Deleted Scenes from The Demarcation of Jack

The Demarcation of Jack is 50% off this week and in honor of the sale, we are sharing two deleted scenes. Let us know what you think of them. :)

doj-ebookcover copy

Scene One:

“Hi,” Marc said. “Where you from?”

“Houston, Texas,” he said with a definite southern drawl.

“You seem a little uncomfortable.” Marc stood next to him against the pool edge.

“I am.”

“Is this your first time?” Jack asked, taking up a position on his other side.

“Yes. And I’m sure it’s my last. Don’t really see a need in it,” he said. His face bore witness to his drink consumption.

“Why is that?” Marc asked.

“Cause it don’t seem natural,” he said, his hand wavering as he lifted his drink.

“It doesn’t seem natural to be naked?” Marc said. “That must be an oxymoron,” he said to Jack.

“I don’t know, but I can tell y’all, this is downright wrong.”

“So you think it’s natural to cover up?” asked Jack.

“Well, what’s the point of being naked?”

“Hi,” a voice crooned a soft southern accent from behind the group.

Everyone turned around and to their surprise a young voluptuous maiden speaking in a dramatic southern drawl paraded confidently from the deeper water to the edge of the pool.

“This is his first time,” she said. “I’m sure y’all will help him feel comfortable.”

“And how many times for you?” Jack asked, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Oh...I’ve been here a couple of times. My Mama and Daddy used to come here ages ago.”

“She’s sweet, don’t you think?” Jack said to Marc.

“Yeah, a real peach,” Marc said.

“That would be Georgia, I think,” Jack said. He admired her strut as she sauntered toward the lounge chair. “This could be a lot of fun,” he said to Marc. “What’s your name?” he asked from the side of the pool, admiring her naked body.

She responded by turning back with what appeared subtly as a curtsy. “Sharilynn, but my friends call me...”

“Wait! Don’t tell me,” Jack called out. “Lynn.”

“No silly, they call me Shari,” she said.

“Sharilynn, can you get me another drink?” the Texan asked.

“What’s your name?” Marc asked.

“Richard, and my friends call me Richard,” he said proudly. The drinks were becoming apparent in both his slur and his professions. “What’s the big deal with being naked?”

“That’s the point,” Marc said. “There is no big deal.”

“So why y’all do this?” Richard asked.

“We don’t know,” Jack said. “We just feel the call of the wild. We take our clothes off…and then…stand around like people…with clothes on. It’s a sick sort of thing.”

“Y’all are pulling my leg,” Richard said.

“No we’re not,” Marc said. “As I stand here before you naked…I swear after the second time the only thing you gain is—you save money on designer swimsuits.”

“What the hell is a designer swimsuit?”

“Oh man…a designer…”

“It’s okay Jack. Let me see if I can help out here. So Richard, nudity has its place.”

“I’m sitting here…butt naked. I don’t even have my hat….”

“That explains the tan lines,” Jack said.

“...and I don’t even have a good excuse for it.”

“You’re working too hard at this,” Marc said. “This is not something you accomplish. You don’t need a reason…you make a choice. But it’s important to have the choice, don’t you think?”

“So y’all are telling me this is a political statement?”

“Bring this man another drink,” Jack called out.

“Whiskey sour,” Richard said, smiling at both Marc and Jack. His head bobbing like the puppy in the back of a Camero.

“Whiskey sour…shallow,” Jack called out.

“You’re going to be just fine,” Marc said.

“Did you guys order food?” asked Jack. “Dude, you’re going to need some food.”

“I don’t reckon I know. Sharilynn did we order food? I think we’re gonna need some food.”

“I don’t know Richard, did you order food?”

“Richard, you can have some of my jerk chicken. Don’t worry about it,” Jack said.

“I appreciate what you’re offering, but I don’t eat foreign food.”

“I’m sure we ordered enough food for you to eat something,” Marc said.

“You fellas are mighty nice. I need to sit down,” he said, he cupped his privates on the way toward the bar stools.

 

Scene Two:

They took their usual stools at the terrace bar and ordered mixed drinks.

“Daniel, can we have some jerk chicken sent up?” asked Jack.

“Oh my gosh, Jack. You’re going to turn into a jerk…chicken,” Summer ragged. “Daniel, can I have the chicken salad and corn on the cobb?”

“Same for me,” Jenna said.

Marc held up three fingers.

After consuming their food, they sat in conversation taking in the playfulness of the island devotees. They watched while surrounded by dozens of visitors scurrying from one location to the next. The four sat in anticipation after Jack pointed to a couple in a tuxedo and wedding dress walking past, barefoot, heading down the beach toward the water disappearing into the darkness of night.

“You don’t think they…?” Jack asked, chuckling.

“That’ll ruin the dress,” Summer moaned.

“Making memories,” Jack howled, holding up his glass. “Cheers to good friends.”

“Cheers, Jack,” Marc said, patting him on the back. “You’ve definitely contributed to the memories of this trip.”

“Yeah well. It was my displeasure,” he said, pointing to his foot.

“Let’s take a stroll through the garden apartments over there. I’ve not seen them yet. Maybe next time we should get one of those together,” Summer suggested. “You can get two bedrooms and split the cost. That way we could stay longer. Next week we get a whole new group of people. Marc you should think about opening a wellness center for Couples.”

“You’re so ambitious for me,” Marc quipped. “I think I have enough headaches for right now. You should inquire about teaching Yoga. I’m certain that would bring in more customers than a wellness center…and then I could sit on the island and drink rumrunners.”

“I don’t think so,” Summer said, smiling. “Don’t forget you would need a woman to go with you.”

“That’s true enough. I forgot about that. Then I’ll take your classes,” Marc said, winking at Summer. “Grab your drinks and let’s go.”

While meandering among the tall palms along the shoreline, Jenna and Summer pulled ahead and struck up their own conversation while Jack and Marc covered the finer points and pains of being in business for yourself.

“How long have you been an artist? Actually, let me rephrase that question—how long have you been surviving selling your artwork?”

“Since I was in my teens, but I got peanuts for it back then. Those people are sitting very nice right now. They need to unload before the next flavor of the month.” Jack laughed.

“You could live anywhere,” Marc said enviously. “That must feel very freeing.”

“You’d be surprised. Shipping sculpture ain’t like shipping a painting. Clients need to have deep pockets…it has its drawbacks.”

“These places are nice,” Marc said, pointing to one of the apartments.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *