Extra Bonus #63: A Mood at the Independent (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

MUSIC: we listened to “Ray of Light” by Madonna, plus all the music mentioned in the bonus while writing this bonus scene.

I CAN’T BE LIVING my best life. It’s a prevailing thought this October. A nagging thought? Probably. ‘Cause I can’t shake how the best life I’d be living would likely be with Luna. It’s October 29th, and I’m starting to get more frustrated at the whole situation and the fact that I can’t just move on as easily as I need to.

So when Akara proposed drinks and pool at the Independent this Monday night for SFO, I figured it’d be a good idea to release some of the bad feelings stirring inside me. Good music, good friends, $4 draft beers, cigarette-friendly, billiards and darts—what’s not to love?

The catch is I gotta see a show at 9 p.m. and no one’s gonna stop me.

No one.

“Skip,” I tell Oscar who’s hogging the jukebox and selecting too many pop songs.

“It’s Madonna,” Oscar says like I’m cracked. “Everyone loves ‘Ray of Light’—I’m not skipping it, bro.”

I motion my draft beer to the jukebox. “You shoulda put ‘Ray of Light’ before ‘Hung up’ and ‘Express Yourself’ then. Do I wanna listen to Madonna’s full album tonight—”

“You should,” he interjects. “It’d make your moody ass more cheerful.”

“I’m just in a mood that Madonna’s not gonna fix, man.” Even though this is a dive bar and not a club, I’ve danced on the Independent’s tables before to ABBA, and I could do it again—but I’m not in the “strip and twerk” kind of mood. Though, this is my favorite Center City bar so I’m trying to inhale those familiar stale cigarette fumes like nostalgic candy.

Maybe that’ll send me to the moon.

The moon.

Fuck me, I can’t be thinking about her tonight. I’m away from the penthouse. She’s probably not even thinking about me while she’s back there.

I swallow a large gulp of beer and take a short glance over my shoulder. Akara and the Moretti brothers are playing pool against the rookies, and Farrow isn’t here yet. He wanted to put Ripley to sleep before leaving the penthouse.

Only patrons at The Independent happen to be my friends from SFO and me. Thought for sure the Boss bought it out or something, but no, it’s just lifeless.

“Place needs a healthy dose of CPR right in the mouth,” I say with my arm on the jukebox.

Oscar immediately eyes the bored bartender on her cellphone. “Has to be that new place down the street.”

“The Green Room?”

“No, the other one that replaced Matty’s Pub. It’s called Revival.”

“Been there or what?”

He shakes his head. “Jack has. WAC production hangs out there, and he said it’s always packed. He also knows the owners. They’re from California.”

I frown and push the button on the high-tech jukebox. It flips a page on the electronic song list. Matty’s Pub had been in Philly for over fifty years. Never thought they’d ever shutdown. They even said they wouldn’t on social media, but I wonder what finally got ‘em. Rent might’ve gone up on the buildings, I’m guessing. Developers from out-of-state buying lots and hiking the rent seems most likely.

I push another button. “No offense to your husband and all, but California’s not growing on me.”

“I didn’t think it would for me either. But Long Beach isn’t that bad.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re sleeping with Long Beach,” I smirk. Oscar nicknamed his husband Long Beach before they got together.

“No, it’s because I married Long Beach.”

I grin more. “Yeah.” Oscar wasn’t always looking for something serious, and now he’s settled down with the perfect guy for him. I’m happy for Oscar. Just wish I wasn’t so bummed out for myself tonight. I’m here with friends.

I’m drinking a beer.

I’m gonna watch my favorite TV show.

Life is good.

Better than good. It’s great. I once thought about getting a Frosted Flakes, Tony the Tiger tattoo. Still considering. 

I try to pump myself up and bob my head to the beat of Madonna’s “Express Yourself”—and before Oscar notes that Madonna is curing my moodiness and whatnot, I tell him, “But if you start rooting for the Dodgers—”

“Bro, I give you full permission to push my ass into the Schuylkill if that happens.”

I grin again. “Promise made is a promise kept.”

“You better keep it. Just imagining me going against the Phillies for the motherfucking Dodgers makes me cringe.”

“What does rooting for the Mets do to you?” I joke, knowing he hates them the most.

Oscar’s brows cinch so hard in a glare that I start laughing.

“They make you constipated?”

“They’re making me want to strangle you, Donnelly.”

“Kinky,” I smirk.

He laughs, then groans at my pick. “Aerosmith?”

“Aerosmith is dope.”

He’s not arguing long about it, and we both decide to get song suggestions from the rest of our friends.

“Akara, song or artist pick!” Oscar calls out.

He pries his eyes off Banks, who's busy landing a ball in a corner pocket. “Frank Ocean.”

I search for the artist in the digital search bar and find him among the jukebox’s lengthy song list. Basically anything on Spotify is game. 

“Banks,” Oscar nods over to him.

Banks lines up his next shot. “Bob Dylan.” He takes the shot, and the white cue ball speeds into a center pocket. He scratches. “Mother of Christ.”

Akara winces, then yells at us, “Hey, stop distracting my metamour.”

“You sure he doesn’t just suck at pool?” I joke.

“Hardy har,” Banks retorts.

“Sulli’s entered the chat,” Oscar quips since she’s the one who always says hardy har. Banks’ wife is rubbing off on him.

“Yale boys,” Banks grumbles, toothpick between his teeth.

Thatcher tips a beer to his lips. I wonder what’s goin’ on in his head. Is music playing? Is he vibing to the song of his life? Or is he just thinking about Jane and cats?

“The rolling commentary is sabotage,” Akara tells us. “We’re trying to win here.”

I nod to the rookies on the other side, about to spread the love. “Frog. Song or artist?”

She’s lining up her shot. “Tones and I.” She scratches too. “What…the hell?” She glares at me like my bad luck doused her.

“Just making things fair,” I note into a swig of beer. “Quinnie?”

He answers fast, “‘I’m A Winner, Baby.’” 

RuPaul—I recognize it.

Oscar grins. “That’s my little bro.”

Quinn totally just gave Oscar an extra song in the playlist we’re creating. I smile. What a sweet little bro.

“Monty,” I call out to Gabe. “You next.”

“Metallica, ‘Nothing Else Matters’.”

Oscar looks semi-shocked while swigging beer. He tells me, “Monty liking metal is a swerve. He’s given off more frat bro energy. Thought he’d be into Top 50 hits of today.”

I look up from the jukebox and see Farrow enter the bar. He sees me first while Oscar asks for Thatcher’s song request.

Farrow nods to me.

I nod back, and he stops at the bar and orders a drink.

“‘Call Me The Breeze,’” Thatcher tells us, and I find Lynyrd Skynyrd.

“Redford!” Oscar calls. “Pick a song!”

Farrow waits for the bartender to fill his glass. “‘December'—Collective Soul.”

I add that one. Last song we’re able to pick, and then we join Farrow at a booth. I fish for my lighter in my pocket.

We watch the pool game. I light a cigarette and slide the lighter to Farrow. “Quinnie looks happy.” Oscar’s little brother is cheering with Frog when Gabe puts a ball in the pocket.

Farrow flames the tip of his cigarette between his lips. “He’s not the greenest one here anymore.” He pinches the cigarette and blows out smoke.

“Or the youngest,” Oscar adds.

"See, now everyone is babying Frog instead of him,” Farrow says simply.

Could be that and a combination of the fact that he’s not being pulled between Akara, Thatcher, and Banks, and then us. He’s made two friends out of Gabe and Frog.

“He’s got the Rookie Room,” I tell them. “He doesn’t need Oscar anymore.”

“I think you mean his mentor. Farrow,” Oscar teases with the bat of his lashes.

Farrow rolls his eyes. “Shit, he listened to Akara more than me, anyway.”

“Not always,” Oscar notes.

I blow smoke upward. “And now he’s more loyal to you, isn’t he?” Quinn is protecting Baby Ripley, and switching off his radio with Farrow is a thing he does.

Farrow can’t deny. “Fair enough.”

Knew it.

I grin and check my phone. 8:52 p.m.—I’m cutting it close.

“She is young,” Oscar says, watching Frog sink a ball into a pocket and Banks, Akara, and Thatcher all groan.

Frog is the youngest full-time hire ever. Eighteen. She also had a really short stint as a temp before landing the main roster.

“I trained her,” Oscar says quietly to us, “and I still think she needs a temp with her while she’s on-duty.” He doesn’t like that Thatcher let her go without one while Akara was in Fiji.

“She hasn’t made any big mistakes yet,” I say, trying to think better of Frog since she’s attached to Luna, and I don’t like picturing Frog fumbling a high-threat scenario that could ultimately hurt Luna.

Oscar touches his chest. “I personally don’t think we should wait for her to screw up. She should be getting a temp sidekick until she’s more seasoned. I’d legitimately say the same thing about my own brother.”

Farrow tilts his head, thinking. “Okay, but temps can actually make the job harder.”

“Bad ones,” Oscar says. “Don’t put a rookie temp on her, but it’s not my job to dictate shit.”

Farrow raises his brows. “You want that job?”

8:54 p.m.

I suck harder on my cigarette.

“No,” Oscar forces out like it’s never changing. “I have enough on my plate following Charlie.”

“Sounds like you wanna be the lead,” I tell him.

“No.” His second no is just as forceful, and he eyes me. “Why do you keep checking your phone?”

“I got a show to watch.” I’m already putting in earbuds. “Donnelly out.” I stand on the booth seat. Wedged in the corner with Oscar beside me, I step onto the table, walk across, and jump off onto the ground.

I find an empty booth and take the whole seat to myself. Leaning up against the window with beer stickers stuck to the pane, I log into Farrow’s old HBO account on my phone and pop up Beneath a Strong Sentiment.

9:00 p.m. on the dot.

I start watching my favorite current show. In my favorite Center City bar. Some of my favorite people hanging around. And I smile as the intro begins playing.

Living my best life?

I think of her. Of what I can’t have with her, and my chest caves for a split second. I focus on the show, and I’m absorbed in the unraveling twists for the full hour.

After watching the previews for next week, I catch myself smiling. This episode shocked the fuck out of me in the best way possible. I’m stunned for another full second, and then I reanimate.

Immediately, I pop up Fanaticon. I have a strong urge to chat with the one person I know who loves Beneath a Strong Sentiment as much as I do.

I type out a message, and then I hit send.

Oct 29th, 10:01 p.m.

StaleBread89: Just finished watching the big twisty ep.11… mind blown 🤯

Thanks so much for reading this month's extra bonus! If that Fanaticon message looks familiar, it's because it exists within Misfits Like Us. After Chapter 22, you can read the entire Fanaticon DM exchange between "StaleBread89" and "Illyana_Dallas222". 

We loved showing more of this night that's mentioned in Misfits Like Us. What exactly was Donnelly up to at The Independent when Luna was hanging out with Sulli? She said all of SFO were at The Independent while Bass was airing, so we knew we HAD to show how Donnelly was watching Bass while he was at the bar 🤓 We hope you enjoyed a closer look at SFO and an update on Quinn and more opinions about Frog joining the main roster. The Rookies are slowly stealing our hearts! 💗

xoxo Krista & Becca

"A Mood at the Independent" Copyright © 2022 by K.B. Ritchie