2 years ago.
Blossom Entertainment Inc.-building, Manhattan, New York City.
Betty:
"I know I'm running late Cheryl, but traffic through Hell's Kitchen was a fucking nightmare and Archie called last minute to say he wasn't going to make his flight back from L.A. tonight so don't start with me, okay?"
I can see that Cheryl is not at all swayed by my excuses. Her eyebrow does that thing it does when she is judging me and then she sighs and looks me up and down. Her long red hair is perfectly styled in loose waves and her lips are scarlet, as always. The rest is all black. Black dress, black shoes, black handbag. She looks like if Catwoman had a career change and started working at a record label.
"Well, at least you look like you're ready to go on soon. I'm not letting you leave the venue after soundchecks anymore if you're going to be late every time I let you headline. I'm not going to give you special treatment just because we're cousins" she says before downing the rest of her champagne and rolling her eyes.
I can't hold back the smirk forming on my lips. "Oh come on Cher, who else would headline this thing? You know I'm your best closer."
Deciding not to push my luck – I give her a wink and a kiss on the cheek before moving towards the backstage area before she tries to continue scolding me. I mean, she is kind of my boss, after all.
Jughead:
"Explain to me again what we are doing here, T" I say as we move through another small crowd of men in expensive suits and women who look vaguely familiar in that young, up-and-coming popstar kind of way. I duck out of the way as another tray of champagne glasses is being shoved into my path.
Toni sighs. "You're getting on my last nerve, Jones, that's what you're doing here" she warns. "I swear, it's like pulling teeth with you every damn day."
I shut up, because in fairness – I do know what we are doing here. We are taking advantage of the free food and drinks. We are "networking" (cue inevitable eyeroll). And most importantly – we are trying to get on the radio.
When we signed with Keller Recordings, we didn't reflect much on the fact that it was an imprint label owned by the massive BE Inc. corporation. It was cool, but it didn't really seem to affect us much. But lo and behold – here we are, our little indie garage band in the middle of the summer showcase of one of the biggest labels in the business. To be honest, I'm a simple man – they had me at free food for the evening. I just don't do well with crowds.
Betty:
Backstage, I check my phone again to see if there are any texts from Archie. It seems like they are getting more and more elusive every time he goes back to L.A. these days. Usually, I try to stay away from the gossip about him – I mean, if anyone knows what its like to read lies about yourself all over the papers, it's me. So, in a way, I understand where he is coming from when he is angry with me for getting suspicious. But every time he gets cagey about the rumors, I can't help but feel like he is overcompensating for something.
Sometimes I wonder how we are going to make it all work in the long run – between my constant touring and him being on location for several months at a time, I feel like time-zone adjusted phone calls and two-day stop-overs are all we have these days. But then I see that mop of red hair and that beautiful smile of his, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to have found someone like him when I needed it the most.
I met Archie when I was just seventeen. He was two years older, had just caught his big break playing a young soldier in a Spielberg-film and the second single from my first album had just made it onto the Billboard top 100, much to everyone's surprise. Cheryl got me onto the cover of a magazine, and I met Archie at the shoot. Damn, I was so easy, it was ridiculous. He had this classic ladies' man air about him, the quarterback from some hick town who fucked all the girls in high school, including some of the teachers, and then set out to be a movie star.
I'd never been a cheerleader, but at the time I was swept up by that aesthetic pretty hard – the blue jean baby, good girl on the back of a motorcycle, kind of thing. I took all my styling cues from Cheryl back then, so it was no wonder. And we made such a fucking good-looking couple right from the start, Archie and me. We still do.
Sometimes I just get scared that his heart's not in it anymore.
Jughead:
I have lost track of how many noncommittal noises we have wrangled out of mid-level tv-producers and radio hosts for the last couple of hours and I am fucking desperate for a cigarette. Some country-pop-crossover is barely keeping the attention of the crowd closest to the stage and I start to inch my way to the exit when she finally stops singing. I can see our label rep, Kevin Keller, looking around, presumably searching for me, as he's talking to Sweet Pea and Fangs. If I can only get out of here before he spots me, I should be able to make a run for it.
A voice stops me dead in my tracks. I don't even have to turn around to know what just happened.
Betty Cooper just stepped on stage and started singing.
The looks of Grace Kelly and Peggy Lee. Voice like a perfect mix of Stevie Nicks and Dusty Springfield. Attitude of CBGBs-era Debbie Harry. I turn back around in an instant, cigarette forgotten.
Because I guess that's just what you do when your all-time favorite celebrity crush is right behind you.
Betty:
It is just a simple showcase, but I am absolutely killing it on stage. I can feel it, people stop what they were doing, abandoning their drinks or their conversations and turning towards me to really listen. By the second song, I have them in the palm of my hand – even the boring suits from the sales department. Maybe it is the energy of coming in late, being rushed through hair and make-up, the pure nerve of doing everything with just a few seconds to spare. The live wire. Whatever it is, it is working.
But, as I step off stage and let out a deep breath of tension and excess adrenaline, something unbearable comes rushing back with full force. I make it back to the dressing room and the emptiness of it is striking and imposing, even with the applause of the audience still ringing in my ears.
I check my phone again. Nothing.
Before I can feel the walls starting to close in on me, I put the phone back in my purse, do a quick lipstick check in the mirror and rush back out to the party. Usually, I would just go home and try to get ahold of him. But the thought of going back to our empty apartment tonight is just too depressing to handle.
Author's Note: I don't own anything Riverdale-related. English is not my first language and I don't have anyone to proofread, which might explain any mistakes. I do not know anything about the music industry aside from what I've seen on TV, so please take this with a pinch of salt and all that. A truly humble thank you to anyone who takes the time to read and review.