Temptation at every turn

Ever since my marriage in 1998, I have been more aware of the griping and moping commonly heard from singles about the various ups and downs associated with the process of looking for love in and around Los Angeles.

Magazines overflow with articles tackling this theme -- one popularized in programs such as HBO’s “Sex and the City,” which begin from the premise that finding the right person is hard in a big, cruel city like New York or L.A. and it’s no fun being a table for one in a binary world.

Although this is true enough, such lamentation, intentionally or not, implies that if being single in the city is especially difficult, being married in the city must be a breeze.

To which married people from the 310 to the 714 to the 805 area codes would no doubt reply, “Har dee har har.”

Male or female, straight or gay, it’s tough to imagine a more difficult city to be married in than Los Angeles, home to several million gorgeous people. And while this is probably most true for men -- borrowing columnist Dave Barry’s line, which says that all married guys live in fear that some single guy, somewhere, is having a better time than they are -- women are certainly not immune.

It was from a married woman, after all, who, after staring longingly at an Adonis-like bartender, that I first heard the line, “Hey, it doesn’t matter if I look as long as I don’t touch.”

In fact, not long ago I enjoyed a holiday lunch (OK, I was paying off a bet on the UCLA-USC game, if you must know) with a married woman who seemed distracted by the piercing blue eyes of our waiter, a sort of Dylan McDermott wannabe.

So, too, were the six women at the table behind us, several wearing wedding rings, who tittered like schoolgirls every time he walked by and seemed to fabricate ways of keeping him at their table for an inordinate amount of time, debating the merits of flat or bubbly water.

This isn’t to say being married is a hardship, though some people (this means you, Jennifer Lopez) are worse at it than others. It’s just that if staying on the straight and narrow amounts to a dietary restriction, Los Angeles is the civic equivalent of an all-your-eyes-can-handle buffet -- offering a wide assortment of confections, many of them currently paying the bills working in service industries as they get ready for their close-ups, Mr. DeMille.

Of course, to do a “Married in the City” piece justice requires a good degree of anonymity, lest those whom I have observed find themselves divorced in the city.

So just pretend you’re reading Cosmopolitan magazine, where none of the women have last names and all the quotes conveniently support the agreed-upon premise (you know, something like, “Carol, 33, a cosmetician, met her boyfriend on a boat off the coast of Tuscany”).

Like those articles, it would be easy to go find some psychologist to elaborate on this problem, but why bother? Anybody with a pulse and passable vision can easily deduce that there are thousands of marauding runway models in this city, of both genders and every conceivable ethnicity, seemingly put here to torment and trip up married folk.

The fact that most of said married folk would have absolutely no chance of romancing said models, by the way, is of absolutely no consequence. Being married allows someone to play the same role as those know-it-all sports commentators -- many paunchy and out of shape -- who sit on the sidelines and smugly act as if they have all the answers.

For the purpose of this discussion, it doesn’t really matter if you once played a good game or not. Comedian Chris Rock once observed that a man is “as faithful as his options.” Although most of us married types have relatively few options and lack Warren Beatty’s pre-Annette Bening resume, it’s hard to completely banish the idea -- especially in these surroundings -- of what life might be like if we did.

Consider a television producer I know -- let’s call him “Bob” -- who had an office at one of the major studios. One day when I visited the lot, I noticed a long line of provocatively attired women visible through the window. Apparently the studio casting department would have candidates for various roles queue up at this location, which could be a considerable distraction on days, say, when they were looking for someone to play a prostitute on a crime show.

“I’m not getting much work done today,” Bob conceded.

The mere act of looking or not looking itself becomes a challenge, especially when an eagle-eyed spouse spots some young god or goddess at the precise moment you do. I would argue it is better to take a quick if discreet glance as opposed to pretending that you somehow didn’t notice, which establishes the precedent that you are not only prone to perpetrating acts of deception, but also bad at it.

Although this phenomenon is hardly unique to Los Angeles, being married out in some rural environment simply isn’t the same as being married in the city, and particularly this city.

Let’s face it: The allure of Hollywood is a beacon to the world, prompting those with dreams of stardom to flock here. Moreover, once they arrive, they spend hours perfecting their appearance and chiseling their physiques, from health clubs to salons to those funky little stores on Melrose that sell all manner of completely useless accessories.

Then they go out in public, congregating in only-in-L.A. places like the aisles of Staples Center when the Lakers are in town, where they do a terrific job of looking gorgeous but, as near as anyone can tell, seldom watch any of the actual game. At times, the Laker Girls appear positively overdressed compared with the women sitting around the court, which might explain why the lights are never dimmed, the better to facilitate people-watching.

Small wonder that television’s 237 dating shows (if this is an exaggeration, it’s a small one) all call Los Angeles home, venturing outside the city only occasionally in pursuit of different backgrounds.

It’s not uncommon for crews taping made-for-TV-sponsored dates to bump into one another at “hot” locales, making you wonder if anybody in these restaurants ever has to pay for a meal.

In this context, even stunning people often pooh-pooh the notion that attention is showered upon them here, saying that in L.A., the beautiful are a dime a dozen. I would suggest the price is considerably higher, but when it comes to being plentiful, the point isn’t worth arguing.

As for other major cities, L.A. is notably different from cold-weather climates like Chicago, where there are said to be beautiful people but all you can see of them most of the year are their eyes and noses. Around here, more is exposed more often -- another boon to the single, who needn’t worry about unwrapping a present, as it were, and being forced to feign enthusiasm.

Many will no doubt be screaming by now about how painfully shallow all this sounds, and as a lifelong resident of Los Angeles, I have no trouble pleading guilty.

Still, rest assured that it’s all in the public-minded service of a single point -- namely, that being single in the city really isn’t so tragic, and when you live smack dab in the middle of a dating smorgasbord, being married isn’t always a picnic.

*

Brian Lowry can be contacted by e-mail at brian.lowry@latimes.com.