Deleted Scenes

The biggest change in the evolution of OTT was the deletion of an entire brother and most of his chapter. Originally there were 5 boys plus the father, which gave rise to the earlier title Six of One. I loved that title, but 5 brothers really turned out to be too many -- made the narrative seem less like a collapsing square and more like the Village People. The other brother was a Burning Man-type, techno-hippie crystal addict living in Brazil. Whereas the other brothers each have a chapter in a specific city or state, this Jake's chapter was titled "Networks" because it took place in cabs, airports, buses, phones, computers: transportation and communication networks.

Read it online or download the pdf file if you like. There's elements that survived in the final book but other themes that have been drastically reduced, such as the use of imaginary slang and dialects.

Here's a deleted scene from the deleted chapter! It's a very short Jake Sr. dream I always liked, but it was too different from the other ones. But I really wanted to keep it just to have a palindrome in the book!

Jake Barnes sighed. He ran his hand over his forehead. He sank into the cushions of the seat with exhaustion, his sore, aching muscles finally beginning to unclench. He took a final look at the passengers in the rows in front of him.

He closed his eyes and rolled his head over into the wadded-up jacket wedged between his window and the back wall of the bus. Sleep overtook him quickly.

You think it's just you now.  

You think you're the only one.  

You think it's over.

You know nothing, and the story is all lies.

You think you are independent. You think you are complete. You think you are in control. You think that.

Madam I'm Adam.

---

Dal -- Texas Jake -- has a girlfriend who was originally much more predominant. Here's two brief deleted scenes of her on her own:

Jake's girlfriend pressed her forehead against her clasped hands. Her knees pressed against the prayer bench, its thin padding offering little support. The back of the pew in front of her ground against the bones of her elbows.

She opened her eyes and looked up to the cross.   She clenched her fingers together tighter. Tears ran down her cheek. She shook her head slowly.

"No deje esto suceder," she whispered in a steely voice, more threat than pleading. "Usted no puede hacer esto."

---

"No!" Jake's girlfriend slammed her palm down on her desk. The screen on the bright green web-browsing machine impassively read, No new mail.

"¿Donde están?" she hissed. She spun around in the desk chair and walked over to her and Jake's bed.   She sat on the corner and frowned at the papers spread across the quilt. One by one she picked up printouts, photocopies, purple mimeographs, and phone transcripts. Their blocky, broken lines of text looked like verses of an epic poem. She held each up for a moment, eyes scanning underlined phrases, locations circled in fluorescent chartreuse, addresses with stars drawn next to them.

She groaned loudly. She swiveled and looked at the phone on the bedside table. She stretched and grabbed it, pulling the phone to her on the edge of the bed. The curly cord rustled the papers. She set the phone in her lap and pulled close an open address book. The cover was a patchwork of soft, brown handmade papers. She flipped open a dog-eared page, peered, and dialed.

"Hi, this is Jake-"

She hung up. She dialed the others.

"Chief, I'm not here, so-"

"Hey, this is Jake-"

"No ma'am, I told you before he checked out-"

"I'm afraid no one is available to take your call-"

"The number you dialed has been disconnected-"

"You have no new messages."

She slammed down the receiver. She gasped and rubbed her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling, biting her lower lip and fighting back sobs.

---

In one alternate ending the Sheriff chickened out, just as he arrived at Brett Ashley's house:

His hand recoiled as if burned. He gasped, the handsome creases of his face twisting into a mask of revulsion and fear. He closed his eyes and threw his head into his hands. His breath chugging like an engine, he bolted upright, his back flat against the seat of his car. He faced straight ahead, but peered out of the corner of his eyes at the house. Sweat ran down his face.

The curtains in one of the side windows rustled. A silhouette was partially visible behind it. The sheriff's jaw clenched, and a soft, raspy moan escaped from his throat. His hands lifted up from his side as if floating on air currents. His head whipped from side to side.  "No, no..." he cried.

His hands started the car. He put it in reverse.   Crying and moaning, he backed the car out of the cul-de-sac. Curving past the No Honking sign, the car paused, facing the road back to the expressway. A spasm clenched the sheriff. His torso convulsed and he spewed vomit over his side window.

Choking, he gunned the engine and sped out of town.

"I'm sorry, boy. I can't."