The Holdout

by Laurel Osterkamp

  “Twelfth person out and sixth member of the jury,” he held up my ballot for all to see, “Bailey.”

  §

  I shift in my seat and look at the clock. They’ve been showing a videotaped deposition by some guy who worked in the shipyard where the yachts had been stored. He keeps saying such damning things about how the yachts were treated that I start to wonder if I missed something and he’s actually a witness for the defense.

  But no, because at the end of it, the lawyer gets up and says, “Thank you, your honor. The prosecution rests.”

  Everyone in the jury box shifts and looks at each other with excitement. Then the judge looks at the clock, and says, “Well, then this will be a good time to recess for lunch. We will resume at 1:15.”

  We get up and file out in our normal, orderly fashion, through the side door, into the hall, and into the break room where our bags are stored. Before anyone can say anything about lunch, and before I have a chance of making eye contact with Ten, I grab my purse and race to the elevators.

  I’m in such a hurry that at first I don’t notice I’m sharing an elevator with plaintiff/bad boy Silas Smythe. The jurors were told at the beginning of the trial not to speak with anyone involved with the case. So I just face forward and intently watch the numbered lights come on as we pass each floor.

  Silas clears his throat. I ignore him. He clears it again, louder this time, and even though I’m trying not to, my head swivels towards him. He smiles at me like we’re standing in a crowded bar and he’s caught my eye from across the room. He flicks his floppy black hair off his forehead and for a moment I think he’s going to offer to buy me a beer.

  He has to know I’m a jury member. He’s been sitting in the courtroom every day for over a week, so surely he’s had a chance to memorize all twelve of our faces. And if not, well, the bright orange “Juror” badge I have pinned to my sweater should be a dead giveaway.

  But I can’t look away from him. His bright blue eyes are so shiny, like empty chlorinated pools in the middle of summer. I kind of want to dive in even though I know they can’t be natural, or real. Then the elevator reaches the bottom floor and the doors open to the lobby. Silas holds his arm out and says, “Ladies first.”

  I return to reality and step onto stable ground. Then I start to fume. Does Silas watch The Holdout? Is that what that was about? Or, does he think if he lays on the charm I’ll vote to give him all his money back? Either way, I want to hurt Silas Smythe. Charming, good looking guys like him need to understand what the world is like for everyone else.

  I go outside and walk around the block, unsure of where I’m headed. I’m hungry, but I don’t want to go anywhere I might run into someone I know. Maybe if I wander around I’ll find a hidden coffee shop that sells dry sandwiches and overpriced pastries. Or overpriced sandwiches and dry pastries – that would be fine too.

  The wind is making my cheeks tingle and the exertion of walking is a relief. Then my phone rings. I grab it from my purse and see that it’s Lucy calling. If anyone is going to say anything that might actually make me feel better about last night’s episode of The Holdout, it will probably be her.

  “Hi,” I say. “How are you?”

  “I’m good,” she responds. “Did I catch you at an okay time?”

  “It’s perfect. I’m on break during jury duty right now.”

  She squeals. “Jury duty? Seriously? Oh, I’m so jealous. I’ve always wanted to be on a jury. What’s it for?”

  If anyone else had told me they were jealous that I had jury duty I would have thought they were being sarcastic, but I know Lucy’s sincere. “Federal court. Civil case. It’s about yachts. That’s all I can say for now.”

  “Yachts, huh? Yeah, I’ll want to hear all about it.” She laughs. “Hey, Monty and I watched your show last night. Fantastic job in the immunity challenge! And that Island Assembly was intense! I can’t believe how composed you were. I could never have been that stoic. I probably would have started crying or something stupid like that.”

  “You never know,” I tell her. “It’s hard to say what you’d do until you’re actually in the situation.”

  “I suppose,” she answers. “So did they edit much out, or was that mostly it?”

  I hug my sweater around me, wishing I had brought my coat. The smell of baking bread is lingering in the cold, November air. I follow the scent, hoping to be led to a bakery. “That was mostly it,” I say. “But they made it look like I had sex with Grant and I didn’t.”

  “Oh!” Lucy’s voice raises a notch. “I wasn’t actually asking about that. But that’s interesting, because we did sort of assume that you did, you know, have sex with him.”

  “Great,” I say, flooding the word with sarcasm.

  “Oh Robin, who cares? I mean, what if you did have sex with him, even then, so what? He’s hot and for all you knew he seemed like a good guy. Most women in your position would have fallen for him too.”

  Lucy doesn’t come off as the “easy” type, but if that’s what she thinks, perhaps there’s more to her than meets the eye. I step over a discarded Styrofoam container of leftover food, nearly smudging my boots with tomato sauce. “Thanks, but it’s still embarrassing.”

  She sighs “I understand. Monty wants to hire out a hit on that Grant guy. I told him you can take care of yourself, but I worry he still thinks you’re a kid.”

  “Ian and Jack were talking about getting Grant killed too. Funny that they all want to hire somebody else to do it.”

  “Maybe they don’t want to get their hands dirty?”

  I laugh. Then I spot the bakery I had been hoping for. As I enter and stand in line, I lower my tone. “You know, I had to sit through the whole episode with Ian, Jack, Natalie, and my dad.”

  I expect her to laugh at the awkwardness of it all, but she doesn’t. Her tone changes, instantly more intense. “So Jack was there?”

  I press my lips together. I had forgotten that Jack isn’t really speaking to Lucy lately, and she hasn’t been included in the dramatic loop of his life.

  “Lucy, I have to go. I found somewhere to eat lunch, and it’s almost my turn to order.”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  I start to hang up, but she says, “Wait. Can you just tell me – is Jack okay? I haven’t talked to him in weeks. He hasn’t returned my calls and I’ve been sort of worried. Do you know if everything is all right?”

  “I guess he’s okay. You know. Not great, but okay.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “Um.” I look to the ceiling and silently groan. “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything, Lucy.”

  There’s silence on her end as she’s processing what I just said. “I…um, uh…” she’s stuttering and I feel like an awkward clod who just ran over her foot, causing her unintentional pain. “All right,” she finishes. Her cheerfulness sounds forced. “Sure. I guess I’ll just try calling him again.”

  “It was good to talk to you,” I say, and I hope she knows I’m sincere. “Can I call you later this week?”

  “Of course. We’ll talk then. Good luck on jury duty.”

  “Bye.”

  I hang up, order my food, and lament on how lame I am. I didn’t even ask her any questions about herself.

  I sit down with my lunch: creamy tomato soup, and a crusty, buttered roll that is neither overpriced nor dry. I stir the soup halfheartedly with my spoon.

  If Monty and the rest of my family still think of me as kid, perhaps it’s because I haven’t given them any reason to see me as an adult. And unless I pick myself up and finally get a grip, that’s not going to change any time soon.

  Chapter 10

  After jury duty gets out, I get in my car, but instead of driving directly home I take a detour to my favorite thrift store and comb the aisles for abandoned treasure. I find a purple taffeta brocade coat and a bunch of bright colored t-shirts. I snatch up anything that is solid-colored in a man’s extra large, because the more fabric I have to
work with the easier it is to turn it into something else. I also pillage the jewelry aisle, find a bunch of rhinestone jewelry, and add that to my stash.

  When I get home I throw all of the clothes into the washing machine in the basement. I eat dinner and sketch while it washes and I continue my sketching while my stuff dries. But by then I’m standing in the laundry room, waiting anxiously for everything to be done and ready.

  Back up in my apartment, it’s after ten when Jack comes in. I’ve cut and ironed the purple taffeta, and I’m pinning it up, with a plan to turn it into a belted blouse with short, puffed sleeves, a scooped neckline, and tiny, shiny buttons.

  “Hey,” Jack says as he comes in.

  “Hi.” I hold up the fabric and my sketch. “Do you think Lucy would like something like this?”

  Jack is still taking off his jacket. But he comes over to get a closer look.

  “Um, maybe?” He holds my sketchbook in one hand, and handles the fabric with the other. “I’m not really an expert at women’s clothes but I’m pretty sure she plays it safe with how she dresses.”

  “This is too much for her?” I look it over. Maybe it’s not conservative enough.

  “I don’t know.” He hands me back the sketchpad and sits down. “I mean, it’s really pretty. But I can’t tell you whether she’d wear it or not.”

  I bite my lip. Should I start again, or finish and sell it on eBay? Then I could work on something more traditional looking for Lucy next.

  “What prompted this?” Jack asks.

  I pin the tucks in the sleeve as I answer. “She called me today to talk about last night’s episode. She was super-nice, as always, and when I mentioned you, she told me how concerned she is because she hasn’t heard from you in so long. So I told her I didn’t want to get in the middle and instead of getting mad, she just said she’d try calling you again. I felt bad, so now I’m making her a blouse.”

  “Sorry.” Jack rubs the back of his neck and closes his eyes.

  “What are you sorry about?”

  “You feel bad, Lucy feels bad, and I…” He stares at his shoes. “It’s just all my fault.”

  “Why don’t you just call Lucy? I’m sure you’d both feel a lot better if you did.”

  “Because Jessie called me today.” One half of Jack’s mouth tiptoes into a smile. “I think we might be able to patch things up. We talked about getting a new, bigger place together, where Mikey could have his own room. And she agreed that we could wait a while to get engaged. But if she found out that I called Lucy, she’d be furious.”

  I accidentally stick a pin into my pinkie finger, and the pain stings. “Jack,” I exclaim, perhaps more harshly than is warranted. “Lucy is your best friend. Plus she’s your family now. You can’t just cut her off to make Jessie happy.”

  Jack’s jaw sets into a frown. “There’s a conflict of interest here.” He tugs at the edge of his shirt, trying to loosen his collar. “I can’t make everyone happy. Lucy’s all the way in Seattle and her life is with my brother. I mean, I can call her and tell her I’m fine but she’s not going to like what I have to say after that, so it’s probably best just to let it go.”

  I’ve stopped pinning the sleeves, and I just stand there, sucking on my pinkie, unsure of what to say.

  Jack stands up. “I’m not staying. I just came by to get my stuff, and then I’m going back to Jessie’s.” He comes over, gently takes the pinned up fabric from my hands, and delicately places it down on my sewing table. Then he hugs me, harder and tighter than he’s ever hugged me before. He speaks into the top of my head. “I also came by to thank you. I owe you big time.”

  I pull away. “Don’t be silly. All you did was sleep on my couch. It’s no big deal.”

  “I still really appreciate it.” He starts to gather up his loose belongings and puts them in his duffel bag. I watch.

  “Jack, are you sure about this?”

  His head snaps up as if my question had startled him. “Yeah, of course I am. I love Jessie.”

  “Okay, but the other day you said you didn’t know if you loved her or not, so I thought I should ask.”

  Jack goes back to his task of packing. “You have to meet her. Once you do, you’ll see how great she is, and you’ll understand.” He zips his bag and stands up straight. “Some time next week, maybe? I’ll give you a call.”

  I nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  He walks to my door and I follow. I’m already feeling lonely and he hasn’t even left yet.

  “Take care of yourself,” I say.

  “Jessie and I will be taking care of each other.” He smiles.

  “Right, of course.”

  “You take care too, Robin. And I’ll call you.”

  He exits, and I close the door after him. Then I dead bolt the lock, which will keep everyone in the world out but me.

  I go back to work on my blouse, but as I do my mind drifts. Last night’s episode ended with my vote at Island Assembly, but the real drama was only just beginning.

  §

  Henry, Klemi, Grant and I walked back to camp in virtual silence. But once we arrived and set down our torches, I immediately pulled Grant aside and led him down to the shore.

  “What the hell!” I demanded. “Why didn’t you vote out Klemi?”

  “Because.” His voice was calm in contrast to my intensity. “I don’t want to be sitting next to Bailey when the jury votes. He could win. But Klemi was right when she said that nobody liked her.”

  “Nobody likes Bailey either.”

  Grant sighs and looks up at the dark, starry sky. “Robin, come on. Bailey is the underdog. He’s seventy years old, crusty, and no-nonsense. He’s worked hard for everything he has. Anyone sitting next to him will look silly and over-privileged in comparison.”

  I pretended like the same thoughts hadn’t occurred to me as I crossed my arms over my chest and jutted out my chin. “You’ve really considered every angle, haven’t you?”

  “Of course. Haven’t you?”

  I breathed deeply to keep myself calm. “You wouldn’t look silly and over-privileged if you had some tragic story about your parents’ death, would you? Or what if everyone thought you blamed yourself for your sister’s addiction? What if we thought that nobody, including your grandparents, loved you? Then you’d be sure to win.”

  Grant didn’t even flinch. Either I was spot-on or I was the biggest bitch in the world. I had no idea which.

  “So have you been flirting with Klemi to get ahead in this game?”

  “Yes.” Grant replied without blinking, without apology.

  I could feel tears start to form. I looked away, knowing I had just lost the staring contest. “What about me? Was that about getting ahead too?”

  “No.” He reached to touch me but I stepped away. “Okay,” he said. “Since we’re being so honest, I’ll just tell you now that I’m voting you out next.”

  I stared at him with widened eyes.

  “Robin, it’s what I have to do. I can beat Klemi and I can beat Henry. Neither of them deserves to win and the jury knows it. But I’m not so sure I can beat you.” He grinned like a car salesman. “You should take it as a compliment.”

  “What about your original claim that you’d rather go to the end with someone you can trust and respect?”

  His face was lit by the glow of the moon and the ocean waves crashed behind us. The evening air was warm with the sand smooth and cool beneath our feet. It would have been so romantic if it wasn’t for everything about him being completely wrong.

  “I lied,” he said simply.

  “Well, I didn’t.” I stepped in closer, and whispered. “You’re voting me out?” I shook my head. “Not a chance. I will destroy you before I let that happen.”

  He laughed. “You don’t scare me. You could have voted me out tonight and you didn’t even have the nerve to do that.”

  Then he patted me on the head. “Enjoy your last two days here, Robbie. Because you’re next to go.”
r />   §

  On Friday I’m out of coffee, so I stop at a convenience store on my way to jury duty. I fill a Styrofoam cup with French Roast, mix in a hazelnut creamer, and secure the black plastic lid, hoping it will stay and the coffee won’t spill out and burn my hand. I stand in line to pay. There is fruit in a basket by the cash register, and the apples look good, but I’m wondering what the chances are that they’re not mealy, when my eyes wander over to the magazine stand. And there I am, on the cover of Alright Magazine. There’s a photo of Grant in the middle, and I’m on one side; my hair is in a messy pony-tale and I’m wearing only my bikini bottoms and my grey hoodie. Oh, and I’m frowning. Klemi is on the other side of Grant, looking resplendent in her skimpy bathing suit and a superior, sexy smile. The magazine has laid out each individual photo to give the impression that Grant and Klemi are looking towards each other, happy, and I’m off on the side, like a pouty woman scorned. Underneath the pictures is the caption: Sex, Lies, and The Holdout: Who Will Win Grant’s Heart?

  I grab a magazine as if it’s the only one, and not simply on the top of a large stack. I grab it like I can make it all disappear simply by hiding it underneath my jacket. I reach the cash register to pay for the coffee and the magazine and I’ve forgotten about the apple. Then the clerk looks down at my photo, and she looks up at me.

  “Oh my God!” she squeals. “You’re Robin from The Holdout! I heard you were from around here. This is so exciting!”

  I feel my cheeks blaze as everyone in the store turns their attention towards me. “It is her!” A customer cries. She walks over to me and I see that we’re around the same age. “I love how great you are in the challenges. Every week my boyfriend and I bet on who’s going to win immunity and I always pick you.”

  “Thank you,” I say as I shrink down into my coat. All I want to do is flee this scene to the safety of my car.

  “That Grant is such an asshole!” The cashier cries. “You’re going to vote him off next, right?”

  “Why didn’t you vote him off last time?” My other fan grabs my arm. “I thought you would. If Grant wins it will be all your fault.”