It’s been a long day. I’m tired and grouchy. My day is finished, though, so I’m ready to leave for home. Working for my mother’s business is something I never wanted, but it was thrust upon me. My mother raised me to be smart, brave, and strong. She also planned on having me take over her business when I graduated from college. If I knew for sure this was where I had no other choice but to be, I wouldn’t have wasted all my time in an Ivy League college. No one ever plans on going to Brown to become the operating manager of a gentlemen’s club. Mind you, it is one of the finest gentlemen’s clubs around, but nonetheless, it’s still a strip club.

Cherry’s, named after my mother, is a full-scale gentlemen’s club. We supply our customers with the best of the best. We offer the best atmosphere and only top shelf alcohol to our loyal patrons, something that has always helped us acquire the best and richest clientele. Men from all over the country reserve our tables months before showing. We also have the finest – and I mean the finest – women around, some coming from other states just for a chance to work and dance at the famous Cherry’s.

I will say, though, my job might be underneath where I originally saw myself, but it is definitely challenging. The over-demanding clients and tight scheduling between our events are rigorous. One of my most important jobs is to make sure when we have certain clients entertaining, we don’t have other important clients stepping in on their territory. It’s all a fine balance. Did I mention the never-ending balancing of the girls’ territories? If I have to hear any more bitching about how one girl is performing for a client another one wants, I will strangle one of them. And lastly, but the most challenging, is the very handsy clients thinking they have a shot with me. Fat chance; my mother didn’t raise an idiot. She raised me in this business, and I have seen way too much to ever fall for the bullshit that runs rapidly out of all our clients’ lying mouths.

I think I’ve heard it all. I wish I had a dollar for the number of hands I have had on my ass, thinking I’m easy because I run this establishment or simply because I am the daughter of the famous Cherry.

My mother was one of the best strippers in her day. She was well known all over the country. Men would flock to her, and still do. She might not be the young stripper she used to be, but damn, she still has all her curves, still in all the right places. And those luscious curves were passed down to me. I am a walking younger version of my mother, except for my eyes; my baby blues belong to my sperm donor. He’s a subject I refuse to discuss, and everyone stopped asking about him a long time ago, including me.

Walking through the club, my mind is on my damn heels, which are killing my feet. I can’t wait to get home to soak my feet in a nice, long, hot bath. I make my final pass through the club and meet Joe, our head of security, at the back door.

“Bye, Joe. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.”

“Goodnight, Murph. Be careful going home.”

“Will do. You too.”

Joe locks the door for me and watches me get in my car to head out. He’s been working here a long time, ever since I was just a teenager. Mom had me helping the girls in the back with costumes and props. I also did stocking and kept inventory. She always had me working for her in one way or another. She taught me everything, including the dancing. Thank God that’s a part of my education I will never have to use, but it has come in handy with keeping my weight down. Just like my mother, I am very curvy, full double D breasts, with wide hips and a large round ass. I’m not tiny by any means, but I’m not overweight either, just full-figured. My mom says we have an hourglass figure. Hourglass? Ha! It’s a nice way of saying we are not a size zero or even a size four. So, what? So my thighs might actually touch, who cares? I am beautiful, and there are plenty of men who appreciate a curvy woman. As far as my size in clothes goes, I don’t even know what size I would be; most of my grown-up life, my clothes have been custom made for me by my best friend. It’s so hard to find clothes off the rack to fit me. Something wide enough to go over my hips and ass but small enough to fit my waist is a curse and a blessing.  At least I don’t have to worry about wearing something every other woman can buy. Which is good because my style is more old school, like Mad Men style-type dresses, always tight and fitted to show off my body in a classy way.