Margaret Hale could hear her mother's voice coming from the other room. "A little more glitter, don't you think?" she was asking the photographer. Margaret could almost see her, half-naked, in high heels, bringing back the libertine movement, with glitter making her boobs shine.
"You are perfect, Prynne. You need nothing else," said the ass-kissing photographer.
"Oh, there you are, Sibyl, give me that water," Margaret heard her mother say.
"Everything's perfect," Sybil told her. "People are going crazy over you. This is really happening, Hester. The movement is back."
"That's because being the biggest representative of women and other minorities of the country has its perks," babbled the photographer. "And I for once, think that having your daughter in the pictures will triple the selling. This magazine will be incredible. Vote for Prynne!" and he laughed by himself.
"But..." Hester hesitated. "Be careful with Margaret. She is nothing but a child. My precious little pearl."
"I will look after her like she was my own," he guaranteed. Margaret almost puked.
"Good. Otherwise I will have your head on a plate."
"I swear, hon."
"Where is she, Sibyl?"
Margaret thought it was time; time to get as much attention as Hester. She was due some. She was tired of her mother being the center of everything. Margaret was not destined to be just Hester Prynne's daughter. Of course, Hester was the most beautiful woman in the world and Margaret had not gotten her looks. What she did get, was wit and a bad temper that usually took the best of her.
Before Sibyl Vane could answer, Margaret walked into the room wearing a pink robe.
"What happened to your outfit?" asked Hester, smiling at the sight of her only child.
She shrugged. "I gave it to the humble children of the streets."
"What? It was Versace!"
"Well, then your gay friend over there can wear it, because I sure won't. Besides, I found something else for me to wear. My own skin." And with a single fast movement, Margaret took off the robe and showed the expensive lingerie she had found in the dressing room, the one her mother had thought too small. Hester gasped. Margaret made a face. "What? Wrong color?"
"What are you thinking?" shouted Hester, getting to her feet. "Put the robe back on! Margaret! Put on the robe!"
"Mom, please, stop acting like you're crazy. And stop shouting. I thought you were in this fight for peace."
"Go change then!"
"No! I'm wearing this. I'll wear what I please."
"I am your mother. I know what's best-"
"Yes, for you. Here you are half naked and I have to cover every ounce of myself. No, no, no. This will not do. Equality! That's what it says on your election campaign."
"Please, Margaret, go change! I cannot deal with this right now."
"Mom, this is what I'll wear. This or nothing. You choose. I can get naked. I'll be wearing my birthday suit. Okay?"
Hester wiped the sweat from her forehead. Being a mother was harder than being a politician. "Please, for the last time, Margaret, go put something else. You can be on the cover of a magazine dressed like that. It'd be a scandalous! You're a minor."
"A scandal that'll yield us thousands, Prynne," butt in the photographer eying Margaret flatteringly. "Let's try this. It'll be fine. She looks beautiful. You both do."
Margaret positioned herself for the photo shoot and pulled Hester with her.
"Smile, girls," said the photographer.
And they did.
The next day, Hester, Margaret and Sybil were having coffee at the doughnut place they liked when he appeared. Margaret had not seen in many years, but she recognized him at once and had to resist the urge to punch him in the testicles.
He walked up to them, holding hands with his child-lover, eighteen years old Lolita, or Dolores, or whatever he called her. Humbert Hale, or Humbert Humbert as he had been known in his pride days, looked around and set his eyes upon Margaret. "May we join you?" he asked.
"You may not," said Margaret.
"I'm your father," he reminded her, already offended. It was so easy to get him on edge. "You should welcome me."
"A donation of sperm does not make you a father," spat Margaret with disdain.
Hester took a deep breath. "What do you want, Humbert?"
Humbert Humbert glanced at his lover before answering. "I saw the magazine. I will not allow this, Hester," he said. "I will not let my daughter grow up to be a immoral whore."
Margaret laughed. "Of immoral whores, I see only you."
Humbert's face turned a deep shade of purple. He started to protest, but Hester interrupted him.
"You disappeared after Margaret was born. You never called, you never wrote. You have no rights as a father. None!"
"She has my last name," he insisted. "And you'll do well to remember, Hester, that not a penny has lacked you."
"Your money has never been touched. It's in an account. If you'd like, I'll return it to you immediately. But you will disappear again, Humbert. I will not have you around my daughter."
Margaret's head started to ache. The sight of him disgusted her. She couldn't keep it together. "Leave us alone, old man."
"More respect, Margaret! He is your father," this time, it was Hester who spoke. She seemed out of it, also on edge.
"Humph, if he looks like more like a grandfather is your own fault, not mine. You sure know how to pick 'em."
Lolita almost laughed, proving how truly childish she was.
"You aren't a very good mother," Humbert accused Hester.
Margaret smiled. "Finally, we agreed on something."
"How can you say that to me?" cried Hester, eyeing her daughter with indignation.
"Oh, you need to stop being so damn sensitive, mom. I'm smart. I've learned to survive without you both, so quit worrying. And you," she said, returning her attention to Humbert, "can go back to whatever hole you crawled off with this other daughter of yours."
"I'm his wife," said Lolita, with pride, as if the conversation was somehow about her.
"Gross."
"Alright," said Humbert, exasperated. "I am going back. To Russia. But I have a few conditions that include not seeing my daughter half naked in the cover of a magazine."
"What do you want?" asked Hester, troubled.
"I am the father. And by law I have rights. I can claim Margaret if I want and with those pictures, who's going to want to leave her with you?"
"Don't talk to my mother that way," argued Margaret. "And you can't claim me. I'm not a cow."
But when Margaret glanced at her mother looking for approval, she only found fear. Hester was scared of the old man. "Please, understand, my pearl," she whispered to her daughter. "The pictures... it was a mistake."
"And if we go to court because of it, I'd win," added Humbert. "In your place, Hester, I would just do what I'm asking of you."
"What exactly are you asking?" Margaret eyed him curiously.
"That you have a better education."
"I am very well educated, thank you very much."
Hester turned her back, so they wouldn't see her tears.
"There's a school. I went there when young. It is the best in the country. A boarding school," he said. Margaret choked with her doughnut.
"Are you mentally challenged, old man? No way!"
"You watch your tone, young lady. I am your father."
"Darth Vader said the same thing. It didn't stop him from chopping off Luke's hand, now, did it?
"Honey-"
"It's Margaret for you, loser. I won't let you turn me into a nun."
"It's not a convent, it's a boarding school," he explained like she was the retarded one around there.
"Potato, potato. You can just forget it."
"You're too young. You can't see-"
"I'm too young?" Margaret laughed maniacally. "What about Lolita? I bet she's a little young for a few of the things she does with you."
Humbert sighed, seeming genuinely tired. "You'll see. It's for the best."
Margaret doubted that, she doubted so very much. The matter was finished and she was left with no choice. Hester wasn't arguing; she sat there crying silently as if the battle was completely lost. Margaret cursed the both of them. That was just what she needed.
How could she be the daughter of the two most pathetic people on the planet?
