottom—I thought. But it turned out that it could go even lower.
Bruno’s green card came in the mail after we had been married for three years. What a coincidence that an hour after it arrived, he told me that he didn’t want to be with me anymore. I was so distraught that I went up to Sunset Boulevard to a tattoo parlor blaring Gun’s and Roses and subjected myself to modern day torture by having a tattoo engraved on my left hip of a heart with a dagger through it with the words, L’AMOUR. I was a mess. I couldn’t eat or sleep and my heart literally felt as though it had been pierced by a dagger. I was able to convince him to stay with me after that, but why did I want to hang on to someone who didn’t love me? I tried changing my personality to be more “cool” and “easy going.” When he was there with his friends, I even walked around the house as nonchalant as a cigarette dangling from my lips could make me. All I got was a sore throat.

Article contributed by

Marla Martenson


Marla Martenson, matchmaker & author of Diary of a Beverly Hills Matchmaker

Location: Los Angeles, CA
Credentials: Other
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