Pitching Woo and a Book Concept

On a recent Monday night, 48-year-old Robert Epstein waited outside the cliff-side restaurant Las Brisas in Laguna Beach, clutching a single peach-colored rose.

“I’m about to embark on a very bold, very personal experiment, one that some might call--and in fact have already called--crazy,” Epstein, the editor in chief of Psychology Today, wrote in a June editorial-cum-personal ad. He was looking for a woman to fall in love with him in a given amount of time, say within six months. He and the woman would “create” love through weekly counseling sessions and a series of trust-building exercises.

During this period of self-experimentation, he would take copious notes and chronicle everything for a book. He already had the title: “The Love You Make: How We Learned to Love Each Other, and How You Can Too.”

All he needed was a woman.

Hundreds had offered to be part of the experiment, pitching themselves in long, heartfelt letters. And the phones had been ringing off the hook. USA Today, the Boston Globe, the Washington Post, the British newspaper the Guardian and the BBC were interested in his project, he said. Producers from CBS and NBC were even throwing around the idea of a so-called reality series, starring Epstein. Camera crews would record “the milestones,” he said. “The first meeting, the first kiss, meeting the parents, the first declaration of love, the counseling sessions.”

Tonight’s candidate was Alma Avery Rubenstein, the 33-year-old owner of Kooky Catering. She was not drawn from the Psychology Today responses. Rather, Epstein had found her on Matchmaker.com.

“She sounds like an ambitious woman. I liked that,” he said. “I saw a couple of photos, and she looks kind of cute. She’s Jewish ... that’s a good bonus.”

Though Rubenstein had inadvertently wandered into the middle of the Epstein juggernaut, she agreed to a date at Las Brisas, halfway between her Hollywood condo and his home in San Diego. And she didn’t flinch when he mentioned he’d be inviting a reporter along.

He was being interviewed when a call came through on the other line. “Guess who that was? Tonight’s woman,” he said as he came back on the line. She had wanted directions to the restaurant, he said. “She sounded a little irritated that I couldn’t give her directions straightaway. That’s a bad sign.”

But it didn’t distract him too much as he continued to chat about his project and his new agent from N.S. Bienstock. “They represent Diane Sawyer and Dan Rather,” he said before taking another call. Every national talk show has called, he said when he returned. “But I’ve been forbidden by my agent to do them. It would ruin the negotiations for the reality show. Which is a shame. I really wanted to do CNN. They wanted to pick me up in a limo. Paula Zahn. I really wanted to do that.”

He got another call. “I hope it’s not her again.”

It wasn’t, he said. It has just been so frantic. Even John Gray had contacted him. “The Mars/Venus guy. The John Gray.”

Epstein, a Harvard-trained psychologist, got back to the business of relationships, explaining their typical trajectory. “What we normally do is we fall passionately in love or in lust in the beginning. But it fades and we’re left with nothing.”

By dispensing with the idea of finding “the one” or a soul mate, Epstein argued, partners-to-be could use tools culled from couples’ therapy to ignite, rather than simply rekindle, romances. They’d use, for example, the exercise in which a person falls back into the arms of his or her partner. Epstein has named it “falling for you.”

He was confident that his method, which he likened to an arranged marriage in which partners consciously decide to fall in love, would work “not for everybody--who cares?--but for many.” He envisions teaching his techniques to other therapists. It could be a franchise, healing people on a national scale.

“This is good for the consumer, the general public, it’s even good for the mental health profession,” he said. “This project is going to give rise to a lot of therapists and counselors. I guess you could say it could bring in a lot of new customers.”

Idea Proves Familiar

At the restaurant, a waiter seated the couple at a window table with a view of the ocean.

Epstein, a slight man with thinning brown hair, was wearing khakis, Topsiders and a blue blazer. A heavy silver chain hung around his wrist. Rubenstein, a woman with a husky voice and caramel-golden hair, wore a black top and skirt.

He was a little tired after a hard day’s work. She had arrived in Laguna Beach two hours early. As Epstein unspooled his spiel, Rubenstein looked puzzled. No, she hadn’t read his editorial. As he explained his quest, though, she quickly recovered.

“You know, I wrote a screenplay about the same thing,” she said, “trying to get someone to fall in love with you ... in one week, kind of a crash course in love.” She had never sold it because life interfered. “I actually fell in love and got distracted,” she said, with a smile.

“I didn’t steal your idea,” he said. She ordered a dirty vodka martini. He, Frangelico and Baileys on ice. She chided him for “drinking his dessert.” “I’m going to have to change that,” she said. They ordered entrees to share, and Epstein continued talking. In a rare digression from the vertical pronoun, he told his date: “You’re my favorite body type.”

Outside, couples held hands as they walked along the bluff. The lights dimmed.

Epstein was looking for “a good, healthy, wonderful relationship.” And to that end, had crafted the love contract, “a beautiful document. I’m going to be signing one, hopefully, this week.”

At the table, he presented it to Rubenstein. It had little heart-shaped bullet points, and a dotted line to be signed by the “partners in love.” The goals, he had explained earlier, were “learn to communicate, learn to have fun, learn to trust each other, learn to forgive each other. Most important, learn to love each other with a love that’s genuine.”

Rubenstein looked at the document, spattered now with drops of water from her glass.

“I was looking for a life partner, not a business contract,” she said. But soon they were talking business. She asked him about his book deal, the money he would be making off the project. What would be her cut, if she signed on to become his partner?

“All that has to be worked out,” he said. “Whether the person would officially be a co-au- thor....”

She mulled it over. She would really like to write something for the book, she said.

His pager beeped. “I’m a little intimidated by you,” he told her. “It may be your tan.”

They talked about his previous relationships; an ex-wife and another woman. He showed her a picture of one of his four children.

“I never really had a partner,” he told her. But using the tools he’s developed--concentrating on conversational skills, identifying mutual goals and overcoming barriers--that would change.

She told him about a stint in the Israeli army. He didn’t ask a single question, segueing, instead, into an anecdote about his dentist.

After about an hour of Epstein on Epstein, the subject shifted to Rubenstein.

“So, are you working on anything right now?” he asked. “Yeah,” she replied, “the Robert Epstein story. The MTV reality series.”

That was his cue to talk more about the publicity frenzy. “My mother’s worst fear is that they are going to dig up my exes.”

” After dinner, they walked along the beach--no, a reporter wouldn’t be welcome. He walked her to her car and, they both said later, they kissed.

Nice but Awkward

“I think he wanted to kiss more, and I got into my car,” Rubenstein said by phone the next day. “It was nice but a little bit awkward.”

She wasn’t too daunted by the glass-house romance. “I honestly felt we enjoyed each other’s company,” she said. “I think he’s a little overwhelmed by this project, and that’s why I was giving him space ... trying to be respectful.”

And this had the promise of something genuine, she said.

“I stopped picking the actors and the models, there were just so many blank beautiful people,” she said. “I want someone who’s real.”

A week later, she hadn’t heard from Epstein. He’d been busy.

“I think it went pretty well,” he said by phone. “I do want to chat with her again.” But what about his obligations to all the other candidates? “What to do with these large numbers of women?” he asked, outlining two possible methodologies for choosing among them: “Take the first person who turns up or ... try to find the most suited?”

What’s love got to do with this? Some of Epstein’s colleagues weren’t sure. “First of all, the motive behind it: He’s not looking for love,” said Herb Goldberg, a Los Angeles clinical psychologist and expert on male psychology. “It’s about publicity, adventure, getting attention. None of it has to do with finding love.”

Goldberg continued: “It’s some kind of macho thing: ‘I can make things happen. I’m going to show you how it’s done.’ ” Besides the project’s latent narcissism, exhibitionism on the part of the participants would get in the way of sincere emotional exchange, Goldberg said. “You can’t develop a relationship with all kinds of cameras watching. It colors the whole experience.... It’s not much different than ‘Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire’ or some of those dating shows. But it’s cute. And it creates publicity for his magazine.”

By the end of that week, Epstein had gone on three dates, including the one with Rubenstein. Miles and miles to go. He was meeting with his team of assistants, publicity people, interns and a couple of friends later in the week to discuss how to proceed.

Oh, and he had just spoken to one of his previous dates by phone.

“She called to say hello and remind me that I missed her birthday,” he said, before asking: “Did I tell you People magazine called?”