“Jessie got home from work that night and I had the beads out, I had Hawaiian music on, and I was like, ‘Woo hoo! We’re going to Hawaii!’” Holloway says. “Of course, we didn’t think it’d last. That’s why we saved all our boxes.”
KNIFING THROUGH THE PALM-LINED CANALS BEHIND HOLLOWAY’S HOUSE, YOU FEEL like Captain Willard in Apocalypse Now. Wind in your hair, waves jostling your body, boats roaring past you, passing stereos blaring then bleeding into the engine’s hum. Holloway is talking real estate. Again. “I could make a fortune on that property,” he says of a dilapidated oceanfront home.
As we tie up at the bar, Pat, the man who built most of the docks around here, approaches Holloway: “You decided about that boat yet?”
This is the third time today he’s been asked this question. Will the TV star buy the solid, dependable $30,000 used boat, or will he splurge on the high-powered 26-foot $60,000 Boston whaler? “Yessica’s really been all over me about buying the new boat,” Holloway says, pulling the purple orchid from his second rum and ginger. “She says it won’t break us. But $60,000? Whoa!”
Seven years into the relationship—nearly two years into their marriage—the balance of power between Holloway and Kumala, 28, is solid. “I’ve always felt like, I’ll make the freakin’ money,” he says, “she builds the empire.” And the designs of this empire are exact. Despite his newfound popularity (his TV Guide cover outsold those of all other Lost cast members), he’s not jumping straight to some cash-grabbing starring vehicle. “I told Universal flat out, ‘Look, I don’t feel like I’m in a position to carry a movie right now,’” he says, tapping out another American Spirit. That’s why, he says, he took an ensemble role in the upcoming thriller Hellion.
Again, Holloway fears the cliché. He wants something small and poignant. A bit part in Sin City 2, or a role in a Coen-brothers movie. In the meantime, he’s bought a microphone and is pushing for voice work. “You know how much those guys get paid?” he asks. “And you don’t have to leave your house.”
Home. That’s where most of the Lost loot has gone: into renovating their surprisingly non-gargantuan three-bedroom house. Some new paneling, some carpet, a Balinese gazebo next to the fire pit. Of course, the latest add-on—a high-tech, four-camera security system—wasn’t in the plans until last October, when a meth-head broke in armed with a 9-mm and robbed the couple. He got $35. “I wanted to say, ‘You want cash? Ask my fucking contractor, you piece of shit! Look around, you dick.’”
If Holloway still seems raw, it’s because he spent most of yesterday in a police station identifying the crook. The cops had just nabbed him; front page of the paper. “It’s hard to deal with, as a man,” he says. “Totally punk’d in your own home? I feel like I didn’t protect her. That feeling doesn’t go away.”