Book II – Chapter 14: Too Smart

Posted On July 31, 2015

Summer was in full swing. Demos had found shelter beneath a bodega awning, inching sideways as the shadow crept with the minutes. Countless people had walked past, yet he had barely taken notice of any of them. The white-hot pavement and vague scents from a sewer grate had also gone ignored, omitted from his senses as he wrestled with his own thoughts. At one point, he had thought this was a good idea. He had requested it firmly, making eye contact with Ferris as he demanded to meet Alex.

Now, he wasn’t quite so sure. He wanted to like her. Alex was becoming a key figure in Ferris’ life, powerful enough to make him smile with nothing but a text message. His eyes would tighten fondly at the mere mention of her name. Whoever she was, and whatever she was like, she did one thing that few had managed before.

She made Ferris happy.

After all this time — a decade, it was all Demos really wanted. To see his friend’s face light up, to take in the honest flush in his complexion. Even so, Demos couldn’t help the feeling low in his gut, the sickness, the sour bite that came when another person pulled off something you hadn’t. Something you could never manage, no matter how hard you tried.

Demos lifted his third cigarette to his lips, taking a moment to realize it had already burnt down to the end. He frowned. The butt was tossed to the sidewalk, meeting its predecessors which had already been flattened into the grout. His cigarette case opened with a click, revealing the last few tucked beneath a clip. Just as he began to tug one free, a figure joined him in the shade.

“Chain smoking?” Ferris asked, his eyes falling to the litter at his friend’s feet.

Demos lit the cigarette just to spite him. “You’re late.”

“You’re on time,” he said, both impressed and concerned. “You’re never on time.”

Demos waved off the compliment, or accusation, leading Ferris east on the sidewalk. “What were you doing on 4^th Street, anyway?”

“Alex’s birthday is coming up. I finally thought of something she’d really want.”

“So you’re breaking up with her?”

“Shut up.” Ferris swatted Demos’ perfectly arranged hair for good measure. “It’s from a Carcharodonto—“

“English,” he said, already arranging each dark strand back into place.

“It’s a dinosaur fossil — a real one.” Ferris held the glass case up to the light, admiring the serrated edges of the tooth. “I got it at the natural history shop around the corner.”

Demos was not impressed. “A rock. You got her a pointy rock.”

“It’s not a rock, it’s—“

“You are the king of shitty gifts.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Demos chewed his lower lip as he was forced to remember his last birthday. “You got me an iTunes gift card.”

“Because you’re impossible to shop for,” Ferris said with a sideways glare. “All you like is clothes and you hate the clothes I get you.”

“They didn’t fit.”

“Really? The scarf didn’t fit?”

“It didn’t go with any of my coats!” Demos gestured to his collar, outlining an imaginary lapel.

“Your coats are black. Everything goes with black!”

“You’re just proving you don’t know anything about—“

Ferris silenced him with a hand. “Shut up for a second, I need to stop at this bodega.”

The shop was tucked between a deli and a coin laundromat, its signage a gaudy yellow and its windows plastered with sun-bleached beer ads. Neon lettering boasting an ATM flickered, the first two letters blinking in and out of existence.

“What do you need, tampons?”

“Yeah, for Alex. She’s rushing over from class.”

Demos pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, come on. I didn’t need to know that.”

“Grow up, Demos.” Ferris opened the door, prompting the jangle of a brass bell. “You can’t shoot a guy in both knees and then get grossed out by periods.”

“I totally can.”

Ferris said nothing, simply giving his friend a healthy eye-roll before stepping inside. The Italian glared, only spurred into action when he noticed the door drifting shut in his face. He flicked his cigarette aside, rushing to catch it before it closed.

“Hey, don’t leave me out here.”

Their destination was several blocks away, too close for a subway trip and too far to walk through in the summer heat. Unfortunately, they had chosen the latter option. Ferris tugged his shirt from his collar, fairly certain he could feel steam escaping from the prison of his clothes. Glowing letters hugged the restaurant’s stone facade, spelling the name in both English and Korean — Arirang. The scent of grilled short ribs and sesame oil escaped as a pair of customers stepped out, almost tempting enough to pull Demos out of his fussing.

Almost.

“They’re not going to hold our reservation forever,” he said, shifting his weight to his other foot.

Ferris flipped through his phone messages, making a pointed effort not to look at his companion. “I told you she was coming over from school.”

“Right, right. You’re dating a student.” Demos glanced at the screen. “Anything from Don?”

“At least she went to college.” Ferris angled the phone out of Demos’ line of sight. “And no, I haven’t heard from him yet. He should have called by now.“

This didn’t seem to ease Demos’ mood. He fiddled with his sleeves, making sure both ends were folded to the exact same level.

Ferris sighed. “Would you stop fidgeting? You look fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Great. You look great. Spectacular,” Ferris said, only to see Demos’ pout had remained. “And she’s going to leave me for you, then have her heart broken because you’re the gayest thing on the planet.”

Demos finally smiled. “Good. Are you sure we can’t use my fake name?”

“That name was awful,” Ferris said. “And that idea was awful.”

“What? I like ‘Nero.’”

“You would. And remember, no mob shit, no talking about how I didn’t go to prom, or that— that thing that happened in college, or—”

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Both men whipped their heads sideways. Alex was out of breath, struggling to look presentable in her striped blouse and navy skirt. Ferris brightened at the sight of her, silently grateful he wasn’t the only one perspiring.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We just got here.”

Shit, Demos thought. She’s pretty. He took in a quick breath, arranging his lips into the most pleasant smile he was capable of.

“You must be Alex.” He offered a hand, his palm surprisingly steady against the sick flutter in his chest. It took a moment for Alex to respond. She stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the Italian’s face. The corners of her eyes tightened, her brow swept low, yet the expression vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

“And it’s ‘Demos,’ right?” She shook his hand, her smile crooked in spite of her best efforts. “Giorgetti.”

“That’s right. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Demos said.

“Likewise.”

The two seemed to have trouble removing their eyes from one another, as if waiting to see who might look away first. Ferris glanced from one companion to the next, his eyes falling on their awkwardly long handshake.

“Ah, Alex,” he said, lifting a plastic bag. “Your stuff.”

“Oh, right.” She pried her attention from the Italian, taking the offered bag with both hands. “Thanks for— oh my God. There’s Mallomars in here. How did you—”

“I bought them in April.”

 “You’re the best,” Alex said, her eyes glossy. “Um, why don’t you two find our table? I’ll meet you in a minute.”

“Sure. Take your time.”

Alex was halfway to the ladies’ room when Demos spoke again. “You never give me Mallomars.”

“You called them ‘processed marshmallow garbage’ and then went on for like ten minutes about zeppole.”

The Italian frowned as the host led them to their seats, leading them past exposed pipes and clouds of curling smoke. Copper-colored vents hung over each grill, gleaming above the black stone of the tabletops.

“And she was looking at me weird,” Demos said.

Ferris’ expression remained wooden as he slid into his seat. “Blown away by how handsome you are.”

“Shut up.”

As if begrudgingly following Demos’ command, Ferris sat in silence as he scoured the menu. The heat from the neighboring grills was doing little to ease the sweat on the side of his neck. A few minutes passed before he glanced sideways. Demos was chewing his lower lip, uncharacteristically edgy.

“Relax,” Ferris said. “Just be nice.”

“I am being nice.”

“Be normal nice, like normal people.”

Demos folded his arms firmly across his chest. “I’m a ray of fucking sunshine, Fish.”

“Hey, this was your idea,” Ferris said. “Why did you want to do this, anyway?”

“Because.” Demos’ voice softened as his eyes dropped to the table. “I like seeing you happy.”

His words were barely audible over the chatter of surrounding customers and the sizzle of meat and oil at the neighboring table.

“What?”

Demos’ features tightened. “I said—“

“Hey, I’m back,” Alex said as she slid into the seat across from Ferris. “How’s the menu look?”

“Not bad, but they used too many different fonts,” Ferris said, offering her one.

Alex’s attention shifted to Demos. “Is he always this annoying? Or just with me?”

“Always,” Demos said, the smile returning to his face. “I think it’s cute.”

“Yeah,” she said. “In small doses.”

At this point, Ferris’ ears were burning. “Cornered by two assholes. What a perfect evening.”

Behind his frown, Ferris felt a hint of relief in his pulse. It was good to see them talking, even if it was just to gang up on him. It was as good a way as any for two people to connect. Soon, their orders had been placed and a bottle of soju had been split between three glasses.

“So.” Demos downed half of his glass, setting it onto the table with a clink. “Ferris said you’re getting your masters?”

“Yeah, I’m at SPU now.”

“Now? Where did you go before?”

“Columbia,” she said, taking a more moderate sip of her drink. “For my bachelors. Where did you go to school?”

Demos faltered, swallowing his next breath before the circuits in his head managed to whip out a response.

“Ah, I went straight into the family business.”

It was Alex’s turn to falter. She stared at him, her smile frozen. “The—“

“Our restaurant.” Demos lifted his brow. “I believe you’ve been to Giorgetti’s.”

“Rest— oh, right. Of course. Yes.”

It took every ounce of will in Ferris’ body to keep from burying his face in his hands. It astonished him — Demos’ ability to be perfectly graceful, yet simultaneously fail at being a credible human being.

“Ah, I know what you’re thinking,” Demos said, his expression softening. “You’ve probably heard the rumors in the news about my family.”

Somewhere deep in Ferris’ chest cavity, a guillotine dropped with a sick clunk.

Alex kept her eyes on Demos as she lowered her glass. “I have.”

“I hope you don’t believe that nonsense in the media. They always pick on Italians. I mean, can you imagine? Me, committing a crime?”

Ferris’ hands were gripped in his lap, skin prickling goosebumps and fingers clinched white. His stare flickered from Alex to Demos, then back. Alex sat in momentary consideration, drawing over Demos’ features. Ferris could only pray she wouldn’t see the truth — the bespoke shirt, the fine scar tucked neatly behind his fringe, the trigger finger, the dark pitch deep in his eyes that burned at the sight of blood.

Alex smiled. “I suppose not.”

Ferris exhaled.

“So,” Demos said, “does he really talk about me, or were you just being nice?”

The arrival of food was a godsend for Ferris, giving him something to do with his hands aside from cradling a glass of alcohol. Fortunately, the sharp aroma of spices from his stew did a fine job of slapping him back into the real world. The conversation had gone on without him. Since the moment Demos had shot her suspicions out of the sky, there had not been a single mention of illegal activities. Ferris would count his blessings.

“And I can’t believe our moms set us up,” Alex said, making an effort to hold in her laughter.

Demos waved a hand. “But his mom is great, isn’t she? I love her cooking.”

“Oh, um.” Alex flushed. “I haven’t met her yet.”

“You haven’t?”

“She’ll meet everyone soon, though,” Ferris said, finally cutting in. “I’m taking her to Jake’s wedding.”

Demos’ hand paused over his bulgogi. “You didn’t tell me your cousin was getting married.”

“Yeah, it happened pretty quick. Alex and I are gonna to drive down to New York this winter.”

“Oh.”

Alex noticed the abrupt drop in temperature, fiddling with her napkin before speaking up.

“Ferris told me you went to his other cousin’s bar mitzvah when you were younger.”

“Yeah,” Demos said, his voice lacking the vigor of moments ago. “Isaac.”

The Italian fell silent once more. He could sense it coming — no, it had already come. That feeling had returned, the one in his chest — the rotten, caustic burn. He wrenched his focus from his food, his eyes flickering up to meet Alex’s.

“Emily was there, too.”

She blinked. “Emily?”

“His last girlfriend.”

Ferris kicked him under the table. The jolt went ignored as Demos kept his attention on the woman across from him.

“Ah,” Alex said. “You didn’t mention her.”

“It was a while ago.” Ferris was mumbling now, dragging his fingertips across the back of his neck. “High school.”

The corner of her mouth edged upward. “You two have known each other a long time, haven’t you?”

Demos didn’t miss a beat. “Eleven years.”

There was a moment, a single second of stagnant time, where no one spoke. The air reeked like the back of an abandoned freezer, its walls coated in layers of patchy frost. Ferris’ next breath was trapped in his throat, caught somewhere between his heart and his tongue.

His phone rang, dashing the silence over the proverbial breakwaters. Ferris dug into his pocket, grateful that the vibration hadn’t visibly startled him. Just as he moved to turn it off, the name on the screen froze his thumb in place.

Ellen Hill

“I’m sorry,” he said under his breath. “I have to take this.”

Demos and Alex shot him their own glares, each struck with disbelief at his treason.

“Sorry,” Ferris said once more, then slipped from his seat and toward the entrance. The ringtone cycled, each repetition bumping his pulse. He narrowly missed knocking shoulders with a waiter before making it into the thick, muggy air outside.

He flipped the phone open. “Hello.”

“Good evening, Ferris.” Ellen’s voice was as firm as he remembered.

“It’s good to hear from you.” Ferris somehow managed to avoid saying ‘finally.’ “Though I was expecting Don.”

“Don was paid a visit last night,” she said. “By your competitors. He was able to handle two of them, but found himself… unequipped for the third.”

Ferris swallowed. “Is he all right?”

“Quite. We want that demonstration,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” His hand tightened on the phone. “Of course. I’ll send over the address in an hour.”

Inside the restaurant, the silence had returned. Alex adjusted her glasses before eyeing Demos, kitty-corner across the table.

“Eleven years. You guys must be close.”

Demos folded his hands. “About as close as he’ll let another person get.”

“And exactly how close,” Alex said, leaning in just a bit, “is that?”

Once again, she had caught him unprepared. He didn’t move, terrified that even the slightest of actions would betray him. Even so, he couldn’t help but swallow, feeling the knot slide all the way down to his stomach. She couldn’t possibly know. Ferris was clever, and he hadn’t noticed it for years. Then again, Alex was just as smart.

No — she was smarter.

Demos gave his best impression of a laugh. “We’ve never dated, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You’re sure? Not even just a little?”

He stared at her. She was joking — she had to be joking. Her expression, her eyes, she was impossible to read. It was absurd, ridiculous to think that this woman — this nerd, was overtaking him with the simplest of questions.

“You’re his type, Alex.” Demos braced his smile. “Not me.”

“If you really think so, then why are you—“

Demos glanced past her shoulder, indicating that their third party had reentered the restaurant. Alex left her sentence hanging, deserting her thought as Ferris came back to his seat.

“Sorry about that.” He gave the two an apologetic look. “It was work.”

“No problem,” Demos said. “Alex is quite the conversationalist.”

“You two were just talking shit about me, weren’t you?”

Alex reached across the table to take his hand. Her palm was warm, tightening around his knuckles as she gave him a faint smile. “We wouldn’t dream of it.”

By the time Alex left, Ferris’ head was spinning. Demos had covered the tab, but whether it was out of courtesy or guilt was left to be seen. The last half of their dinner had gone without incident, though Ferris could have sworn the two were almost being too polite to one another.

“That phone call,” Ferris said as his friend lit a fresh cigarette. “It was Ellen.”

“Ellen?” Demos shut his Zippo with a clack, his interest piqued. The two had started their walk to the nearest train station. The sun had long since sunk past the horizon, making the summer air a tad more bearable.

“She wants the demo tomorrow.”

“Jesus Christ. I’m going to have to make some calls.”

Their reflections drifted past a diner window, passing through the reds and pinks of glowing signs. A weak breeze found its way down the avenue, barely enough to flutter the awnings lining the street.

“She said they jumped Don. He’s all right, but I think it triggered her interest.”

“Looks like the Marianis aren’t fucking around.” A keen smile made its way across Demos’ features. “But we aren’t, either.”

“We’ll see.” Ferris swatted a plume of smoke from his face. “But, anyway. Um—“

His pace slowed as he attempted to formulate a sentence. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, dragging his thumbs over the fabric.

“What did you think of her?”

Demos stopped. He avoided eye contact, keeping his stare straight ahead as he drew the cigarette back to his lips. Ferris knew what those long, thoughtful drags meant — he was stalling for time.

“She’s perfect for you.”

Ferris waited. He could tell by Demos’ intonation, by the faint part of his mouth, that he wasn’t finished talking.

“But she worries me.”

Ferris knit his brow. “Worries you?”

“I think— no, I’m sure she knows.” Demos lowered his hand, twisting the cigarette between two bony fingers. “She knows.”

“Knows? Knows what?”

Demos finally turned, shifting his tight-lidded gaze to his companion. “Everything. She’s too smart, Ferris. You won’t be able to hide this from her.”

“That’s all you have to say? She’s too smart?”

“Ferris—“

“And what about you? Getting all weird about the wedding, bringing up Emily like—“

“And look how well Emily worked out.” Smoke billowed from Demos’ nose like the huff of an irritated dragon. “And she’s in our family.”

Ferris took a second to respond, the edges of his eyes dangerously thin. “Thanks, asshole. Thanks for bringing that up.”

“You can’t just pretend it never happened. And Alex is going to end the same—“

“I knew this was a bad idea. I knew you wouldn’t like her.”

Demos looked away, catching sight of his face in the mirror of a shop window. “I never said I didn’t like her.”

“It’s pretty fucking obvious, Ghost. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Into everything.”

“Listen to me, I just—“

“I always listen to you,” Ferris said with a swipe of his hand. “That’s all I ever do — listen to you. I thought you were going to be nice. I thought you wanted to meet her because — because she’s important to me. But all you have to say is that she worries you?”

“So what are you going to do when she finds out? You think she’s going to be fine with all this?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Ferris ran a hand over his hair. It was something he had been trying not to think about — trying, and failing. “She cares about me.”

“Not enough, Fish. Not enough to let this slide.”

Both of their voices had risen in volume, yet not a soul on the street paid them notice. Businessmen shuffled past, too caught up in their phones to notice the veritable cataclysm that was taking place in front of a hardware store.

“Since when the hell are you an expert on my relationship? Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’ve see you when it ends.” Each of Demos’ word came up raw. “I’ve seen how much it kills you. I don’t want to see that again.”

“Well, what the fuck do you want me to do? Leave her before she can leave me?”

“The longer you drag this on—“

“Can’t you just let me be happy for once in my life? Just once?”

Demos said nothing, unable to find his breath. There was a cavity where his lungs were supposed to be, an empty space slowly collapsing in on itself. The rims of his eyes reddened, yet still he stood in silence.

“This is your train,” Ferris said, gesturing to the stairs. “I’m walking home.”

The moment Ferris began to walk away, Demos found his voice.

“Ferris.”

His plea went ignored as his friend disappeared past a group of tourists, their bodies crowding the narrow sidewalk.

“Ferris!” Demos’ call was lost in the evening air, drowned out as a delivery truck rumbled past. Demos’ legs failed him, leaving him motionless as commuters shoved past to catch their trains. The round lamps of the subway entrance flickered, casting a feeble light on the chipped paint of the railing. Sparks scattered as his cigarette hit the curb. He didn’t bother to crush it out, only staring uselessly at the space where his friend used to be.