Is Your Heart On The Line?

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Is Your Heart On The Line?
A chapter from my latest memoir, Hearts on the Line

I hang up in slow motion. Connie is staring at me with two steaming mugs in her hand. I beckon and she pushes my door open with her butt and enters.
“What was that all about?”
I un-grit my teeth. “Bob Carpenter.”
“That guy has a voice like a cartoon character.” She sets my
coffee mug on my cute coaster with the martini olives painted on it— given to me last year by Jenna.
“I’ve got a question,” Connie says. “You okay?”
“Please distract me.” I gesture toward the chair opposite my desk and she sits. We slurp together, enjoying a fresh jolt of the joe.
“Whoever brought coffee to the civilized world should be canonized,” I say.
“Saint Joe.” She raises her mug. “Hey, Marla, what is this Playboy promotion Gary keeps referring to?”
“Oh.” I make a face. “I hate it. He does it whenever the client list is low. Every year the Playboy Mansion has a few parties they sell tickets to at a thousand bucks and up. This one coming up is called ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Gary will buy maybe a half-dozen tickets.”
“As a signing perk?”
“Yeah. His web guy is going to advertise it on the website and in
the newsletter.” The email newsletters go out to guys who have filled out the questionnaire on the website, and Connie routinely uses their captured emails for follow-up.
Connie nods. “And you probably hate this because only porn nerds fall for it, right?”
“Pretty much, especially from out of town. L.A. guys have either already been to the Hefner Mansion, or they see enough big tits

around town and at the beach for free. But the out-of-towners get all excited and drool, thinking they might actually get a date.”
“Poor fools.”
“Well, one of our guys did meet one of our female clients there.” I tell her the story of Lindy who was pretty enough to be matched, but her chest size was only a nice average B cup, so she decided to get the operation. “She threw a party to celebrate going in for new boobs. She was soon bouncing around the office in a top so low you couldn’t look her in the eye. You were either staring at her tits or trying not to. She applied to the Heffner Mansion and was allowed to hang out— “So to speak,” Connie says.
“—yeah, at the pool. During one of our Playboy promotions two years ago, a new client met her there, and they got married after three months.”
“So romantic it almost brings a tear to the eye.” Connie sips her coffee, one-hundred percent dry-eyed.
“Another of our girls is Lindy’s friend. She told us that Lindy’s implants have had to be surgically corrected twice. She also said the marriage is breaking up, but she has no idea whether it was because of the boob problems or not.”
Connie shakes her head. “Alana said there was a client whose boob-bag thingy left her lopsided but she couldn’t afford the corrective surgery.”
“Sounds like she’s talking about Becky.”

Article contributed by

Marla Martenson

Matchmaker

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

Location: Los Angeles, CA
Credentials: Other
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