The Holdout

by Laurel Osterkamp

  “Yes.” I say, trying not to let desperation sneak into my voice. “I could win a million dollars. And it’s an epic show. Tons of people watch it, and this year they’ll be watching me.”

  “What about your job?” asks my dad. “Are they going to let you take several weeks off to film a TV show?”

  I suppress a sigh. “I'm sure they won't, Dad. But who cares? I can get another stupid office job that I hate anytime. Being on The Holdout is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

  Monty starts to speak, but Lucy drowns him out. “That’s great! Congratulations, Robin.”

  “Thank you,” I say. Finally one person is happy for me.

  But Ted has to ruin it. “Don’t you have to be good at sports and survival skills to do well on that show?”

  “I am good at sports and survival skills.”

  Monty, Ted, Jack, and Ian all laugh.

  “I am!” I insist. “I’m a strong swimmer, and my survival skills are fine. Just because of that one camping trip back when I was eight…”

  My brother Ian cuts me off. “Do you remember?” He speaks to Dad, Ted, Monty and Jack. “She cried the whole time. That seagull pooped on her head and she couldn’t take a shower, and that was it. Her meltdown lasted the entire trip.”

  I tap the end of my fork against the table. “A seagull pooped on my head, and I couldn’t wash it out. That was disgusting. Besides, I was eight, and the only girl on that stupid trip…”

  Ted directs his comment to Dad. “I still don’t know why you insisted on bringing her.”

  “I did offer to take her,” says Aunt Natalie.

  Dad speaks through a bite of turkey and potatoes. “I didn’t want her to feel left out. But I admit it didn’t go terribly well.”

  “It would have been fine,” I say. “I blame the seagull.”

  “It wasn’t just the seagull,” Monty says. “I remember you wouldn’t go hiking because you kept getting blisters. We had to take turns carrying you back to camp.”

  “That’s true,” says Jack. “And then at night you were afraid of the dark.”

  “No,” says Monty to Jack, “that was you.”

  Ian laughs and shakes his head at me. “Is it too late to tell them no? Have you signed anything yet? Because if you have, I’m sure Monty could look at the contract and get you out of it.”

  “I don’t want out of it!” I’m yelling now. “Do you know how hard it is to get on this show? Thousands of people audition every season, and they only pick sixteen. I had to make audition tapes, fill out pages and pages of applications, and go through interviews and background checks, all to prove that I’m watchable and not easily intimidated. And guess what? I convinced them. So I’m going on The Holdout, and I will kick butt, and I plan to come home with a million dollars. Next year at this time you all will be kissing my ass.”

  “Robin!” Aunt Natalie purses her lips. “Language, please.”

  “Well,” says Ted. “Let’s just hope there aren’t any seagulls.”

  §

  Later in the kitchen, Jack, Monty, Ian, Ted and I clean up. Tradition dictates that this is our job. Normally I don’t mind; I like having something active to do after such a heavy meal. But this year our dishwashing chore has turned into an extended opportunity for my brothers and cousins to mock me.

  “You’ll all be kissing my ass!” Ted mimics me and the others laugh. I pretend to chuckle along as I scoop the leftover potatoes into a Tupperware container. “What if you’re voted off first? How are you going to deal with the humiliation?”

  “I’m not going to be voted off first. I’m going to win.”

  Ian hoots. His rosy cheeks and spiky brown hair make him look more like a teenager than a guy in his late thirties. And even though we’re the same height, it doesn’t stop him from talking down to me. “Look at you, Robbie! Such confidence. I suppose you need to go into it with that attitude.”

  “It’s not like I haven’t thought about this, you know.” I hand Ian the container and he makes room for it in the refrigerator. Then I start wrapping tin foil over bowls of vegetables. “I’ve been practicing.”

  Jack is loading the dishwasher. He and I inherited the family’s tall blonde gene, and he’s bent over at an angle where the light is bouncing off his head, like a halo. “How do you practice for it?” he asks. “You won’t know until you’re there what the challenges are going to be.”

  “Well, I’ve been swimming and running a lot, working up my speed and endurance, and I time myself solving puzzles, and I go for as long as I can without drinking any water. Things like that.”

  Ted scoffs. The sleeves of his expensive sweater are pushed up as he wipes down the greasy turkey platter, and he looks afraid to stand too close to it. “Isn’t it a social game? I thought the whole point was not getting voted off by the rest of your tribe.”

  “It’s both,” I say. “You have to be tough and you also have to be likeable.”

  Lucy walks into the kitchen. “Hey,” she says to Monty, who has rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt while he rinses wine glasses in the sink. “My parents and I are taking the kids back. Abby’s having a meltdown.”

  He turns toward her and asks expectantly. “Do you want me to come?”

  Jack stands up straight. “I can drive you home,” he says to Monty.

  “You don’t want to shirk your cleaning duties.” She goes and kisses Monty on the cheek. “I’ll see you back.”

  Before she can step away, Monty gently grabs her arm, pulls her close, and leans down and whispers something in her ear. She laughs. “No,” she says to him and she shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  He laughs back. “Oh yes. I absolutely think so.”

  She places both hands on his chest, pushes him away, and Monty is grinning more widely than I’ve seen him do all evening. Their casual, intimate moment happens so quickly and suddenly that it doesn’t occur to me to look away until after it’s already over.

  Monty goes back to washing glasses. Lucy steps over and hugs Jack, promising to call him tomorrow, hugs both my brothers, who she obviously doesn’t plan on calling, and then she hugs me. “Good luck Robin,” she says. I’m a full head taller than she is, but I feel so immature in her presence. “I’m going to want to hear all about it.”

  “It should be interesting,” I say.

  “Hey!” Lucy’s eyes light up. “After it’s done, you should come to Seattle and lecture my students about your experience. I could make it a special topic.”

  Ted scrunches up his face. “Don’t you teach history? What does reality TV have to do with history?”

  “She teaches social justice,” says Monty. “And I can totally see the connection. Societal dynamics and so on…” He stops talking when a child’s wailing can be heard from the other room.

  “Well anyway, it’s an idea.” Lucy gives me an extra hug and pulls away. “I should go.”

  As Lucy walks out, Jack’s wife Petra comes in. “Jack!” Her voice is shrill. “Can I get some help here? Mikey just spilled apple juice all over your Mom’s new book and she’s freaking out.”

  Jack wipes his wet hands against his pant legs. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

  Petra’s face hardens and her request comes out like a demand. “Can you please just come here?”

  Jack slumps a little and follows his wife. Ian and Ted snicker after he leaves, and Ted makes that whip/meow sound, communicating exactly what he thinks about the dynamics of his cousin’s marriage.

  Ian finishes putting away the leftovers. “Well Robbie, I’ll be rooting for you. If you win, next year you can take us all out for dinner, then there won’t be any dishes to clean up afterwards.”

  “I wouldn’t get my hopes up about her winning,” says Ted.

  Monty turns off the sink and throws the dishtowel at Ted. “Why do you have to be such a dick?”

  Ted steps out of the line of fire, not wanting the stained, damp towel to make contact with his dressy casual
pants and sweater, an outfit which must have cost hundreds of dollars. “I’m just being realistic. It’s a hard game to win.”

  “There are only sixteen contestants,” says Monty. “She has more than a six percent chance, which is a higher chance than you’ve ever had of winning a million dollars.”

  Ted responds. “Some people have a higher chance than others though, based on their skills or their social game. So you can’t look it at that way.”

  Ian picks up the towel from the floor and puts it on the counter. “I suppose you think you could win.”

  “I’d have a decent shot.” Ted squares his shoulders. “I’m athletic and I went to Harvard business school, after all. I think I know how to sell myself.”

  “Dream on,” says Monty. “You’d be voted off first. They always vote the arrogant ones off first.”

  “Well I wouldn’t know.” Ted walks over to Monty, invading his space. “I don’t watch the show. I don’t have time for things like television.”

  “Eddie and I have watched it,” says Ian. “And you both would suck. They always vote out the old, bossy players right away. Plus, you need to be skilled at building things, and neither of you are.”

  Ian owns his own contracting company, and his claim to fame is that he’s handy and business savvy, which nobody else in the family can maintain. “I’d totally win the million before either of you.”

  The three of them continue to argue, and I leave the kitchen without notice.

  Chapter 2: May 2012

  My going-away party is an informal affair. I was actually surprised when Ian and Jack insisted on throwing one, after how dismissive they were at Christmas. Neither Monty nor Ted live in town, but all my family members who live close by are at this shindig, along with my handful of friends who swear they’re going to watch every episode of The Holdout, even if I get voted out first.

  The low-lit room is drafty and overly air-conditioned, and I hug my thin sweater tightly around myself. I take a swig of beer and wonder how many beers it will take to feel warm and at ease.

  “You packed sunscreen, right?” Ian pops a chicken tender into his mouth. Chicken tenders are a signature item at Jack’s restaurant. I’ve never tasted any, anywhere that are better. We’re all back in the party room of his restaurant, and plates of chicken tenders, bruschetta, and crab cakes are set out, along with pitchers of Fat Tire and of soda.

  “I don’t have to pack sunscreen,” I tell him. “They provide all the contestants unlimited amounts. Condoms too. We get all the sunscreen and condoms we want, no questions asked.”

  Ian’s face contorts and his eyes skip spastically with distaste. “You won’t have need for condoms, Robbie.”

  Ian’s husband Eddie laughs and pats him on the back. “She’s not a teenager anymore, hon. Robin’s an adult and there’s no telling what she might ‘have need for.’”

  Ian winces. “But out there, in all that sand, where you won’t have had clean underwear or a shower in weeks? Ick.”

  Eddie places his hand on the top of Ian’s short brown hair. “I seem to remember a time when sand and poor hygiene wasn’t standing in your way.”

  “That was a long time ago and I was very drunk.” Ian’s cheeks turn pink and he looks toward me. “They’re not giving you an unlimited amount of tequila, are they? Please tell me they’re not.”

  I exchange a knowing glance with Eddie. “I think tequila is only ever distributed after reward challenges.”

  “Good,” Ian says. Eddie hugs Ian to his side, and they exchange an affectionate, brief kiss.

  I look up, and my friend Isobel catches my eye and waves. I excuse myself and walk over to her. “How long have you been here? I didn’t see you come in.”

  “Only a couple of minutes.” Isobel hugs me even though I just saw her a few hours ago. We’ve been friends since college, when she was a senior in the theater department and she cast me, a lowly freshman, in her student director showcase piece. We kept in touch over the years; she even helped me find an apartment in the building where she lives.

  “So,” she says as she pulls away. “Somebody from our theater department is actually going to achieve stardom!”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Duh…” Isobel responds, crossing her eyes.

  “Oh!” I cry, comprehending. “You mean me. I don’t think reality television counts though. All our classmates will probably make fun of me behind my back.”

  “Only because they’re jealous,” Isobel rubs her hands over her bare arms. “It’s freezing in here.”

  “I should have warned you to wear a sweater. This place is always too cold in the summer and too warm in the winter.” I look around the room. “I don’t see Jack. I’ll go find him and ask him to adjust the thermostat.” I tap her lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  I go through the doors and past the kitchen. I used to wait tables here while I was in college. I know my way around, and some staff are even still the same. So it’s without a tinge of trepidation that I walk headlong into Jack’s office, where the light is on, but dimmed. Luckily I have on soft-soled shoes and I don’t make much noise, because what I end up seeing is not anything I want to answer to.

  Jack is making out with a brunette wearing a waitress uniform. Her hair is long, and it’s pulled back with a large red barrette. She’s kissing him like she could swallow his head whole, and he’s kissing her like he wouldn’t mind if she did.

  I stand there for a moment, stunned and voyeuristic, already wishing I could delete the image that’s burning into my mind. But then I hear laughter from the distance, and it breaks me out of my paralysis. I turn silently on my heel and hurry back, hopefully unnoticed by anyone.

  The first person I see when I return to the party room is Jack’s wife Petra.

  “Robin!” She grins, grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “There you are. How are you? All ready to go compete and win?”

  I feel myself flush. My cheeks, legs, arms, and everywhere else I have skin must be turning bright pink. Petra has always seemed sort of ice-princess-ish to me, with her porcelain doll looks and her hot/cold mood swings, but nobody deserves to have her husband making out with a waitress mere feet away from where she’s standing.

  “Ummm…” I stammer. “I …” I place a hand to my forehead, which feels damp. “What was the question?”

  Petra pulls her eyebrows together. “Are you okay?”

  “Mmm hmm.” I nod my head. “Anxiety. Nerves. You know.”

  She squeezes my hand again and gives me an empathetic look. “You poor thing. Let’s get you some water.” Petra looks around the room, and sees what I see. All the pitchers are filled with soda or beer, none with water.

  She lets go of my hand and her jaw sets. “Wouldn’t you know it?” Blame floods her voice, as if this is only one of many injustices that she’s had to endure since this morning. “Jack might have thought to put out some water. I’ll go find some.” She starts towards to door.

  “No!” I’m loud enough to attract attention and surprise from nearly everyone in the room. Conversation ceases and all eyes are on me. This means I’m the only one who notices that Jack has finally made an appearance at this party for which he’s the host.

  Our eyes lock, and in an instant I know he knows that I know. Perhaps he saw me scurrying away, or maybe it’s because we’re both younger siblings, and our genetic similarities extend beyond being tall and blonde. But we silently communicate in that moment; he begs me not to say anything and I tell him that I won’t.

  I look back at Petra. “Sorry,” I squeak. “It’s just not necessary to go to the trouble.

  These moments come and go. I’m fine.”

  Jack approaches us. “Hey, Robin.” He puts his hands on Petra’s shoulders, but she steps away from his touch.

  “Thanks for the party,” I tell him.

  “Of course,” he says. “I had to do something now, before you’re famous. In a few months you’ll probably be too rich a
nd popular for any of us.”

  I laugh because he says this in sweetness, like a kid who just wants to be liked. He may be a decade older than me, but he’s always been that guy who tries to make everyone happy. Maybe too happy.

  Then my dad clears his throat from several feet away. “Can I have everyone’s attention?” His words resonate across the room. “I want to say a few things while everyone is still here and still sober.”

  There’s a collective chuckle and Dad smiles at the encouragement. He raises the glass of beer in his hand. “To my brave daughter, Robin. May you be safe, and may you be successful in this latest adventure of yours. We’re all in awe of your courage, strength, and willingness to make a fool of yourself on national television…”

  “Hear, hear!” shouts Ian.

  “…just kidding about that last part,” says Dad. “Robin, win or lose, you’ll always be one in a million to us, and we wish you all the luck in the world.”

  Everyone claps and I blush again, this time in pleasure.

  Jack stands next to me, close enough that he can speak without raising his voice. “My money’s on you. Go show them what a bad-ass you actually are.”

  I step back and our eyes meet again. I’m about to thank him for the encouragement, but his gaze shifts and I follow it. A waitress with long brown hair clasped in a red barrette is clearing some empty trays, and she briefly looks up at Jack. The smile they share goes unnoticed by Petra, but to me it speaks volumes.

  And it tells me to be glad that I’m leaving the country tomorrow.

  Chapter 3: May thru June 2012

  I can’t let myself be tired. My trip took thirteen hours, longer if you count airport time and connecting flights. But it was uneventful; the only thing that kept me awake was my heart, vibrating in my chest like a tightly wound alarm clock. Oh, and the rocking turbulence also tugged at my insides. So my limbs are heavy and I’m moving slowly, as if I’ve aged twenty years since yesterday.