The Mating Game Can Cost a Pretty Penny

John and Julie, the J s of J. Wingo International, are seated around the conference table: John at the head and Julie at his right. They are a charming couple, articulate and well mannered.

On the sophistication meter, John has explained, Julie is the top-rated 5, while he is a mere 4. No matter; she loves him still. They have been married nearly 20 years. They have two, no doubt lovely, daughters.

“I think our clients see in us a couple of the answers,” John says. “Being married confirms that it is possible to go off and live fairly happily ever after.”

At the moment, Julie’s gaze appears fixed on something over my shoulders, out the window of this office tower, which is beige marble, nouveau Irvine chic. I would say she looks fairly happy.

John has been explaining the philosophy of the family business, which is most definitely not a dating service, but rather a “personal relationship search” organization, based on the principles he learned from his years as a corporate headhunter in Newport Beach, then overseas.

J. Wingo International has 12 offices, throughout California and in Seattle, although, for you , they’ll go anywhere in the world to find somebody’s who’s just right.

But, naturally, you want the best, you gotta pay for it, John is saying now, although not quite in those words.

John talks instead about “fitting needs.” The fee ranges from $5,000 to $150,000, depending on the need, depending on the fit.

“Love Connection” this ain’t.

“We could retire tomorrow very comfortably,” John says. “But we enjoy this. We get a good feeling helping people.”

“Be honest,” he says, turning to his wife. “Do you like it, Julie?”

“Oh, yes!” Julie says, snapping to. She brings her hand to her heart.

The company’s local P.R. man, Frank, of Frank Groff Public Relations, is taking notes. He keeps saying things like, “Hmm. Interesting.”

This meter business--i.e. sophistication, sense of humor, intelligence, vigor of lifestyle and the Open and Tolerant Level--seems to have especially piqued Frank’s interest. He asks a question, or maybe it’s not a question, because his point is not entirely clear.

“If I understand what you’re mumbling about, Frank,” says John, “I would just say that by using these meters--which of course are subjective--and by matching up preferences, types of individuals, you are more likely to have bonding occur than you would in a Safeway line.”

Frank laughs.

“Frank, you’re a 1 ,” John says.

Frank laughs some more. Kidding, right, John? Then John looks down, still chuckling. Boy, are we ever having fun.

Except now I realize that John’s eyes appear to be resting on my foot, which has escaped my shoe and a-hem, my toe seems to have punched a hole through my hose.

Oh my God! What am I? A .5?

But I am not going to let this bother me. I am happily married is what I am. And thank God for that.

Because--and I’m being perfectly honest with you here--even if I do cut back on some magazine subscriptions, I might be hard-pressed to come up with a spare $150 thou for a few dates.

Except that I’ve got it all wrong, John explains. Aside from the fact that these are not dates, but contacts , here the motto is Monogamy, the credo Commitment, with one-half total payment up front.

John says this is a good way to weed out anyone just fooling around.

“We turn away clients daily,” he says. “We spend about 20 minutes on the phone with a client first. We are looking only for people interested in monogamy. We explain this. Then I’ll say, ‘Does this fit your needs, Carl?’ Uh, no. Click.”

And sometimes, John goes on, his honest approach can be a bit hard to take. He is not talking about Frank.

“This morning, a lady came in--has a child of 8 or 10 months old,” he says. “She’s in her early 40s, newly divorced. A beautiful lady.

“This is a very difficult match to make. Men are not interested in restarting with somebody else’s child. I told her her chance of success would be less than without the child. She hasn’t decided what to do yet.”

Then John, with absolutely NO PROVOCATION WHATSOEVER, turns to me, leans forward, and says:

“Let’s say that your husband leaves. With two young kids, you’d be a trip !”

I look to my buddy Frank, hoping he can help me out here, but maybe Frank thinks that I laughed just a tad too hard at that “1” remark.

Now Frank’s laughing a bit too enthusiastically himself. Frank ?

“A trip ?” I say, momentarily forgetting about the snappy comeback meter.

And then, John, perhaps sensing that honesty is one thing, but good press is something else entirely, spews off a string of what he apparently intends to be complimentary adjectives, but all I really remember is that he calls me pert .

So great. My future is flashing before me. My husband leaves me, probably for some fitness freak he links up with on his morning bicycle rides.

Despondent, I begin standing in a lot of Safeway lines, trying to pretend that the two young children in my shopping cart really belong to the coupon lady in front of me.

What with half of our family income disappeared over the bike trail, even forgoing magazine subscriptions can’t get me in the door at J. Wingo International.

But, wait! I remember this incisive interview I had with Julie and John themselves, free of charge. I can use this. Why, in John’s professional opinion, I am pert !

Which, all things considered, must count for something. I mean, it could be worse.

At least he didn’t say I was a 1 .

Frank?