My Little Princess Page #3

I swear. You always spoke of him.

You said he's nice.

I didn't know what to do...

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I found his number

in your address book.

So, I came and...

He took me in and...

We're getting married.

Oh, well, how wonderful...

She cooks for you...

Oh, how wonderful...

Mom, stop!

I can't.

A scent in here is nauseating.

Shut up!

I didn't know you could be so mean.

You're worthless to him.

You're not even his wife.

You don't even sleep with him.

My head is spinning.

No one has ever done that to me.

Not like that!

Why are you talking loudly?

I'm not!

This is my way of speaking.

You're irritating me!

Can't I say what I think?

What if I died?

It could happen to me.

It could very well happen.

I'm not feeling well.

I am not feeling well.

Oh my, what a tattered carpet.

Sir, could you

open my window please?

You know what?

We could die in here!

What would you say

if I croaked on your carpet?

Stop. I want to piss.

I can't just piss in your taxi!

What's all this about?

Get out of my cab.

I heard you pose naked.

Stuff full of "insext".

We saw you in a bookshop.

It's art, b*tch!

Piss off!

You're the b*tch!

Leave her alone!

Wake up.

We're going on a great trip.

What's happening?

- We're leaving.

- No.

She stays here.

No. I'm staying here.

Then you can't see

Sid Vicious or shop.

- Where are you going?

- England.

Hello.

Mr. Updike is waiting for you.

I'm so happy to do

this "special order."

Such a pretty little girl.

You're lovelier than

in your mom's photos.

And sexier, too.

I'm delighted

you accepted my invitation.

Very well.

I hope it'll go well...

and that my camera will work.

Will we shop tomorrow?

We shoot tomorrow.

I want to shop.

We'll shop after the shoot.

Such a pretty little girl.

Kiss him on the mouth, Violetta.

Violetta, very good.

Take off your dress.

It'll be better.

No. I'd rather like this.

Take off your clothes.

There we go.

Pretend to kill him by sword.

With force.

Stretch out a lot.

Arch your back a lot.

Spread your legs.

Just your thighs a bit.

- Spread them a bit.

- No.

Let him touch you.

Take that off.

Enough!

Undress!

I don't want to. Stop!

I don't want to pose.

I'm disgusted. Bloody idiot!

No, I got a few good ones.

Why are you screwing everything up?

As if the life

of a princess wasn't enough.

Shut up! We're going home.

I call the shots.

Oh, so life must stop if

Miss wants to go home?

What if I don't agree?

Updike's waiting. We're going out.

Can't I have a life?

Nobody wants you!

Is that so?

Everyone's at my feet.

Look at yourself.

You're too old.

I'm the one Updike wants.

You use me to get attention.

You're my top choice, my daughter.

I tried making you happy.

But any of my models

could have done the job.

I don't think so.

A little girl is much

more interesting.

Right, Mom?

What's your point?

I don't want to pose with men!

Shut your mouth.

What about the book I gave you?

I don't care about Bataille!

You're wrong.

You should read and talk to me.

I don't want to pose naked with men.

What about Lewis Carroll?

Suggestion isn't criminal.

That's where the art is.

I thought you were

old enough to see it.

But I was wrong.

You're stuck in mediocrity.

Don't make a scene!

Updike likes art. He helps artists.

I don't want to break ties with him.

Do you want us dead?

How will you live?

He's paying us a lot!

5,000. Go and find them.

I don't love you.

I don't want you

as a mother anymore.

I hesitated before bringing you.

I thought you were smarter,

but sadly I was wrong.

Don't make a scene.

I shouldn't share my life with you.

And yet...

God knows how I love you.

Few mothers love

their daughters as I do.

Everyone knows.

- My love!

- Oh come on, shut up.

I don't give a damn.

I want to go back to Paris.

Stop rebelling for God's sake.

What does "incest" mean?

Incest, my dear,

is when you sleep with your parents.

So, it's what you do with me.

Of course not.

What I do with you is art.

It's totally different.

I can read you some fan letters.

I've never touched you. You're mad.

We have fun. It's a game.

I don't have fun.

I no longer want to pose.

If you're done posing, it's a shame.

But, my photos remain in the

memories of all who've seen them.

Like it or not.

That's what matters.

Who cares about the rest?

Will I find myself in a porn shop?

You're crazy.

I'm an intellectual artist.

My last work

was in a great art journal.

Yes, I know. Brassa,

Doisneau, Avedon... art, art, art!

The best photographers

are published in it. Sh*t!

Were you brainwashed at school?

The world is full of idiots.

Sad, but true.

In order to express yourself

and move forward,

you've a choice to make.

All this is dumb

over three jealous sluts.

Try and stand up to them.

Stop repeating yourself.

Answer my question.

You have your life in front of you.

Your stupid questions

are pissing me off.

Incest...

What a bunch of yokels.

Come on, let's go.

F***!

You're nasty. Not on the bog!

Don't be mad. It's funny.

- Give me the film.

- It's only fun.

Don't ruin my film for a photo!

You've no right.

Let go of it.

B*tch!

Violetta, come back.

Come back!

Your mother

dropped off this letter.

She's concerned.

We all are quite a bit.

Are you coming on Sunday?

We'll go walking.

I don't know. I'll try.

Leave me alone now.

"We mustn't fiight.

"I spend sleepless nights

thinking of you.

"This photo is stunning

in its own way.

"You'll find that out on your own.

You're the queen of the bog.

"Your loving mother.

Burning kisses.

"P.S. - I have a superb gift

"for you."

I'm going to kill her!

What's wrong?

Enough of this!

You're aloof. You don't work!

You're never here.

I want your mother to come.

Get out!

Get out now.

And I don't want you back

in that indecent outfit!

Why doesn't your mother come?

Stay here.

You're punished.

She thinks she's special.

I hate her so much.

You're right. That slut

tries too hard.

I'm done with you.

- You're feeling blue?

- You understood me.

Your gift?

It's a superb

Yves Saint Laurent dress.

I don't want your gifts.

Go away!

Mouss,

two hot chocolates.

Why are you mean to your mother?

That b*tch is the mean one.

That b*tch.

You're talking nonsense.

Mothers aren't mean to their girls.

Why is that nonsense,

Mr. Know-it-all?

Because mothers always

love their daughter.

Oh, right.

She's forced to, right?

She can't do otherwise.

She loves you

in her own way.

What do you think of pornography?

Your mother...

is a pioneer.

You're her work of art.

Your image is so sublime in the

photos that it's someone else.

Who is it, then?

I don't want to see her.

I'm old.

I'm old and tired.

I can't do anything anymore.

Open the door!

I've come to make peace.

- No.

- Go away!

You're a monster.

That's ok.

There are other ambitious girls.

Violetta!

Open up!

I have your gift.

No!

She mustn't have all those mirrors.

As soon as she gets out of bed,

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