The bar was dark, long and narrow, soul music blasting from a back room sectioned off by shabby, velvet curtains — parted just enough to see revelers dancing in the shadows.
It was November 1980 in the heart of Tribeca, and there was an aliveness to the place, a buzzing energy swirling around 24-year-old artist Marissa Waichunas, who had fully embraced the rising era of promiscuous feminism and all that it entailed. She had no intention of meeting someone to date, or to marry, that night, let alone a fellow artist.
But then she locked eyes with Allan Bridge.
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