The prime ministers mist.., p.1
Prime Ministers Mistress
The Prime Ministers Mistress
Lucy is an intern for the Secretary of the Environment who has been having an affair with the Prime Minister.
As the affair is about to become public knowledge he dumps her unceremoniously by text message, just as she is about to jet off with him on a trip to Italy.
Furious and alone she vents her anger in this one-act monologue.
“ Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”.
28 may 2014
P.S – Even though this is a monologue there is a man who comes on to the scene twice.
A park bench in the middle of the park.
It’s a bright summer day and LUCY comes in from off-stage carrying a large holdall and a back pack. She dumps everything unceremoniously on the ground, sits on the bench, cradling her face in her hands crying.
After a while she gets up cradling her mobile phone.
He dumped me! Can you believe it? He dumped me the two-timing weasel ! Didn’t even have the decency to tell me himself like that French bloke Hollande…..he sent me a fucking text!(- fiddles with her phone for a few seconds before reading from the screen) “…my love I’m sorry it had to come to this. In the interests of national security I have to call time on our relationship and end it now, sorry…”.What a lying spineless bastard! He didn’t even have the balls to tell me himself. Only yesterday he was shagging the arse off me, telling me how much he loved me and how after the next general election he was going to dump his wife for me. Me and him a proper couple…but oh no it was just one big sodding lie! We were going to fly out today. He’s got this big conference in Italy and I was going to sneak along. His mousey lil’ wife stays at home these days with the kids. They’re having problems you see and their marriage has been over for awhile. They only stay together because of his political career. Everybody who knows, knows I’m having it off with him. Its an open secret in Westminster but yet again all those dirty old men are all having it away with their mistresses and girlfriends. Dirty bastards the lot of them!
So there I was, bright and early, this morning bags all packed and ready to go, sipping a latte in the first class lounge at Heathrow airport when I get a text message. It was from him, nothing special I thought as we’re always sending each other naughty little messages. He must be somewhere in the airport putting on a public display, talking to journalists and doing all the politician stuff. He would get on the plane first and I would follow with all the support staff. We wouldn’t meet or speak during the flight. I would be sneaked into his suite later on for our little illicit get together.
But this text message was different. I read it again and again and then I burst into tears. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be true. So I fired off a text to him. It took about half an hour before he got back to me. Half an hour! And when he did get back to me all he said was ‘sorry’. Just ‘sorry’. No explanation, just ‘sorry’. Just fucking sorry! I tried calling his number even though I knew he wouldn’t answer.
I just fell to pieces. Dumped by text, that’s a first for me. Dumped by fucking text message!
So there I was crying my eyes out when this flunkey who I know walks up to me and plonks his arse next to me. I didn’t even ask him to sit but he did anyway.
I braced myself for more bad news.
‘sorry luv’, he gushed trying to sound apologetic. He didn’t mean it, I know he didn’t…jus’ acting the part as was instructed by his boss.
He handed me a piece of paper and a pen and told me to sign at the bottom.
‘whats this?’, I ask.
‘Just the official secrets act’, he informed me. I was to sign at the bottom. I wasn’t to talk to anyone, most importantly not the press, about my relationship with the prime minister or I would be prosecuted. Can you believe it! First I get shagged by the prime minister and now I get gagged by him. How fucking weird is that!”
She goes and sits down on the beach and fumbles in her bag for something. She finds a bottle of water, takes a swig and continues.
So I’ve got this hulk of a bloke hovering over me, pen and paper stuck in my face waiting for me to sign. I had no choice but to sign. I was just the other woman at the end of the day . so reluctantly I sign his piece of paper which he folds hurriedly and puts in his pocket. Then he tells me he’s to escort me off the premises immediately and drive me to where ever I want to go. Again I had no choice in the matter so with the tears streaming downing my face, ruining my mascara, I gathered up my bags and followed him.
He kept on trying to be apologetic saying how sorry he was until I told him to put a sock in it. Men! All the same!
So I ask him to take me home, we get on to the motorway and drive off into central London. If he hadn’t driven through Shepherds Bush he would have driven me home. It’s a beautiful day and passing by the Green I saw couples canoodling reminding me of him and I couldn’t stop the waterworks. I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to be out and about, not cooped up at home crying so I got him to drop me off here in Hyde Park….
A suited MAN comes into view, walking across. Seeing her crying he goes up to her.
Are you alright luv ?
LUCY(- to the audience)
Another prick from the male species trying to get lucky!(- sarcastically) Help damsel in distress, take her out for a drink and then get inside her knickers!
LUCY(- to the MAN, wiping her face)
I’m fine….why shouldn’t I be ?
Its just that I saw you crying and thought………
And thought what ? Thought you’d sit next to her, give her a cuddle, put your arm round her, whispering sweet things into her ear?...You men make me sick!
There’s no need to be rude…you just looked distressed and….
Well I’m not! Thanks for your concern!
The MAN doesn’t bother to reply and just walks off!
Prick! Chancer!....That’s how it always starts. When I first met the prime minister I had just broken up with my boyfriend and I was feeling a bit low. I had just started working as an intern for the Secretary of the Environment when I got invited to a party at the Commons. The prime minister was there and from the minute I walked in he couldn’t take his eyes off me. Perhaps it was the hot pants I was wearing with a black sequined top that stretched and strained in all the wrong places. Perhaps it was my legs. I’ve got a fantastic pair of pins, so I’m told, that always draw ‘wows’ when ever I show them.
As the evening wore on he came over for a chat, I knew he would anyway. By then I was already sloshed and started babbling about my ex-boyfriend, my broken heart and stuff like that. He was patient enough to listen to me offering kind words of advice here and there till it was time for him to leave. As he was leaving he asked for my phone number and me being proper pissed by then just wrote it on the back of his hand with an eyeliner pencil.
He called the very next afternoon and an aide came to take me round to his private chambers. Believe it or not we were at it like rabbits within half an hour of me walking through the door….mind you he wasn’t the best of shags but for a girl who had just had her heart broken he was the next best thing…….
She gets up and walks to the front of the stage.
You know I hate to use the L-O-V-E word but as the weeks and months went by the more and more I began to fall i
She goes and sits down again after dancing with an imaginary partner.
His marriage was in trouble…or should I say over ? It was common knowledge in Westminster that he and his wife were merely keeping it together for the sake of his political career…political career ? That’s why I love the French, they couldn’t give a fuck what the public thinks when one-eyed willy suggests otherwise ! Look at Sarkhozy ? Look at Hollande ? When it came time for them to dump Number One in favour of Number Two they didn’t think twice before getting on with it. But oh no, not us Brits! We have to maintain that upper class upper lip bullshit ! Dump the bitch I told him ! Oh no can’t do that ! People will talk. It’ll be the end of my political career….political career? Who gives a fuck about his political career! What about me! I’m talking about ME! His political career over ME! That’s how cheap I am! Just a cheap fucking whore like Claire called me…He chose his career and wife over ME ! Politicians and their little bits on the side! They’re always at it…Prufomo in the sixties with that call girl Keeler…Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky…Hollande and that actress…even John Major, yes John Major. He had an affair with Edwina Currie…I mean what is it? Power? Or is it because when they become high and mighty leaders their wives don’t give it to them anymore? I’ll never know.
She gate up, lights a cigarette, checks her phone for any new messages.
LUCY(-putting the phone away)
Don’t know why I bother…He’s not going to call, he’s not going to text…probably airborne by now sipping aperitifs and munching canapés in the first class compartment, talking politics and joking with his close aides(- putting on a mans voice)….I had to dump that bitch…was getting too clingy, did it the modern way…you know sent her a text and told her to piss off!! (- reverts back to her feminine voice) and they would have all had a bloody good laugh at my expense….laughing at me for being a cheap bitch…I wander how many more interns he’s had before me and how many more he’s going to have after. I suppose we’re like some kind of conveyor belt thingy to satisfy his sexual appetite…you know girl-in, girl-out . He wasn’t getting it at home anyway. I wonder if his aides and flunkeys knew about it. I’ll have to find another job now. There is no way I can carry on working there bumping into him now and again trying to keep a straight face…My CV would make interesting reading though….ex-ministers dogs buddy and ex-prime ministers shag mate! Now that’ll get me a job anywhere except they might expect me to be come the office bike wherever I go . Or perhaps I should go to the tabloids and sell my story. Fuck the official secrets act ! I’ll cash in and fuck off to South America where they can’t extradite me. but yet again he’ll probably send MI6 after me and I don’t want to become another statistic in a shallow grave……
Just then the MAN comes back walking from the opposite direction.
LUCY(- to the audience)
Look who’s back, if it isn’t the prick with a dick…I’d better be nice to him!
He walks by and tries to avoid her but they meet up centre stage.
LUCY( - to the MAN)
Yes, I’m terribly sorry about earlier on….i was in a bit of a state and lashed out at you….I really am sorry.
I saw you were upset, perhaps I shouldn’t have stuck my oar in…so what seems to be the problem ?
Lets just say I’m having a really bad day….I got dumped by my lover.
Oh you poor thing!...I’ve got some time to kill do you want to talk about it? Get it off your chest. There’s a little café down by the lake, how about coffee?
LUCY(-being all polite)
That’ll be nice…as long as I’m paying for the coffees. It’ll be my way of saying sorry for earlier on.
It’s a deal then…..I’m Greg by the way.
They both shake hands.
Need a hand with your bags?
GREG picks up LUCYS bags and walks off stage with them.
LUCY(- to audience)
Here we go again…broken heart …shoulder to cry upon…what the hell ! What’s a girl gonna do? Life is too short!
She walks off and follows GREG offstage.
The Prime Ministers Mistress by Tony Ogunlowo / History & Fiction have rating 2.4 out of 5 / Based on34 votes