The Matchmaker
When I hear the word "matchmaker," I think of Ethel, my grandmother's Fort Lauderdale neighbor. Whenever Ethel saw me, she'd tell me about a friend's son, grandson, or third-cousin-once-removed who'd be just perfect for me. Each time I politely demurred, she'd lean in and say, "Honey, you're not getting any younger, so stop being so picky."
But two Manhattan-based matchmakers, Janis Spindel and Samantha Daniels, piqued my curiosity. Both have a roster of successful professionals (age 25-60) who are eager to marry but lack the time to cultivate their own potential mates. The idea of someone else doing the legwork sounded pretty appealing.
Janis told me that her rates for women begin at $10,000 for six dates. This was one club I couldn't afford to join. "Let's meet," she said. "Sometimes I recruit women who I think will be right for my men." She also mentioned another option: For $50, I could receive her online newsletter for a year, which would inform me of her dinner parties and other gatherings. (It costs another $50-$150 to attend each event.)
I agreed to meet her at a coffee shop. Before our appointment, I must have changed my outfit five times. What if I didn't pass muster? The anticipation of meeting Janis was becoming more nerve-racking than a first date. "Are you Beth?" a tall, red-haired woman asked. Janis shook my hand and sized me up. "A four, right?" she said. "Good, my male clients like thin. You've also got great hair and incredible eyes." I relaxed.
Janis told me that most of her clients are Ivy Leaguers who earn six figures, come from stable family backgrounds, and own vacation homes.
"And you?" she asked.
"B.A. in English from Boston University...Parents divorced when I was twelve...I rent." She didn't seem overjoyed. But after I'd finished enumerating the key details of my life, she said: "Okay. You're smart, clever, honest, and in good shape. I think I can do something for you." I had landed an invite to one of her dinners, for 100 people, buffet-style.
The event reminded me of those awkward junior high parties where the boys stand on one side of the room and the girls on the other. I could almost feel my braces against my teeth.
Janis was working the room, making introductions. When she saw me, she asked, "Who do you find attractive?" I indicated a tall, handsome man with blue eyes. "Forget it," she said. "Doctor. Forty-five. Looking for someone in her early 30s. You need to be focusing on 'Over 50' or 'Divorced With Kids.'"
I noticed that most people had paired off. I guess Janis knows what she's doing; after all, she claims to have made 300 marriages and 500 monogamous relationships in the past eight years. Maybe the dinner-party scene just wasn't for me. I eased out the door and headed home.
Janis called the next day. "I've got the perfect guy for you." You had to admire her tenacity. "He's absolutely adorable, 45, divorced, one kid. An Argentinean cardiologist."
"Is his name Ari?" I asked.
"How did you know?"
"I met him on Match.com. Nice guy, intelligent, and yes, adorable. But the chemistry just wasn't there."
