Original subtitles

How can I help, Sheriff?

We're trying to get ahold of Rayberry's family, if he had one.

Was there any next of kin that you know of?

Shucks. I don't...

Actually, he might've had a wife.

Do you know her name? Or where she lived?

No, no. He was pretty tight-lipped about his marriage.

He only mentioned it in passing.

-Mm... -But maybe he filled out some forms at Pep Comics.

I could check with them.

Well, I'd appreciate it. And let me know if anything turns up.

It's important that we put this sorry mess behind us as soon as possible.

You're dreamin', Reg.

Uncle Frank, will you tell Reggie

that Marilyn Monroe is much sexier than Elizabeth Taylor?

That no one on the planet is sexier than Marilyn Monroe.

Sophia Loren. Brigitte Bardot. Eartha Kitt.

And yes, in my humble opinion, Elizabeth Taylor.

Told you so.

What the frig?

You guys are itchin' for a switchin'.

I got a call from Principal Featherhead last night, Archie.

Tells me your grade point average is back up. B-plus.

Like we agreed.

Yeah? So does that mean I get back--

She's waiting for you in the garage.

It's all right. I'll clean up.

Wowza. That is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I didn't know you had a hot rod.

I didn't know you liked cars.

I've always wanted one of my own. Just could never afford it.

Well, neither could I.

You shoulda seen this baby when we found her at the dump.

She was a real junker.

My dad and I rebuilt her together.

-Must have taken months. -Try years.

We finished it before he went off to the war.

Sounds like you and your old man were real tight.

We were best friends.

Taught me everything I know about cars.

And girls, I bet.

Is this a straight six?

V8 with headers. Louder and faster.

What's the transmission?

-Three-speed automatic. -Okay.

Most important question.

Can she lay rubber?

Now that I got my grades up, why don't we play hooky and I'll show you?

Dead, huh?

Ain't that a kick in the teeth.

You writers. You all have your secret demons, don't you?

It's a shame. Talented guy.

Say, you wouldn't

happen to know anything about Mr. Rayberry having a wife, would you?

No. Just that he wanted us to send half his salary

to a small town in South Carolina.

Maybe she lives down there.

Do you have a name or an address?

No, just a post office box.

I'll have Bernie get it for you.

Thank you, Mr. Fieldstone.

You bet.

Dead.

The thing I love so much about what Ralph Ellison did with Invisible Man

is that he took the broad idea of existentialism

and applied it specifically to the Black American experience.

Well, what struck me most was the novel's style.

It was almost like jazz. Very improvisational.

No shock there. Ellison was a jazz drummer before he became a writer.

Clearly it influenced his work.

That said, some of his literary criticisms rub me the wrong way.

For instance, I love Zora Neale Hurston's

Their Eyes Were Watching God,

but he called it a "blight of calculated burlesque."

I mean, I can't help but think that's partly

because it was written about a woman and by a woman.

See, I liked Hurston's book,

but I do see Ellison's concern, though.

She's writing us as caricatures for a white audience.

Parts of Invisible Man really spoke to me,

but he was just so angry and tortured all the time.

Ellison's speaking to the larger truth of our existence.

It's not a book about day-to-day life.

It's about what it feels like,

in the scope of our human experience,

to walk around in our skin.

Well, I, for one, am really digging this conversation.

So, to touch on what Tabitha said,

what were our thoughts on Their Eyes Were Watching God?

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Hey.

How's my baby and our baby?

Better now that Riverdale's heppest budding rock star is here.

I actually got some news.

I booked a gig in Centerville.

I'm not headlining. Ritchie Valens is.

But I did find out that there's going to be some music producers there

that are gonna be scouting for talent.

Fangs, that's fantabulous!

Where and when, so I can put it in my book?

Oh, actually, Midge, you can't come.

Huh?

The show's in the rough part of Centerville.

Heaven forbid something bad were to happen.

-Like a rumble breaks out and you get hurt. -Oh...

Plus, what if your parents find out that you're road tripping out

to the boonies to see your deadbeat boyfriend play rock 'n' roll?

I gotta be a rich and famous musician by the next time I see 'em,

or they'll never jive with us getting circled.

But they will, okay?

Go get to class.

Okay, so get this.

According to Mr. Fieldstone, Mr. Rayberry had half of his paycheck

sent to a PO box in South Carolina.

That's not something a man who's planning to kill himself does.

Exactly. Despite what Sheriff Keller seems to believe.

Honest to gosh, Tabitha,

I'm half-tempted to just sneak into Mr. Rayberry's apartment.

Just to try and figure out who that PO box belongs to.

His wife, hopefully, but also to see if I can find some evidence.

What kind of evidence?

That he didn't kill himself.

That he was the victim of foul play.

Would you maybe want some company for that?

With all due respect to James Dean,

what if you had to choose between, say, Marlon Brando or Paul Newman?

To marry? Paul Newman.

But if we're talking about just spending one wild, reckless night together?

Marlon Brando.

Betty Cooper, you naughty girl!

By the way, I've been meaning to ask you.

Are you using a new cold cream?

Because you're positively glowing.

No. Just plain ol' soap and water.

But my mom is making good on her threat to stay out of my life,

and, honestly, it's like a weight's been lifted.

Well, good for you.

Look at us, a couple of independent young women,

unconstrained by the expectations of society, our parents, and boys.

Upon further reflection, Betty,

why deal in hypotheticals

when we have our very own Marlon and Paul to play with here at school?

Reginald?

Oh. Hey.

I wanted to offer you a mea culpa.

For not making our date after things got busy at the Babylonium.

So I was hoping you'd give me another chance.

-What's changed? -Circumstances.

To paraphrase my friend Lauren Bacall,

a girl can't be all work and no play.

Here's the skinny. I'm not scared of the chase.

But in my experience, some people don't really want to be caught.

Is that you?

Only one way to find out.

Andrews, uh, you doing anything tonight?

Nah. No plans.

Right on. In that case, can I borrow your car?

I've got a date with Veronica.

I thought you were done with her antics, Reg.

-Eh. -Geez, do you even have a driver's license?

'Course. I drove my dad's truck to the farmer's market every weekend.

Don't gringle.

I'll be real careful with her, I promise.

Ah, what the heck.

Sure, why not?

Like we learned in Spanish class...

Mi casa es tu casa.

No foolin'?

I got nothing better to do.

Just look after her, okay?

Black Athena is everything I hoped it would be, Cheryl.

I finally feel like I'm doing something worthwhile and worthy, you know?

Yeah.

I happened to be walking by your last meeting.

It sounded tremendous.

It was.

Although Clay tends to monopolize the whole conversation.

It's very clear he has the hots for James Baldwin.

Who's that?

He's this real hep writer from Harlem.

One of my favorites.

Anyway, what's your tale, nightingale?

To be honest, I'm really missing you.

Between me and the Vixens and you and your new club,

we barely get to see each other.

And when we do, it's three feet apart.

What do you say we catch a flick tonight?

I wish I could, but I really need to finish reading Native Son.

It's the next book that we're gonna be discussing at Black Athena.

Okay.

Well, what if I came with you to your next meeting?

I wouldn't say anything, of course.

I would just listen.

Tell you what, it's the first few days and we're just getting started.

I just wanna make sure that everybody feels comfortable.

Maybe towards the end of the semester

when Black Athena is more established, all right?

Whatever you think is best.

Hi, Archie. How are you?

Betty. I'm terrific.

My uncle let me have my car back!

I saw. The whole school did.

Assuming that means your uncle is finally easing up on you?

He is. Yeah. I'm out of the doghouse.

Well, in that case, I was wondering

if it might finally be time to go on our date?

Wow. I'd love to go out with you, Betty.

Swell!

Do you want to pick me up tonight at, say, 7:00?

Oh, crap. I...

I lent my car to Reggie, so he could take Veronica out tonight.

That's okay. We can take the bus.

Oh.

The bus?

Or walk?

Walk?

Yeah. Yeah, sure.

Let's walk. That sounds romantic.

Okay.

Jughead, take a look at this.

Well, whoever is in the photo,

this was taken in June 1948.

No, I think the woman's name is June.

And I think these are love letters

written to Mr. Rayberry from a woman named June Simpson.

Writing to him from South Carolina.

That's the same as the PO box.

Wait. So this is...

Brad Rayberry's wife.

Secret or otherwise.

Hold on.

June Simpson. She's in here.

With an address and a phone number.

We have to call her, Jughead.

And let her know what happened.

She probably hasn't heard.

Hello?

Hi. Mrs. Simpson?

Who's calling, please?

Um, you don't know me. My name is Jughead Jones.

I'm terribly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, ma'am.

Brad Rayberry has passed away.

Who... Who is this, exactly?

Uh, I worked with Mr. Rayberry. I'm one of his friends.

How did Bradley die?

We're not sure.

He was found in his apartment in Seaside.

Did he suffer, do you know?

I hope not.

I'll come as quick as I can.

This is the apartment on Magnolia Street?

Yes. Um, I can... I can be there when you arrive.

In the meantime, I'll just be tidying up his things.

Thank you. I appreciate that. Goodbye.

Kevin, what happened? Are you okay?

Oh, yeah, I'm just floating on a cloud, to be honest.

And what, pray tell, brought on this state of bliss?

I just heard Clay perform his latest poem, "Ode to Sidney."

He's like a magician, but with his words.

He is, indeed.

And where did this performance take place, if I may ask?

At a meeting of Black Athena.

You went? You were allowed to go?

Mm-hmm. Yeah, Clay invited me.

I mean, it's freedom, Archie, plain and simple.

The freedom of not feeling my mother's breath on my neck, watching my every move.

It's like my life is suddenly this open road before me,

and I've got both hands on the wheel.

Wheel? What wheel? Who's got the wheel?

Me.

Oh. Right.

Is everything okay?

I'm peachy. Yeah. I'm just...

Archie, if you want to call it a night--

No, I don't. I don't. Not at all.

But I'm just wondering where Reggie and Veronica are on their date.

I mean, where else is there to go in Riverdale other than Pop's?

So, I heard through the grapevine

that Kevin attended a Black Athena meeting.

Yeah. Well, Clay was presenting a poem

and he wanted to have his boyfriend there.

Mm.

Yeah, Kevin says it was an amazing experience.

Life-changing, even.

Okay, Cheryl, if you really wanna come.

I do. I would love to.

Okay. Well, we're gonna be discussing Native Son, as I mentioned.

So, you can borrow my copy, I finished it.

Thank you.

I do not take this lightly.

I can't wait.

You had me worried sick.

Do you have any idea what time it is?

I thought you'd got into a wreck.

I kept imagining you in a ditch somewhere,

all mangled and bleeding.

Archie, cool your jets.

Where did you and Veronica even go tonight?

Look, after I dropped her off, I didn't wanna come straight home,

so I hit the freeway.

You did what?

I hit the freeway.

I wanted to open her up a little.

See what she can do.

You... You took my car?

Out onto the highway?

Reggie, that car is my favorite thing in the entire world.

Anything could've happened out there.

-Am I grounded? -No.

But I sure hope you dug your little joyride, Mantle,

because that is your last time in my car.

Keys?

I heard you two fellas going at it last night.

What kind of guy does that to a supposed friend?

I built that car, spark-plug by spark-plug, with my dad, Uncle Frank.

Listen, your pops and I,

we shared a car growing up

and we fought more about that damn jalopy

than Cain and Abel did about sheep.

But come on, Archie.

The kid's far from home.

He's far from his family, everything he knows.

He grew up scraping by.

Working his ass off for things that guys like us take for granted.

Can't you give him a break?

Well, how was the date? Worth the wait?

It was not stellar.

Archie was distracted the whole time.

How was it with you and Reggie?

Mixed. Usually, boys want to go parking with me,

not cruising around town.

But, straight from the fridge, he too seemed preoccupied.

Kept glancing at his watch like he had somewhere to go.

Maybe we should switch dance partners and try again?

Or maybe we try a double date?

I know just the event.

Have you heard about this big concert in Centerville?

Mm-mm.

All the hipsters and hep cats will be there.

What say we give our beaus a chance to redeem themselves

for being such unlicked cubs?

Their words are so beautiful, Jughead.

Describing how their love endured

despite everything they went through.

What happened to them?

Well, from what I could piece together, they got married in New York

and then they moved to June's hometown

in South Carolina to start a family.

But there was an incident.

Their lives were threatened.

Oh, geez.

White thugs threw a brick through their window.

Burned a cross in their yard.

They went to the police, who threatened to arrest them.

Not the thugs. Them.

That's horrible.

I saw things like that every single day I was on tour with Mrs. Till.

In any case, the Rayberrys were terrified.

Not just for themselves, but for the safety of June's family.

That's why Mr. Rayberry left.

And settled in Seaside, yes.

I think the plan was that they were gonna save up enough money

to get June's family somewhere safe.

And then they were gonna go live in Paris as expats.

But if they had such a clear plan,

why would Mr. Rayberry take his own life?

Unless, as you keep saying, he didn't.

Reg, wait up.

What, did you find a dent in your fender or something?

Look, I'm sorry about last night.

I lost my cool.

In that case, I'm sorry for miscounting the trumps.

What can I say? I'm car-crazy. It's a disease.

Oh, fellas.

Better clear your dance cards.

Fangs is playing a concert in Centerville and we wanna go,

so you're taking us on a double-date.

First to dinner, then to the show.

Any questions?

For some of you, this was perhaps your first time reading Wright's

harrowing and thought-provoking novel.

Of course, it was my third.

Now, I obviously have a lot of thoughts,

but I wanna hear from all of y'all first.

The book asks, "Where does responsibility lie?"

While Bigger does kill Mary, the young white daughter of the rich Dalton family,

the story, in my mind, remains a cautionary tale about, well--

The dangers of white ignorance.

Exactly. Wright doesn't give us any easy answers.

That's what's so great about it, though.

He looks at society as a whole and how it works to keep us oppressed.

Bigger commits murder,

but his true crime is stepping outside the box

that white society built around him.

I'll say it. I thought Bigger was a stereotype.

Wright doesn't give him enough agency to break the mold.

James Baldwin would agree with you.

And all roads lead to Baldwin, right, Clay?

They do, Kev.

Cheryl, do you have anything to add?

Oh, no.

Um...

Only that this was the most powerful novel I've ever read.

And that the family in the book, the Daltons,

reminded me a lot of my own family

in some unpleasant ways.

But I'm very glad to have read it,

and to be learning more about it.

Just out of curiosity, is Native Son the only novel

by a Black author that you've ever read?

Yes.

But I can't wait to read more.

You won't be shocked to hear, Cheryl,

that I maintain an ever-evolving syllabus of Black authors

I believe everyone, regardless of who they are or where they're from,

should be reading.

I gave it to Kevin. I'd be jazzed to share it with you.

Thank you, Clay.

Of course.

Now. Moving on to Baldwin's essay.

Let me get this straight.

In your expert opinion, Brad Rayberry didn't kill himself?

No.

Well, what happened to him, then?

Well, to put a fine point on it,

disguising murder as suicide

has been a gimmick in detective fiction

since the days of Arthur Conan Doyle.

Let me ask you this.

How well did you really know your so-called hero, Jughead?

Well enough to know that he wouldn't take his own life.

Uh-huh.

Did you also know that he was a card-carrying member of the Communist Party?

How about the fact that he was a draft dodger

who protested the Korean War?

That he was a dope fiend.

He spent a month as a mental patient

at St. Vincent's in New York City.

This... This is impossible.

Now, I'm no head-shrinker, but if you ask me,

someone who's got that many secrets?

Well, it's a miracle he didn't take his own life sooner.

I'm curious to hear how you thought the meeting went.

Better than I thought it would, actually.

I'm relieved.

I was worried people would feel uncomfortable around you.

Or that you would feel uncomfortable around my friends.

They were, and I was.

Not so much uncomfortable as I was worried

that I wasn't going to say the right thing at first.

But then--

But then, everyone settled in nicely.

It was really nice to have you here.

It was.

But I think you were right to be so protective of Black Athena.

It's your club, your space.

I am so grateful that I got to experience it,

and that I got to see first-hand what you're so passionate about.

But I think in the future I will just attend the more public events.

Well, we are hosting an open mic night at the Dark Room next month.

I will be there front row.

And maybe you can read some more books off Clay's list.

Absolutely.

And maybe afterward we could discuss them together?

Well, I can dig that plan.

Also, what are you doing tonight?

Midge mentioned that there was a concert in Centerville.

Would you wanna go?

I am certain I could make myself available.

This is the last letter I received from Bradley.

Given the date, he must have mailed it right before...

his passing.

In it, he wrote about finally wanting to have his novel published.

He did? Really?

"If a publisher takes it, we'll at last have the money we need

to buy your parents a place in the city and move to Paris.

After everything we've been through,

I'm filled with such optimism about our future."

Now, I'm not a detective like Miss Marple,

but that doesn't sound like a man planning to take his life.

No. It sure doesn't.

Mrs. Simpson, Sheriff Keller told me some things about your husband.

That he was a war protester and a communist.

And that he'd been to an asylum.

Mm-hmm.

And that's true.

But did he also tell you that Bradley served in World War II?

And that he became addicted to opium because of a war injury?

And that he checked himself into St. Vincent's voluntarily?

And yes, he attended a couple of communist meetings

when he was young and curious and suffering

during the Great Depression.

That makes sense.

I'll tell you this.

My husband was an optimist.

Despite everything life threw at him.

Even when he was working as a janitor at the maple factory,

stuck on the graveyard shift,

he never lost his sense of humor.

He always believed something better was around the corner.

If Mr. Rayberry didn't take his own life,

means that someone else is responsible.

Do you have any idea who?

Or why?

The world can be a brutal place.

God knows who Bradley might have angered or upset.

I've seen a lot of people do horrific things in my day.

If you want to look into Brad's death, young man, I won't stop you.

Take a gander. You won't believe the bitchin' rigs on this one.

Serves us right for stopping at the newsstand.

Classy chassis.

Check out the flip-top box on page 13.

Whoa. Fat city.

You know, Steve McQueen used to drive us around Hollywood in his '53 Hudson Hornet.

And believe me, you've never heard anything purr quite like that.

I've fixed up more than a few V8s in my day.

My dad says I've never met an engine I couldn't repair.

Damn! The plating on these rims...

Cherry.

I'd agitate the gravel with those chromes.

Boys! Aren't we going to be late?

For the show? We're still going to the show, I hope?

If we don't leave now, we'll never make it to Centerville on time.

Yeah, you're right. We should boogie.

What are you doing?

Oh, I just thought, since we're late, it'd be better if I--

Well, you drove on the way here.

It's my car, I'll drive.

Okay, yeah, just make sure you don't flood the engine

when you start 'er up, 'cause sometimes--

I got it, Reg.

So what's next for you, Mrs. Simpson?

I'm going to bury my husband where we first met.

And then I suppose I'm going to see about getting his novel published.

Let us know if we can help in any way.

I will, dear.

You know, Bradley always loved comic books.

Since I knew him.

I'm sure he'd be happy for you to continue adapting his stories.

I'd be honored.

And I'll talk to Mr. Fieldstone about doing a tribute issue.

With all the proceeds going to you and your family, of course.

That would be much appreciated.

Tell me, are you two going steady?

- Who? Us? - Oh, no. No.

-I mean... -We're classmates.

-And friends, I would say. -Good friends.

-Yeah. -Pals.

Well, you two take care of each other. That's important.

Arch, do you need a hand?

Unfortunately, Betty,

it seems as though someone goofed it and forgot to fill up the gas tank.

Okay. So the problem is we need to get gas and we need to beat feet, fast.

Well, considering the fact that I'm in stilettos

and Pop's is five miles back that way,

might I suggest you two cool it and start walking

while we stay here and huddle for warmth?

-Hey. -Hey.

-Hey! -Hey! Hey!

So I've been thinking--

Why don't you see if Clifford Blossom can get you a car?

Get bent.

Why not? Clifford Blossom will do anything to keep you happy.

Star players get perks all the time.

No way. I don't want to be any deeper

in that creep's pocket than I already am.

It's bad enough he's paying someone to work on my dad's farm in my place.

Is that how you see me?

As a germ who's looking for handouts?

Ah, jeez, you don't have to be so touchy about it.

What's the matter, Andrews? Am I too uppity for you?

Hmm? Borrowing your car instead of waxing it?

Eating off of your mom's nice dinner plates?

You're ringing up the wrong area code, Reg.

Then what?

Am I forgetting my place?

You better knock that giant chip off your shoulder.

Oh, yeah? Or maybe I oughta knock the one off yours.

Wait. Wait.

Submit.

Submit.

Hello.

Cheryl?

And Toni Topaz and Midge Klump.

Are you ladies having car trouble?

We were on our way to see Fangs perform, but we ran out of gas.

Right on! That's where we're going.

Well, hop on in. The more, the merrier.

It'll be a blast and a half.

What about the boys?

With all due respect to those wet rags,

who cares about the boys?

What an incredible lady.

Really makes you think.

Yes. About a lot of things.

Like?

Like that I should go back on the road with my folks.

As hard as the tour was... Is.

Yeah, I was wondering.

I was planning to take some time off.

To rest. Reevaluate.

But meeting June, reading her letters to Mr. Rayberry.

Not that I needed a reminder, but it was one.

You're fighting for people to be free and live their lives.

And to love who they wanna love.

There's nothing more meaningful than that.

Well, maybe this time you'll actually send me my homework?

Yeah. Yes, yes, I will.

Maybe I'll send you some letters too.

So, you boys wanna tell me what happened?

I was stupid enough to think that I was lending my car

to someone that I could trust.

Yep. And I was stupid enough

to believe someone when they said we were Bulldog brothers.

I don't know about all that,

but if this is over some car,

I've got an abandoned jalopy in my garage.

Why don't you take it off my hands, Reggie?

You'd actually be doing me a favor.

That'd be incredible, Pop.

Bet they'd let you keep it in the shop class at the high school too.

How's that sound to you boys?

-Great. -Swell. Well, thank you, Pop.

-Thanks, Pop. -Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Great. Great. Go.

I wanna come clean about something.

The night I took Veronica out,

I didn't go joyriding afterwards.

That's not why I got back late.

Hold the line. Well, where were you, then?

I drove home to Duck Creek to see my folks.

How come?

I was feeling homesick.

Why didn't you just tell me that?

I can't go around telling people I miss my morn and dad.

Well, I've never really thought about it like this.

But I've always felt a little homesick ever since my dad left for Korea.

That's the best way to describe it.

Homesick.

Like I said, he was my best friend.

I've never really had one since.

What about Betty?

Or what's-his-name, Beef Soup? Soup Can?

You mean Jughead?

Yeah. Jughead.

I guess you can't really talk V8s with him.

No, not really.

He's a good egg, though.

And Betty. She's...

Anyway, how's things back home with your folks?

The same as always.

They're working hard, missing me.

But they're happy I ended up in a good home.

With good people.

You're good people, Archie.

Yeah, you too, Reg.

My dad would've got a kick out of you.

-Yeah? -Oh, yeah.

Hey, you think the girls are gonna go ape on us?

Uh...

Where are the girls?

I can't believe you came to my gig.

If you thought I was gonna miss the biggest show of your career,

you've got a screw loose.

Thank God you're so stubborn, Midge.

'Cause it turns out, you were my lucky charm.

What's this, hon?

It's the business card of a music producer from Phantom Rock Records.

Mm.

Holy heck.

That's in worse shape than mine when we found it.

Careful. Watch what you say about Bella.

Bella?

Yeah. I always dreamed about having a car named Bella.

Oh, Bella it is.

I thought you could use a hand souping her up a little.

I could. That's why I asked Betty.

Betty?

Hey, Arch. Are you helping out too?

Uh, yeah, I suppose.

By the way, I was telling Reggie,

you two missed an incredible show last night.

Fangs for sure is the next big thing.

He blew the roof off the Armory!

-Um... -Yeah.

-Can I have that one? Thanks. -Yep.

What?

What? Oh. Nothing.

Thanks.

Oh, hello.

You must be a friend of Mr. Rayberry's.

Such a shame what happened to him, may he rest in peace.

Thank you.

Well, I hate to impose, I'm Mrs. Martin.

I just live down the hall and I've run out of milk for my kitty.

I was wondering if there might be any in Mr. Rayberry's refrigerator.

How strange.

I wonder what happened to the milk bottles.

Milk bottles?

A few nights ago, I heard the milkman making

an unusually late delivery to this apartment.

The milkman? You saw him?

No. I was inside my apartment.

But I heard him.

How do you hear a milkman?

The distinct rattle of the glass bottles, of course.

My kitty heard it right away.

Because it is just about her favorite sound in the whole world.

Isn't that right, Miss Kitty?

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