“Lucky it’s just lunch. Not dinner. You’re not scheduled for evening, are you?”

“I have another job nights.”

“Follow me and watch. Ask questions later. And take home a menu and memorize it.”

She was a fast and desperate learner. Her other job was stripping. Back in those days, the seventies, there was no Internet. There were more bars and more meeting people at bars. More flirting, much more flirting at work. People weren’t as worried about sexual harassment or the complications of workplace romances. In fact, I met Stephen waiting on him.

Vera made sixty thousand dollars stripping but had gotten addicted to cocaine. Chased powder with Dilaudid so she could steal sleep. She supported her son, Peter, and a man named Mickey, who took her to work, drove her home, and made sure she was safe. Mickey told her that she was the most beautiful woman in the club and reminded her daily how lucky she was to have him watch her back. He loved her like he never loved anyone, would die without her. You can imagine the con while he pocketed her tips so he could “take care of her.” When she did something on the side he got a lick of that, too. And he beat her regularly just to remind her of his control and his love. She made him do these things when he was frightened he would lose her. Being beaten was love. After all, her father had loved her.

Then protective services received a complaint from a neighbor who heard the unmistakable sound of someone being slapped and punched, heard yelling and swearing through the walls. The call made her confront a hard fact: She could have her son, Peter, or she could have Mickey. She let Mickey take extra Dilaudid. When he passed out, she clutched a few clothes, Peter’s favorite truck and blanket, and jammed the lot in the car. Grabbed her son and drove to a motel. Got a job stripping in a club on the outskirts of Ann Arbor. Left her furniture, dishes, sheets, most of her clothes, and everything she had managed to scrounge from a childhood almost as mean as her adulthood was threatening to become. A necklace her mom had given her for her sixteenth birthday. A baby doll missing one arm. A picture of her and her father and mother, the only picture she had of herself as a child. Left it all and drove away.

I don’t remember where she was from or where she was before she was here. I don’t know if I ever knew.