Life As I Know It:
Such was my life in fabulous Las Vegas. But what do you expect when you’re the daughter of a prostitute. This is not the life I want for myself, and I have a plan.
Life As I Want It:
Go to college.
Get my degree.
Get as far from Vegas as possible.
But life has other plans. Plans that include him. Life iisn'talways sunshine and roses and even the best laid plans change.
This is my story. The story of a girl who thought she had it all figured out until life threw her a curve ball. My name is Presley and I refuse to be just another Working Girl.
The telltale crackle of the old vinyl record fills the air as Elvis’s deep smooth and sensual voice dances in my brain. The song is contagious and I find myself humming along as I walk down the hallway to her room to find her already perched at the seat in front of her vanity.
I stand there, unbeknownst to her, watching as she readies herself. She’s wearing her silk dressing gown and for a moment I pretend that she’s not a prostitute. She looks like an average middle-aged woman; her brown eyes and hair a mirror image of mine. But then her robe falls open, revealing her lacy bra and bringing me back to reality. That bra will attract more than one oe tonight.
Countless hours of my life have been spent watching her. Hell, there was even a time where I adored her. I love my Momma, I do, but I can’t understand how she could have allowed me to grow up with all this surrounding my innocence. It doesn’t seem fair, and I can’t help but hate her a little bit for it.
There is no handbook to guide the daughter of a hooker, but it didn’t keep me from trying to figure out my messed up mind. In desperation, I had even Googled “How to cope with your mother being a prostitute” before. It ended up being a bunch of psychobabble bullshit, leaving me with nothing but my own thoughts.
As I continue to watch her I feel sadness. There’s so much I’m missing out on. I’m no fool and I know that. I’ve read enough books to know that children aren’t supposed to worry about their moms like I do. Day after day I worry if it’s going to be her last; if this will be the day that she attracts the wrong oe and he takes her from me; that this might be the day she actually drinks herself to death. All things a girl my age shouldn’t have to think about when it comes to their omma.
After a few quiet minutes her familiar eyes meet mine in the mirror and I force a smile, trying to hide my sadness.
“Presley, baby girl,” she coos. “Come help me.” Moving on just like nothing happened, but I know she knows. She’s no idiot. She’d ended her night blacked out drunk, even so she knows she didn’t just miraculously wake up in her bed, perfectly cleaned and tucked in.
I go to her, and she hands me her favorite pearl necklace. ift her long brown hair off the back of her neck before turning and smiling at me. “Did I ever tell you about that necklace?”
I nod, but she ignores the fact that I’ve heard the story a million times and starts telling it anyway while I fasten it around her neck, her fingertips running along the smooth pearls. “This necklace was your great-great grandmother’s—”
“Who came over to America from Spain.” With a roll of my eyes, I finish the sentence for her. I know the story. At this point, I could probably tell it better than her. The story is one I've heard a million times over. The rich Spanish monarch who cast out his daughter for daring to fall in love with the wrong man. The story of how the two of them fled in the dead of night and snuck aboard a merchant ship headed for American shores to ensure they remained together, for better or worse, was one that would have been romantic . . . had it not ended in him dying of scurvy while they made their journey. Even if some semblance of sweetness could be recovered from the fact that she found herself pregnant with his child, thus enabling her to carry a piece of her one true love throughout her life, it would be dashed by the fact that her great-granddaughter chose to recount the story time and time again, all the while wearing her prized pearls, stolen as a means of currency but something she could never bear to part with, and readying herself for a night of selling herself to the highest bidder. Great-great Grandmother would be so proud.
This is one book you'll want to add to your "To Be Read" list *NOW*!!!
Working Girl is what I imagine a sort of modern day "coming of age" story to be - with family dynamics, friendships, relationships, and enough twists and turns to keep you on the edge of your seat!
Character development is spot on - with a main character that will leave you rooting for her and cheering her on...and characters who you'll want to reach through your book or screen and strangle the very life out of.
Working Girl brings out a host of emotions...you'll find yourself laughing at times and other times your heart will be torn into shreds. That is the epitome of a good book for me - one that can make me feel a whole range of emotions and keep me wanting and yearning for more. Working Girl was just that book for me.