Meant to be

Burt did a favor for Angelo one day in 1990. He went to drop off something at the Puck Building. He noticed a freebie newspaper on the premises.

The NY Press had an, also free, personal ad section. Intrigued, Burt worked on his pitch.

I was in the market. Burt’s ad was tailor-made to my intetests. My response said I liked gawking at buildings. I know Burt thought that was strange; he told me so.

I listed my office number. We made a date to meet at Tramps, a bar across from the office on Friday, May 3.

We spent the evening strolling from 21st and 6th, eventually all the way to my place on 72nd by the East River. [No, we didn’t. It was a first date.] Burt told the cabbie about me; the driver said maybe you’ll marry her. [That we did, but you know that part of the story.]

On Sunday at the Central Park Boathouse Cafe, we continued the conversation. I told him I was joining my friends C&S at a charity dinner. Black tie, sure, Burt said, let’s go rent a tux.

Over the next weeks, it was a whirlwind.

And then one morning, Burt had a panic attack. He’d had these before; in fact, he was open about it with me. This morning I wasn’t understanding at all; in fact, I freaked out. I decided I had my own neuroses and didn’t want to take on Burt’s. I sent him home.

The tuxedo event was a few weeks away; I offered to let him off the hook. Burt said he stuck to his committments. Hmmm.

There was comedy, good food and dancing at the gala. Burt was a terrific dancer, not showy just smooth. That tied it. I invited him to go out with some friends the next night.

We were on again. No more break ups, although we were known to have some whopping good fights. I used to say after his diagnosis that I missed being able to fight with my husband since it is counter-indicated when your partner has dementia. There’s a lot to miss with dementia; I made fighting the fall guy. Burt was a good dancer and a pretty smooth fighter, too.