Nothing about working at the Riverdale Auto Shop was easy, but at the very least, it was exciting. Within two weeks, Leo had let go of most of the day-to-day work that had been bothering his back, excusing himself to an office to deal with finances, phone calls, and emails. Sometimes he wasn't in at all, sending an apologetic text message her way, usually filled with some mild swearing about 'flare-ups' and 'damn medication that didn't work for shit'. Betty didn't mind and, in some ways preferred it, so she could work uninterrupted and listen to the music she wanted to.
Betty could tell that it bothered Leo, to be unable to work on cars, but he seemed to be in less pain with each passing day. They weren't close enough to broach it, but he'd made mutterings that his wife would surely thank Betty for getting him off his feet.
This meant Betty was in charge of all cars and vehicles that eeked their way through the garage doors. She met the entire town, she seemed. It seemed absurd to her that such a small town could have so many motor vehicle issues, but Leo also took in motorcycles, boats, RVs, and anything else that had a motor and ran (including lawnmowers, golf carts, and some children's driveable Barbie dream cars), so work was cut out for her. Plus, with the warmth of summer months upon them, everyone and their mother was dying to get out on the river and a little TLC was in much need.
Officially, they were open Monday through Friday, public-facing from 8 am to 3 pm, and garage-only work from 3 pm to 5 pm. Leo allotted one hour per day for Betty's lunch, and they were close enough to town for her to explore or even nip back to her apartment for a nap.
Unofficially, Leo was there every weekend. Fred had told Betty, at her congratulatory dinner, that he was of the same ilk Fred was; they didn't let go of their careers easily. Betty wondered if he had better places to be, but Leo would likely argue there was no better place than here. He allowed the intake of vehicles, never calling her in on the weekends or after hours. If there was a fix he could do with his limited mobility, he did it, and Betty wouldn't find out until she fingered through the payment tabs on Monday. If it was beyond his range of current health and ability, he just left it where it sat, ready for Betty to tackle it when she returned.
So, Betty was hardly surprised when she arrived in on Monday of her third week to find a row of various vehicles ready for her to tackle. She found Leo's notes easy enough; despite his attitude, he ran a tight shop, and his notes were always meticulous and to the point. She chewed on her pen cap, flipping through the sheets, wandering and weaving through the cars, pressing colored sticky notes to hoods; her own sorting system. Sort of like a triage, she had likened it to.
Leo didn't care. As long as the jobs were done and done well, she could do whatever she needed to make her work worth her time.
There was a broken brake line on a car owned by a teenager that Betty decided should be her first order of business, sure the kid's folks were desperate for his car back and worried about his safety. There was a boat that had struck a rock this weekend that would take long, measured steps that she may as well begin on. There was a Honda Civic that was making a strange noise whenever someone put it in park, a mystery befitting Betty's curiosity. Finally, there was a gleaming motorcycle with a popped tire, sadly sagging against one of the shop walls.
Betty put Bluetoothed her Spotify playlist to the speakers hanging through the shop, grateful for some modern ways of living in this tiny town, tied her hair up, and set to work immediately.
The days flew by for her. It wasn't just that tasks took her a long time, but she felt herself fall into 'the zone' when she was at work. She knew Fred would strongly disapprove if she knew, but sometimes, she forgot to eat if Leo wasn't here to shoo her out. On days she did remember and Leo wasn't here, she was allowed to stick a 'be back in an hour' sign on the door and had a spare set of keys to lock in and out. She didn't mean to without eating. She knew it wasn't good for her or the baby, but she often found herself lost in her work, elbows deep in grease and rusted parts, equipped with a tool belt heavy with various instruments, in strange yoga positions in and around cars.
She didn't have any mechanics outfits with her, not knowing it would be a necessity. Out of pity, Leo had given Betty a few of his old work coveralls from when he was younger and less round. It still felt like she was drowning in them, even by tying rope as tightly as it would go around her waist, but at least it wasn't dirtying her other wear clothes. One thing she'd recalled from working with her dad is that while it wasn't impossible to get grease stains out of jeans and shirts, it wasn't easy, and it was better to just cover one's self instead of sacrificing favorite pieces. And Betty was so strapped for cash she couldn't afford to ruin the few pairs of clothing she'd been able to pack away with her.
She heard a cacophony of voices as she lay underneath the car with the broken break line. It sounded like some kids just looking for someone to bother; maybe the teenager came to whine and ask when his car would be done. As it was, she was so close to finishing up that they could wait a few damn minutes.
Someone rudely kicked her shoe, trying to get her attention.
"Dude, you gunna fucking talk to us?" Someone asked, their voice sounding older than a teenager.
Immediately Betty ground her teeth. She was stubborn to a fault and even less willing to drop everything to greet them now.
"C'mon man, I heard Leo hired someone out, but did he have to hire someone so slow?" Another voice complained, "He said the wheels would be done by Monday."
There was some general squabbling, or rather, mindless complaining and joking at her expense until a tired voice cut through it all.
"He said by Monday afternoon. It's barely 11 am."
Thank God for some sense in this group of morons, Betty thought with a roll of her eyes.
"Yeah, but, how hard is it to repair a stupid tire?" The first voice demanded, no grace given.
Betty did her best to ignore it, finishing her current job with the same respect she'd give anything else by not rushing it. Finally, she dropped her arms, wondering if she really had to go out and play nice with these bozos. In the end, she swallowed back her bite and guarded herself for this interaction, knowing better. Leo wasn't exactly a warm presence, but he wasn't rude either, and Betty imagined he'd have some choice words if she mouthed off to a paying customer.
She pushed herself into the light of the garage, and all the jibes and jokes died on their lips as they stared at her.
She recognized them at once. It was that group of former Serpents that Archie had warned her about. She didn't want to judge anyone too badly without proper consideration, however, they weren't doing any favors to budge her assumptions. They came in a gaggle of six or so of them, all boys. The lone girl who had been at Pop's diner was missing.
"Holy shit, it's a fucking girl!" One of them said, eyes wild, "Jedi, you seeing this shit?"
"No wonder it's taking eons to get my ride done," The first one said with a narrowed glare, "Do you even know the difference between a steering wheel and a stark-plug?" He asked with as much condescension as he could muster. The entire group gave a loud 'oooh' and laughed like a pack of unruly hyenas, as though he'd really shown her!
Betty ground her teeth, throwing her towel on a bench, "It's called a spark plug ," She spat out. Dumbass.
She'd thought she'd said that last bit in her head, but from the wide-as-saucer stares the group was giving her, somewhere between shock, horror, and indignation, apparently it had been said out loud.
Whoops?
Only one in the group seemed unoffended, the tallest one. He was pushed to the back, making it hard for Betty to see him properly, but he gave a wide grin and snorted.
"Showed you, Casadaga," He said, slapping his friend's back with a hard sound that echoed throughout the garage.
"Whatever, man!" Casadaga threw his hands off him, "It was a test. So what, she passed. Big deal."
"You're right, it shouldn't take long to repair the wheel," Betty said with a forced smile. She was torn between two sides of her. One side wanted to tell them to go kick rocks and put the motorcycle to the very bottom of her to-do list, but the tiny voice that reminded her that if she got it done quicker, they'd just leave, eventually won out, "If you want to just wait here."
God, she hoped that they'd realize there was a vending machine in the lobby and go spend their time in between bothering someone else.
The boys all exchanged looks.
"Well," Casadaga finally shrugged, "Guess if I have to sit and watch someone fix up my baby, you're ass is a much sweeter view than old Lopez's. Even in that baggy thing, I can tell you're hiding something sexy-,"
A smack broke the silence and Betty was terrified for a second she'd moved without knowing it. If she hit someone, no matter if they deserved it, she'd be fired, no questions asked.
But it wasn't her. No, she was glued to the spot she'd stood, watching in utter surprise as the tall one, the reasonable one, glared down at Casadaga.
"Fucking apologize, Abraham," He commanded sternly, his face carved into a deep, disgusted scowl.
Abraham - or Casadaga - gingerly cradled his jaw, staring at his friend in fury.
"What is your fucking deal? God, can't you take a joke?" He turned to Betty, spitting mad, "It was just a joke, you know that, right?" He demanded furiously, his attitude reminding Betty of a few other people she hated with a burning passion.
"Gone soft, Sweets?" Jedi sneered, rolling his eyes.
"Apologize," 'Sweets' said again, focusing solely on the main offender, "And better hope she doesn't ruin your precious motorcycle," He said.
Abraham puffed out his chest, "She does, I sue this sorry place for everything it has."
Sweets looked over at Betty, sucking in and shaking his head, not at her, but almost in amusement, "Somehow I think she'd know how to do it in a way so that by the time it broke down, you'd never be able to pin it on her. And you'd have to drag it back here to be fixed again."
Betty tried to hide a grin, but he was right. If she wanted to be petty, oh, she could be petty. She knew cars better than anyone in this town sans Leo and she'd put her entire savings on that bet.
"What's got your panties in a twist today?" One asked in disgust, "Accidently put on the ones with lace instead of your manly boxers?"
"I just don't appreciate this sort of behavior toward women," Sweets said with measured carefulness, "It ain't right."
"Where'd you learn that?" Someone scoffed, "You ain't got a momma or a daddy to teach you shit."
Betty saw him flinch.
An orphan.
She tried not to look at him with pity, but it was hard not to. He was having a stand-off with his friends and missed her eyes softening, which was probably for the best.
"Look, she's doing us a service. You think she's being paid to bat her pretty eyelashes at you?" Sweets snorted with heavy derision, and at the blank faces of his comrades, groaned, running his hand over his face, "You want someone coming into your work, Vade, and making sexually explicit comments at you while you try to drive a Zamboni?" He argued, trying again.
Vade crossed his arms, grinning lewdly, "I've never fucked on the ice, but hell, now you've put the damn idea in my head, Sweet Pea." He looked back at Betty, "Any interest, doll?"
As laughter rose up from the crowd, and Betty remembered she had a heavy wrench that she could throw at a finger's length away, Sweet Pea seemed to have enough.
"Alright!" He slammed the metal garage door hard, the sound silencing everyone, "Out of here, all of you!" He snarled.
Despite their jokes and ribes, he had a power over them that Betty didn't expect. As though they were sorry children who were caught with their hands in a cookie jar, they arched their shoulders and slinked out. She wasn't sure how their dynamic worked with one another, but she was grateful he was at the top of the totem, not Casadaga. Casdaga, who was the only one who stayed and whined.
"What about my-,"
"I'll come back for your fucking motorcycle, Abe," Sweet Pea threw his hands up, "When it's done later today. Now, c'mon," He said, slinging an arm over his shoulders, steering him out, "Let's go find something to set on fire."
"Now you're speaking my language, high five!"
Betty stayed rooted to the spot long after the crowd had dissipated, waiting until the sound of their car squealing over gravel was long gone. Finally, she peeled herself forward, furious for clamming up like that.
She knew, as a girl interested in mechanics, it wasn't an easy route. She'd been given respect at Leo's, and she'd almost forgotten to never let her guard down. There would be misogynistic idiots no matter where she went, no matter if her work was stellar.
She knew if she laid a finger on that motorcycle now, she'd probably destroy it in a fit of rage, sprinkle all the parts across Sweetwater River, never to be cobbled back together.
When she'd done all she could on the rest of her work, she tackled this thing, reminding herself that they were paying clients and it was an easy task. She didn't need to antagonize herself over this for very long at all.
When she excused herself for a late-day meal, she was only gone twenty minutes to grab a sandwich at the local cafe. But when she appeared back, the motorcycle was gone.
All that was left in its place was an envelope, full of cash, and one word scrawled across the front of it in green ink: Sorry.
Something told her it wasn't Abraham who forked up the cash or wrote the note, but in the end, she told herself it didn't really matter at all.
XXX
Betty hadn't frequented Pop's in person since Archie took her that first time, other than a few scant spans. Not that she wasn't a regular patron, she just usually took her food to-go and grabbed it from a rack near the door without talking to a single soul. Everything on the menu was as good as everyone announced it to be, meaning that she had many options whenever she wanted a meal. Reasonably priced too, almost as cheap as individual ingredients, but had the added bonus of being something Betty did not have to cook at all.
Near the middle of June, after a long day at the shop, someone knocked on her door at 9 pm. She opened it to find her frail landlady.
"Other tenant flooded pipes. Shutting water off. No sinks, no tubs, no showers. Only few hours." Her landlady spoke in broken English with an accent Betty couldn't place, but she understood it well enough.
"Fine," Betty grouched, "Thanks for letting me know." She had one sole neighbor, a recluse she hardly saw.
She considered staying here, but she hadn't eaten yet. Making an executive decision, Betty grabbed a light jacket and her keys and stumbled out into the night. It was just barely dark out.
The nice thing about Riverdale? Utterly, laughably safe. Betty didn't have a lick of fear wandering around at night. Plus, everyone had become acclimated to her presence now, no longer seeing her as a strange interloper.
She decided to walk to Pop's. The exercise would be nice, she told herself.
Though it was a far hike comparatively to everything else, like her job, it wasn't unenjoyable. She liked having a moment to really drink in the natural beauty surrounding Riveralde, and listen to the hum of the cicadas or the crunch of pine needles beneath her boots.
At nearly 10 pm on a Tuesday, Pop's was the most deserted she'd ever seen it. She was worried it was closed until she spotted a regular in a corner booth, reading a newspaper, though there weren't many else there. Not many at all - just a few little old ladies gossiping in dusty corners, or service-workers staring blankly at their coffee cups - ghosted the space. Pop's car was missing, though Betty was relieved a man of his age wasn't up late.
She pushed inside, going over to the bar seating. Taking a whole table for just her lonesome felt selfish, though they weren't wanting for space to sit here. She wished Archie was free, but he was still in Greendale, putting up walls and pouring concrete. Well, probably not at 10 pm. At 10 pm he was probably balancing the books, but still.
She settled in, dropping her purse with a semi-audible 'thud' that garnered the glare of a lady closest to the bar. Betty mouthed a 'sorry' and winced, scratching the back of her neck.
The same waiter who had served her and Archie that first time rounded from the back. Betty didn't make an acknowledgment other than a quick nod in his direction as she picked up a sticky, laminated menu from the laminate countertop, trying to decide what she was in the mood for until she realized…he was staring.
She met his gaze, his mouth pressed into a thin scowl and realized why.
She had met him one other time. He was the Serpent in the shop a few weeks ago, the only one of them who had been semi-kind.
It was almost jarring. He'd been such a different character there, imposing, visibly carrying his leadership, clad in a black leather jacket with rings adorning his fingers. Now he almost looked naked in just his black shirt, cuffed at the sleeves, and an apron tied around his waist.
"Hi?" She finally offered softly.
"Did you get Abe's apology money?" He asked, grabbing a mug. Instinctively, he went to pour coffee in it, but Betty whipped her hand across the top, stopping him.
Man oh man did she miss drinking coffee. Giving up wine or deli meat for the baby was easy. Coffee, though? That was testing her, seriously.
His eyebrows raised in mild surprise, and pulled away, "Not a coffee girl, huh? Green tea?" He offered.
Betty nodded, unable to find her voice, and unwilling to explain further. She watched as he got her a steaming cup of hot water and carefully dipped a tea bag into it, letting it steep before handing it to her.
"Yes, yeah, I did." She finally said, "But c'mon, you want me to believe Abraham felt such guilt that he emptied his bank account after leaving? Renounced his sexually inappropriate ways and washed his mouth out with soap?"
His jaw clenched, and at first, she thought she'd offended him, but finally, he grinned, "Yeah, guess you're smarter than thought. I mean, you just deserved a tip for putting up with that sort of bull…" He trailed off, an old lady catching his eye with a hard, warning scowl, "Bull crap."
Betty shrugged, "It's whatever."
He shook his head, "It's not," He insisted, "Look, I just…" He swallowed, "They're all idiots. Dumb as rocks. Don't listen to anything they say."
"It's fine…" She searched her mind for his name, the one Archie had used, but came up blank. No name tags either, "Sweet Pea." She used what his friends had called him.
Sweet Pea flinched visually, "I'm going to kindly request you don't call me that here," He said quietly, pressing his palms to the bar countertop and looking over Betty's shoulder, "It has some…" He narrowed his eyes, "Unsavory prior connotations I'd prefer to shed."
He was close enough that his breath ghosted against her ear. She felt a shiver at the proximity to him, but he didn't linger in her personal space. He pulled back, and she was caught by the strange thought that she wished he had stayed a moment longer.
"Sorry." Her cheeks flushed at her social faux pas, "I'm Betty." She decided to introduce herself, thrusting her hand out. Not-Sweet Pea examined her with curiosity, before shaking it. He had a firm grip, though was trying to be gentle with her.
"Call me Jordan," He said by way of introduction, which was the name her mind had jettisoned, "And I'm really, really sorry."
Betty picked at the edge of the lamination, "Why do you hang out with friends like that? Apologies don't mean anything if you still hang out with those…" She searched for a PG way to phrase it, "Hooligans," She finally muttered, not wanting a little old lady behind her to beat her out of here with her purse at such foul language she wanted to use.
Jordan rolled his shoulders, "It's a long story, Betty," He said with a semi-apologetic shrug, "And it's not so easy. But I'm here and they're…" He licked his lips, "Well, not here."
She recalled what Archie had said; that Pop only hired those he trusted. So it must mean something. Pop seemed like the type that didn't get the wool pulled over his eyes, tricked often. Which meant that Jordan was living a double life. The life with those jerks, and the life here. And, on some level, it must have been made clear to Pop that he was more invested in fostering this one.
"Anyway," He shrugged, "What can I get for you?"
"Just a burger, I guess. Well-done." Betty said, overwhelmed with choices, "Ketchup, lettuce, onion, pickles."
"Inspiring choice, madam," Jordan said, and when he looked at Betty, he was giving a tiny, controlled grin and there was mirth in his voice, enough to make something in Betty's stomach roll with butterflies. The Jordan in front of her was so…warm. So different from the mildly standoffish person in the auto shop, who silenced his friends with just a look.
Betty watched him. She couldn't help it; as she said, she liked mysteries. And Jordan was shrouded in them. From the tattoo on his neck to the way he acted here, to his 'friends' he hung around with…everything about him was a contradiction, one that Betty was dying to unravel.
"What?" He asked, noticing her looking at him, "Got something on my face?"
She averted her eyes, hoping she wasn't sporting a blush, and sipped her tea, "Sorry. It's just late. I'm bushed."
"Huh," He raised an eyebrow, now taking the time to look at her, "Sure I can't get you a cup of joe?"
"Oh, I wish," She rolled her eyes, "But no…" After such a firm negation, she knew she had to explain, just a bit. So she quickly summoned a white lie, "I'd be off the walls if I did, even more tired tomorrow."
"Sure, right," He agreed, not that her dismissal had any bearings on him. The cook rang the bell; she'd only caught a glimpse of him a few times. Someone skinny, someone Jordan seemed familiar with. Friendly, she'd say.
She tucked in to eat, and Jordan leaned against the wall. Other than babysitting a few coffee cups, his job was far and few between and he decided to bother Betty with his free time, asking her all sorts of questions. Not that she was categorically opposed to talking with him, but just…surprised.
She took a quick trip to the bathroom, intending to pay up when she returned. When she came back to her seat, there was a slice of key lime pie sitting there.
She stared at it; was she so foggy with her pregnancy brain she'd forgotten she'd asked for that? It was her go-to dessert, ordered nearly every time she got takeout.
Jordan noticed her eyeing it suspiciously "On me."
Betty snapped her head up, "Another 'apology'?" She asked dryly. He shrugged.
"Naw, to thank you for your scintillating conversation skills," He replied, but there was a grin tugging at his lips.
"Oh." Betty stared at it, confused, "Wait, how did you-,"
Jordan snorted, "Who do you think packs up all those to-go orders you pick up?" He asked. This made Betty turn red as a tomato immediately. She felt like he'd gotten a hold of her diary, reading something personal out loud. To be clocked with a favorite dessert after just a month and a half was devastatingly embarrassing.
She swallowed hard, pushing it slightly away, "Wow," She huffed, "That's not creepy, huh?" She tried to play it off.
Jordan shrugged, pulling the dessert back toward him, and she watched in horror as he took a bite.
"What are you doing?" She squawked. He looked at her strangely.
"You said you didn't want it, Betty!" He argued.
"Yeah, but it's…mine!" Maybe she wanted it for breakfast tomorrow? Who was he to judge?
Jordan rolled his eyes, pulling out a fresh fork, "Eat then."
"Aren't you going to get me a new one?"
Jordan snorted.
"No."
She pressed her lips together and he guffawed, "I don't have cooties, Heather." He said, meaning that he'd picked up on the fake last name she'd typed into the ordering app.
"You're a meanie," Betty grumped, taking a large stab out of the pie.
"What are you," He said, sporting a full-on grin, "Ten?"
Betty sent him a coy smile, "Twelve, thank you very much," She corrected teasingly, pointing the fork at him.
He only took another two bites, as though daring her to say more.
"Mhh...okay, sure. Yeah, I needed this," She speared another piece, "I always need this. It's divine."
"Thank you," Sweet Pea said with a grin.
She made a motion to swat him, "The compliment was meant for the person making it," She teased.
"I repeat; thank you," Jordan said and his lips curled upwards. She took a moment to stare and then blinked twice.
"Wait...you make the pie?" She asked, surprised for some reason.
"Yep." The 'p' popped off his tongue.
"Like...all of them?"
"Uh-huh."
"Oh..." She swallowed, "Well, then, compliments to the chef." She said, only semi-awkwardly.
"Compliment duly noted."
When she finished, she tried to add the pie to her bill, but Jordan wouldn't let her.
"I'm dead serious. Stop being such a martyr and take the free dessert." He said, pushing a five-dollar bill back toward her, "Wait…where's your car?" He realized after a moment, doing a quick head count of the patrons and vehicles outside.
"I walked," Betty shrugged.
"Jesus, it's nearly midnight," He said, eyes wide, "Fuck it. Let me drive you home. It's my shift end anyway."
"It's fine-,"
"Let me play the gallant gentleman," Jordan said, "C'mon," He raised an eyebrow. Betty looked outside. It had begun to slightly rain, which really torpedoed her plans.
"Fine," She bit out, "But usually, I'd be perfectly okay to walk!"
"Sure, sure," Jordan packed up her leftover fries in a box, and she lingered ten minutes while he passed off the shift to the next waitress. Betty had him drop her near the town center. She wasn't sure she was ready to tell a near stranger her address. Jordan seemed to realize she logically didn't live in the middle of the fountain but didn't push her.
It was only when she got back into her apartment, long after his car had driven away, that she realized her to-go box was…heavier than it was meant to be.
Inside, next to her curly fries, was a pristine, untouched piece of pie and that same handwriting; Sorry (for stealing your dessert).