A couple hours later Griffin stood in his bathroom, the magazine on the counter opened to the picture of Morrissey. He had a pair of kitchen shears in his right hand and he stared at the mirror, unable to decide how to begin.
There was a knock on the door and his brother's voice called: "How long you gonna be in there?"
"I don't know," Griffin called back. "How come?"
"I gotta piss like a race horse," Conrad complained.
"That's okay you can piss," Derek told him.
Conrad opened the door and rushed to the toilet. Griffin continued to stare in the mirror while Conrad sighed with relief behind him. "What're you doing?" he asked as he zipped up his fly and flushed the toilet.
"I'm trying to cut my hair like this," Griffin replied, gesturing to the magazine.
"What, like Morrissey?"
Griffin looked over at his brother with surprise. Apparently, he was the only one who hadn't heard of Morrissey. "Yeah I got a date next weekend and she's a big fan of the Smiths."
Conrad smiled with pride. "Little brother got a date! Congratulations!"
Griffin blushed. "Thanks."
"So you like this girl or what?" Conrad pressed.
"Of course I like her," Griffin replied, annoyed. "I'm going on a date, aren't I?"
"Yeah but there's 'like' and there's 'like,' know what I mean?"
Griffin nodded. "Yeah. I think I really like her."
"Then don't cut your hair yourself, you'll completely fuck it up."
Griffin was offended. "I think I can handle it."
"No, dude, seriously, it's really hard to do it in a mirror. Remember when I tried to cut my hair like Billy Idol?"
Griffin laughed. Conrad's attempt to look like the rock star had been a disaster. Conrad cut his Mohawk way off center, and it was floppy no matter how much hair gel he put in it. Eventually Conrad was forced to give up and shaved his head completely. It had taken about three months to grow back in, and half a year before it was back to normal.
"Gimme the scissors I'll do it for you," Conrad offered.
"Thanks, man," Griffin said, handing over the shears. "Any advice?"
"About what?"
Griffin shrugged. "You're a chick magnet, so what's the secret?"
Conrad squinted, looking back and forth between the magazine and Griffin's hair. "No secret about it. Just be yourself and if a girl doesn't like it, well..." Conrad shrugged, "her loss."
"So what you're saying is it was probably a mistake to cut my hair for her," Griffin pointed out.
"No, dude, that's different," Conrad assured him. "You're expressing an interest in what she likes. Chicks dig that. Besides, it's purely physical. What I'm talking about is, like..." Conrad narrowed his eyes in thought and placed his fist over his heart, "spiritual."
Griffin rolled his eyes.
"Roll your eyes all you want, girls dig spiritual." Then Conrad stood back. "Whattaya think?"
Griffin looked in the mirror and had to admit his brother had done a pretty good job. "Looks great. Thanks, man."
"No problemo, what are brothers for?" Conrad replied with a smile. Suddenly a car honked outside. "Shit, I gotta motor." Conrad put down the scissors and headed out the door.
Curious, Griffin followed his brother down the stairs. He reached the bottom just as he saw the front door shut. Griffin opened the door and stepped out onto the glassed-in front porch. A gold Corvette was parked at the curb in front of the house. Conrad was leaning effortlessly against the front fender, smiling and talking to whoever was driving. Conrad looked up and noticed Griffin. He gestured for Griffin to come join them.
Griffin warily stepped down from the porch and walked to the curb. "This is Hunter," Conrad told him, gesturing inside the car.
Griffin could see through the window now. The driver looked like he was only a few years older than Conrad, probably twenty-one or twenty-two. He had feathered hair, wore a Member's Only jacket and looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days. The smooth sax of Glen Frey's "You Belong to The City" drifted from the car's stereo like smoke. "Hey man," Hunter greeted with a nod.
"Hey," Griffin replied, still wary.
"This is my brother. He's still in high school," Conrad told Hunter.
Hunter looked Griffin up and down, appraising him. "He looks like a chicken-shit loser." Then he addressed Griffin directly: "You a loser?"
"No," Griffin croaked, equal parts angry and ashamed.
"He's cool," Conrad assured Hunter.
"If you say so." Hunter didn't take his eyes off Griffin. "So if any of your friends want some blow, send 'em my way, I'll make it worth your while."
"Worthwhile, what's that supposed to mean?"
"Maybe I'll give you a little cut."
"He'll do that, man." Conrad stood up, thumped the car fender as a sign for "goodbye", and Hunter drove off.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Griffin yelled angrily at his brother.
"I'm trying to help you out, bro. Give you the hook up. Don't you wanna be cool?"
"Not by selling drugs!"
"You're not selling drugs, he's selling drugs." Conrad pointed to the departing Corvette.
"And eventually, I'll either get arrested or get killed in like, I dunno, like a drug deal gone bad or something!"
Conrad laughed. "You've been watching too much Miami Vice. Hunter's just a college kid earning extra cash. It's not like he's Scarface, like he's gonna give you a Columbian neck tie."
"How do you know?"
"I met him at a Grateful Dead concert for chrissakes." Conrad gave Griffin a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Trust me, bro, it's a win-win: little extra cash, little extra respect. Come on, man, how you think I got so popular in high school?"
"I figured it was because you were lead guitar in a rock band and you were dating the hottest girl in school," Griffin replied with distaste.
"Yeah, exactly, sex, and drugs and rock and roll. Everyone needs an edge."
Griffin didn't reply.
"Well, at least think about it," Conrad encouraged. He turned and headed back into the house.