LET ME introduce Barbra: 22, pretty, Jewish, sweet. I got to know her last autumn while researching my new novel, Topless. Barbra is a go-go dancer. She can earn $1,000 a week, tax free. (Some industrious dancers triple that figure.) With Barbra as my chaperone, I traveled the New Jersey and upstate New York topless circuit—areas that were then unknown to me. In payment for her guide service I supplied transportation, a good tip, and breakfast at 5 a.m. Barbra was living with this guy, Joe. She always insisted we bring him a cheeseburger. I didn’t think much about it. I liked Barbra. She was affable, unassuming, and streetwise. She did sleep a lot in the car, though.
Then, one Sunday afternoon, Barbra phoned me at home. The police were in her apartment. Joe had just threatened to kill her. Would I, she said, take care of her kitten for a while? She had to … go away. I said, Yes. Barbra came through my front door looking anxious and hyper. Everything distracted her. Where was she going away to? Well, Barbra said, she had a little problem. … So tell me, I said. Well, her little problem was with . . . heroin.
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