The Holdout

by Laurel Osterkamp

  Six goes next. She lays her palms down, flat on the table, and inhales like she’s about to do yoga. “I also feel sort of mixed. I don’t think the boats were built correctly, but it also seems to me that there is something fishy about the Smythes. I just don’t trust them, but I also don’t trust Potenza. At one point I wrote in my notes, ‘greed, greed, greed.’ That’s what this is all about.”

  There are murmurs of agreement, and I grip the side of the table. Play it cool, Robin, I say to myself. The pushy people never make it to the end. Don’t get voted out for being too opinionated.

  Five, a twenty-something who hasn’t spoken more than a few words a day for the entire two weeks, smiles when everyone looks at him. “Well, I agree that both parties are pretty greedy. That’s capitalism for you.” He smiles again to punctuate his statement.

  He sits for two weeks listening to a trial, and that’s all he has to say? He’d do great on The Holdout. His only quality that doesn’t fly under the radar is his red hair. Oh well. Now it’s Four’s turn, and I’d bet cash money that she has a lot to say.

  She sits up straight, giving us a textbook example of perfect posture. “Well, I think we need to look at all the evidence. It strikes me as odd that the Smythes had expert witnesses that examined all the boats, but Potenza’s experts only examined one warehouse full. And I also don’t understand why we didn’t meet yesterday. If they were close to settling, then that says to me that one or both sides were nervous. So I think there is a lot to consider, and we need to go through all the information, step by step.”

  I squeeze my hands together. Finally I get to speak. Keep it simple, I tell myself. Don’t be too aggressive. One looks at me, signaling that it’s my turn. Then all eyes are on me, even Nick’s. I pretend it isn’t unnerving.

  “Okay,” I say, making a conscious effort to keep my voice steady. “I think Potenza is getting a bad rap. The judge said that in civil cases the burden of proof is on the plaintiff’s side. With all the doubts about how the boats were stored and the damage that was done to them, I just don’t see absolute proof that these boats were irregular or damaged upon receipt. For that reason, I completely disagree with most of you.” I look directly at Nick, and he raises his eyebrows at me. A battle line is drawn in the sand.

  Two laughs her braying laugh, which could be a response to the obvious tension between Nick and me. “I guess I’m still sort of unsure,” she says. “I don’t really understand how anyone can be completely on one side or the other. Unfortunately, I think it’s going to take a while to figure it all out.”

  Great. If my mental tally is correct, so far we have three people who are on the Smythe’s side, four people who think it’s “mixed,” two people who have no opinion at all, and me. That’s ten people, and there’s one left to go… who am I missing? I look to my side. Of course. I forgot about Four. But I’m not really sure what she thinks, because in all her opinions, she didn’t really say anything.

  One has heard everyone now (except for Twelve, but I don’t think she’ll care if we just skip her) and he scribbles on the notepad in front of him. His tie is still secure at his throat, and he does look very official, like he’s the head of our family and we’re all meeting about grandpa’s will.

  He clears his throat. “Well, I believe that the Smythes did not treat these boats well, and that they are in the wrong and should have to pay.”

  One, who avoided everyone’s eyes while he was speaking, now looks across the table at me. “So I agree with you,” he says. “Even if nobody else does.”

  Bam! Somehow, I just managed to get on an alliance with the foreman of the jury.

  Chapter 12

  That evening I plan to watch The Holdout at Isobel’s apartment. The only way to avoid watching again with Dad or Ian is to claim a prior commitment.

  “I promised Isobel,” I tell Dad on the phone. “She’s having people over and it’s going to be a get-together with a few friends.”

  “That’s okay,” my Dad says. “Because we’ll be there for the live filming of the reunion show this weekend. That’s what I’m really excited to see!”

  Dad is referring to the season finale, where all the cast members gather once again, this time with styled hair and makeup, in a theater in New York. Joe Pine will read off the final vote and the winner will at long last be revealed. Friends and family of the cast members are invited, even flown out for free, so I put my dad, Ian, and Ted on the list. In retrospect I should have included Jack, since he was the one to visit me on the island, but I had to give them names before the filming even began.

  Later, sitting in her apartment, it’s like Isobel can read my thoughts. “Hey,” she says. “How’s your cousin?”

  “Okay. But he’s back with his girlfriend and I don’t like her.”

  Isobel wipes at her runny nose. “Of course he’s back with her. Guys always go back to the crazy ones. Too bad. He’d actually be kind of cute if he wasn’t such a mess.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. The last thing she needs is another guy with commitment issues, and nobody knows this better than her.

  She changes the subject. “The reunion show is next week, right? Is your family all going to be there, even Ted?” Isobel asks me this as we sit on her couch. She’s in flannel pajamas decorated with pink and white cupcakes, and she has a pastel purple fleece blanket wrapped around her arms and chest. She reaches a hand out from under the blanket to blow her stuffy nose, and I see that even her Kleenex fits the girly, Easter-egg color theme she has going on.

  “I think so. Unless he gets too busy with work.” We have the television on, but it’s on mute, and I watch a commercial for Papa John’s Pizza with one eye. It’s good that I ate already and that Isobel has no appetite, because once tonight’s immunity challenge is shown, neither of us will want to look at food.

  Isobel simultaneously coughs and huffs in indignation. “How can Ted be too busy with work? It will be the weekend. Worse case, he comes out Sunday morning and goes back Sunday night, which is what you’ll have to do if you’re still on jury duty.”

  “I’ll be done with it by then.” I stretch one of my socked feet out and place it on her coffee table. “We started deliberations today.”

  Isobel coughs again and sniffs a thick, wet sniff. “Good. So pretty soon you’ll actually be able to talk about your life again.” She gestures towards the TV. “And in a couple of hours, you’ll be able to tell me everything about The Holdout. Sorry I couldn’t have people over to watch tonight.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. This is better.” Then I remember myself. I put my hand atop her flannel-covered knee. “But I’m sorry you’re sick.”

  “Yeah, me too. Believe me, this is one cold you don’t want to get. It’s nasty.”

  The commercials end, Isobel un-mutes the television, and the opening credits commence. Even though I know what’s going to happen, my stomach is full of pins and needles.

  Tonight the credits are a little different. Joe Pine’s voice comes on, and it is imposed over a bunch of shots from throughout the season. He gives a run-down of the major events, and the order in which people got voted out.

  “Now,” Joe says, “Only four remain. Klemi, the vixen.” There’s a shot of Klemi sunbathing on the beach, then she’s arguing with Joel, and then she’s kissing Grant up on the rocks. “Henry, the genius.” They show Henry starting a fire by using the lenses of his glasses, they show him winning the immunity challenge that was based on knowledge, and finally they show him finding the hidden immunity idol. “Grant, the golden boy.” Several clips are shown in quick succession of Grant dominating in the physical challenges, whether he’s running, lifting, balancing, or throwing. Then they show him kissing Klemi, and after that he’s kissing me. “And Robin, the enigma.” But instead of showing a montage of my more memorable moments, they only show one. It’s when I was on the beach with Grant. “I know what it’s like to be lonely,” I told him. They use an extreme close-up of my sandy
face, and it looks like I’m about to cry.

  Seriously? Did they have to make me seem like such a pathetic victim?

  Isobel can read my resentment. “They were just trying to make you out as the likeable one.”

  “I won challenges!” I say. “And I played a very strong social game, despite falling for Grant! Why couldn’t they show that?”

  Isobel shrugs her shoulder as Joe Pine’s voice continues its broadcast. The screen is divided into four, and the faces of Grant, Klemi, Henry, and me each command our own quadrant, sort of like a tribal Brady Bunch. “Tonight, four remain, but only three will survive for the final Island Assembly, where a jury of their peers will vote to decide…Who will endure? Who will persist? Who will become…the holdout!”

  “Only we don’t find out how the vote goes until this weekend,” I say.

  “I know!” Isobel says with a sniff.

  After the extended credits are over Henry, Grant, Klemi and I are shown walking back from Island Assembly. Then comes my confrontation with Grant, the one where I threatened to destroy him, and he laughed and called me “Robbie.”

  “What a dick.” Isobel’s nasal voice condemns him and I surprise myself by laughing.

  Next comes a conversation between Henry and me. “Why didn’t you vote him out?” Henry stood over me, his weight evenly distributed on both his feet, spine ramrod straight and chest out, as aggressive as he’d ever been. It was the morning after Island Assembly, and he and I were alone at camp. I didn’t know where Grant and Klemi had gone, and I didn’t care.

  I was crouched down, scraping the soggy remains of rice from the bottom of our one cooking pot, and I kept my focus on the white mush. “I had to hear it from him,” I murmured. “It may sound stupid, but I couldn’t wait a week to talk to him about this. I had to know that he was cheating on me, and manipulating me, and using me. I had to know now.”

  Henry pushed his large glasses up on his nose and grimaced. “Well, I hope it was worth it. Because now he’s going to win. Last night was our one chance to get him out. Even if he doesn’t get individual immunity today, we still won’t be able to swing more than a tie at tonight’s Island Assembly.”

  I bit my lip in thought. “Why not?” I pushed the pot away, stood up, and wiped my hands on my thighs, which were clad in my grubby grey leggings. “Henry, there are three of us and only one of him. There’s still a way around this.”

  A line of confusion appeared above Henry’s glasses and in between his eyebrows.

  I placed a clammy hand on his shoulder. “You could convince Klemi to vote for Grant.” Henry shook his head no, but I grabbed his arm in urgency. “No, listen. Klemi is shrewd. She knows that Grant can win. Appeal to her sensible side. Tell her she has a better chance to win against you and me than she has with Grant.”

  Henry pinched up his face. His chin, which was covered in wispy auburn whiskers, set in tension. “But she’s so annoying. Why can’t you do it?”

  I reached back and tugged on my messy ponytail. “Because she won’t trust me. Klemi will think I’m just bitter because Grant chose her over me.”

  “Unless….” Henry’s mouth hung open a little as he focused his thoughts. He pointed at the air, as if his finger was a pencil that could cross and dot his brilliance. “What if, she doesn’t think that? What if Klemi thinks that Grant chose you?”

  I took two steps away from Henry and plopped down in the damp, dirty sand. I knew what he was suggesting, but I didn’t know if I could pull it off.

  Henry sat down next to me. “Robin, this is far from over. Grant never chose Klemi over you. He just knows that you have standards and Klemi doesn’t. But what if you make Grant think that you’re still into him? Then we can convince Klemi that he actually likes you better, AND we can get her to vote him out.”

  I inhaled, filling my entire chest cavity with oxygen and blowing it softly out. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “You have to,” said Henry. “Because if you don’t an asshole is going to win.”

  I turned and looked him. Nice as he was, Henry was surely the sort of guy who spent his teenage Saturday nights in his room with a flashlight and a comic book. I bet he fantasized about large busted gals who avenged evil while wearing leather and heels, but when it came to real women in real life, his confidence waned.

  But he’s not in high school anymore, so I should treat him like the man he’s become.

  “Robin, have you thought about what you could do with a million dollars?”

  I sighed. “Of course I have. I could go back to school, this time for a useful degree. I could help my dad with his retirement. There are all sorts of reasons why I want this money.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Henry’s bird-like nose had a tiny bit of sand on it and I reached to brush it away. He blinked in surprise at such a familiar gesture. “I could pay off my student loans, and I could start my business.”

  “In what?”

  He raised his voice a little in excitement. “I want to develop a protective shield against radioactivity and environmental pollution, mostly to benefit third world countries.”

  “Oh.” I understood about as well as if he’d been speaking in gibberish, but he had me at “protective shield.” Grant would probably use the money to build his own child-labor plutonium plant.

  At that moment Grant and Klemi walked back into camp. Klemi was holding a piece of parchment and she was waving it around.

  “Guess what!” She sing-songed in her Puerto Rican accent. “We got tree-mail.” She unrolled the parchment and started to read, glowing because all the cameras were on her.

  “Congratulations final four,

  But as for challenges

  There is still one more.

  Don’t worry about strength

  Don’t worry about skill

  The only thing you now need

  Is the ability to kill.”

  Klemi lowered the parchment and addressed us. “What do you think that means? Will it be a hunting challenge?”

  “Hunting takes skill,” said Henry. “Usually the last immunity challenge has to do with endurance.”

  “But what do they mean, ‘the ability to kill’?” Klemi put her tiny hands on her golden-brown hips, which were bare save for the string of her bikini.

  Henry wove his fingers together and pulled them apart, ala Doctor Evil. “We have to balance our body weight on a platform that will slowly crush the skull of a capuchin monkey.” His eyes twinkled. “The last person standing will kill the monkey and win immunity.”

  Klemi missed the irony and her jaw dropped. “That’s terrible!” she gasped.

  I coughed and stood up. “I have something to say to everyone.”

  Grant, who had entered the shelter and was about to lie down, propped himself up on his arms. Henry and Klemi turned their heads in my direction.

  Now was the moment that my college acting classes could finally come to good use. I closed my eyes and remembered my professor’s instruction. “Feel the moment, Robin. Observe your surroundings to forget yourself, and only then will you truly be alive and in character.” I thought it was a bunch of pretentious BS at the time, but what the heck? Maybe my old professor would be watching and she’d be sorry she didn’t cast me in more roles.

  “I want everyone to know how bad I feel about last night.” I looked up towards the sky, squeezed my eyes shut, and fought against tears to will them to come. Then I lowered my head and walked over towards Grant. “But I especially want you to know, Grant, that I’m sorry. I’m sorry this game got between us, I’m sorry for accusing you of lying, and I’m sorry for ever trying to hurt you.”

  Moments before, Grant must have been hoping for a nap, because he looked half-asleep now. He blinked in surprise as he searched for something to say. But I didn’t give him time to respond. Confident that Henry, Klemi, and the rest of the world could see, I moved in and kissed Grant on the lips. I placed my palm on the back of his neck, separated his lips with my own, su
cked, and twirled my tongue to the best of my abilities. And I was good; I know this because he started kissing me back.

  So right before I forgot myself and let myself enjoy it, I pulled away. I addressed Klemi and Henry. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this game, but I can’t just turn off my emotions. I have no idea how I’ll vote tonight, so don’t ask me. I’m done with strategy.” Then I pivoted on the pads of my feet, back towards Grant. “But I don’t know how to be done with you.”

  I sniffed, wiped away my “tears,” and concentrated on my breathing. My acting professor would have been so proud, because I was working against the emotion instead of towards it. “I can’t do this anymore,” I said in a voice choked with anguish. “So if you all don’t mind, I need to be alone.” I looked at Grant. “I can’t talk to you until after the insanity of this game is over.”

  And I stumbled off, hoping Henry realized that I just gave the performance of a lifetime.

  The show cuts to a commercial. I look over at Isobel, ready to receive high praise for my performance. Isobel and I had the same acting professor in college, so I’m hoping for some deep appreciation of my work, but all I get is the image of her head against her couch cushion, mouth open and gently snoring. Poor thing.

  My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Ian.

  “Wow, Robbie, wow. Does he buy it?”

  I text back. “You know I can’t tell you.”

  He replies instantly. ‘Oh come on. You won’t get in trouble.”

  He’s probably right, but it’s more fun to torment him. “Just watch the show, Loser.”

  He texts back. “I’m going to call you ‘Robin the Enigma’ from now on.”

  The show returns from commercial with an establishing shot of a clearing. There’s a table with four covered plates spaced evenly apart from each other. It’s the final immunity challenge.

  “Welcome, castaways!” The look on Joe Pine’s face was gleeful, malicious almost, and he was nearly bouncing on the tips of his toes.

  “This can’t be good,” Henry mumbled under his breath.