by Keziah Warner
Mid morning. A tasting room at an olive grove. Victoria.
Sara, an MP, wearing a trenchcoat, sits at a table dipping pieces of sourdough in a small bowl of olive oil.
Her aide, Annie, hovers next to the table holding a wreath of poppies. A man stands nervously in the corner.
SARA: I just don’t want to be in the club anymore, Annie. It’s not about them, or you. It’s about me. Actually, it’s not even about me. No one’s to blame. It’s just how I feel.
ANNIE: You have to stay in the club.
SARA: I’m not staying.
ANNIE: You have to stay in the club if you want to win.
SARA: I want to win!
ANNIE: Then you have to/
SARA: But the club isn’t popular anymore! No one likes the club! The club doesn’t align with my public image!
ANNIE: But you like the colour.
SARA: Yes but/
ANNIE: Why don’t you just keep the club colour? As a backdrop Have you tried this olive oil?
SARA: Just as the background. You’ll still be the focus.
ANNIE: It’s the first thing I’ve eaten today and it is just/
SARA: It’s very rich.
ANNIE: How do they get that flavour? Focus Sara, the colour.
SARA: Just a backdrop.
ANNIE: Just a backdrop, yes.
SARA: I don’t have to name the club.
ANNIE: No. Of course not. People will still know you’re in the club but people who don’t know won’t know.
SARA: So I’ll trick the people who don’t know.
ANNIE: That’s right. (motioning with the wreath) Now we just need to drop this off and/
SARA: Can we buy some of this olive oil?
ANNIE: You can have it. There’s a whole case for you.
Annie points at a case of olive oil on the floor.
SARA: Excellent. But I’m not sure if the club / really
ANNIE: The club paid for that olive oil, Sara. The club put the soil on the earth which grew the tree which sprouted the olive which spurted the oil which drizzled on your sourdough, Sara. Without the club/
SARA: I hear you.
ANNIE: So we’re agreed.
SARA: I can keep the case of oil?
ANNIE: It’s yours
SARA: I suppose it’s just a backdrop. Just a colour, firmly in the back.
ANNIE: This olive oil really is delicious. Did you know it’s locally produced? They make it right here. I met the farmer.
SARA: Yes. He’s just there.
ANNIE: Is he?
Sara turns around and looks at the man in the corner. He waves a little.
MAN: Lovely service this morning.
Sara smiles and turns back to her bread.
SARA: Do they say farmer? Or grower?
ANNIE: So here’s the wreath.
SARA: Oh the wreath, I almost forgot.
Sara wipes up the remaining oil with her finger.
ANNIE: You need to hold it.
SARA: Ok but/
ANNIE:I’ll bring the oil.
Sara stands and takes the wreath.
SARA: Is the car?
ANNIE: It’s waiting.
ANNIE: Engine running. Yes.
Annie picks up the case of oil. They leave the room.
The man continues to stand there.
After a second he moves towards the table and peers down into the empty bowl.