Daisy Diamond

We need more.

Get any money

from your parents for your birthday?

Give it to me.

- I need it.

- For what?

A train ticket to Copenhagen.

- Why are you going to Copenhagen?

- For a film audition.

You're too ugly to be an actress.

You're so stupid.

- Stop it.

- You look okay now. You look great.

- I'm going to be an actress.

- No one wants to look at you.

- Hand over the money. Hand it over.

- No.

Hand it over!

Relax.

- Do you love me? Do you?

- Yeah.

You're only saying that because

you're afraid I'll steal your money.

Don't you hide money from me.

Don't hide your f***ing money!

- Prove you love me.

- How?

Beg for it. Go on.

Beg for it.

I'm not on the pill. Lay off!

- Calm down.

- I told you to beg for it!

Okay! F*** me. F*** me.

Let go.

Let go.

Thank you!

We can't work in that racket.

I'm sorry.

There, there, Daisy.

Thank you, that was great.

You've got great energy,

many fine moments and a nice face.

But I'm afraid

we can't use you this time.

Next!

This just won't work, Daisy.

We have to help each other.

I don't know what else do to.

You promised to be quiet.

But you never listen.

We're running out of money.

Get it, Daisy?

If you'd let me do these auditions,

I could make some money for us.

But oh no, not you. You only care

about yourself and no one else.

You little monster.

Who are you?

I ought to sell you

and make a few bucks.

You cried when you came out of me.

You didn't want to be born.

I struggled for 23 hours

to get you out.

You knew you'd only cause me pain.

Think I don't feel like

crying and screaming too?

You're a child.

You haven't earned the right to show

the world all your discontent.

Just because I'm your mother, I don't

have to put up with your tantrums.

Think I don't get it?

You hate me

because I forced you into this world.

Is that what you want me to say?

So you get an excuse to think

I'm a terrible mother?

I may well be,

but you know what?

Even if you cry and scream

the rest of your life, -

- I'll still love you more

than anything else.

There, there.

Calm down.

Hush now.

It was at a party, right?

It was late and rowdy.

As the day was dawning,

someone said:

"You have almost everything

as a woman and as an artist."

"But you lack motherliness."

You thought it ludicrous and laughed.

But it haunted you later.

You grew concerned and finally

let your husband impregnate you.

You wanted to become a mother.

You became afraid

when there was no turning back.

Afraid of the responsibility.

Afraid of being tied down.

Afraid of losing the theater,

afraid of the pain, of dying.

Afraid of your swelling body.

But you keep playing the part.

The part of a happy,

young expectant mother.

Everyone said:
"She's so beautiful.

More beautiful than ever before."

You tried several times

to procure an abortion, but in vain.

When you realized it was irrevocable,

you hated the child.

You wished for it to be stillborn.

You wished

your baby would die at birth.

You wanted a stillborn child.

It was a long and complicated birth

that dragged out for several days.

They had to deliver the child

by forceps.

You regarded the disfigured child

with revulsion and whispered:

"Please die soon. Please die."

But he survived. The boy cried

day and night, and you hated him.

You were scared.

You were plagued by guilt.

Finally, relatives and a nanny

took care of the baby.

And you could rise

and return to the theater.

It won't do

if you don't remember your lines.

I'm sorry

but my daughter was sick all night.

Well, your daughter isn't auditioning

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