Page 7 of Rules to Love By

“Now, son, the man’s not wrong. You should be concentrating on your studies.”

“Dad, can you let me worry about my class schedule? I’ve got it covered.”

“Okay, okay. I’m not trying to tell you how to run your business. Just thought maybe you could learn a thing or two from observing.”

Eli scowled at him.

Even Marcus did a double take.

Mr. Benson waved their looks off. “Okay, that does sound a bit like I’m trying to run your business.”

“Do you think?”

“Bah.” He waved Eli’s irritation aside. “Marcus, son, do you want this job?”

“I could use the work.”

Mr. Benson turned towards the rest of the room. “That’s settled, then. I have to open. You boys figure out a schedule and let me know the details.”

“What details? Dad! Where are you going?”

But Mr. Benson had passed the row of columns that separated the back of the shop from the light-filled front. He didn’t even slow.

“Goddamn it.” Eli turned back to face Marcus.

“You don’t have to—”

Eli held up a hand, effectively silencing Marcus. “I know I don’t.” He caught Marcus’s eye and smiled a somewhat grim smile. “But you see how he is. He’s decided it’s getting done. If the details don’t involve cutting hair, he’s not interested.”

“If all I’m doing is painting a wall and rehanging a few shelves, it really isn’t a two-man job.”

Eli peered past Marcus at the end wall and the sad shelves. “He’s not wrong that I could use a few pointers.”

Marcus pursed his lips in a complicated suppression of a smile. “No, he is not.”

“And painting will go faster with two people, won’t it?”

“Depends what he wants.”

Eli grimaced.

Marcus glanced around again, at the putty-brown walls, old couches, and slightly rusted tin counter topped with rough plywood as an afterthought. Outdoor wall lights hung over the sinks, adding industrial appeal, but the mirrors had no frames. Moments of brilliance were almost hidden among the beige and overwhelming wear.

“So… we don’t trust his design choices?”

“The good parts are left over from when Mom tried to steer him right.”

“Some of it works. What would you suggest?”

Eli pointed two thumbs at himself. “This is me. I’ve been told my fashion sense is less than stellar.”

Marcus looked him up and down. The clothes themselves were plain—a grey T-shirt with a logo too worn to read and a pair of khakis that wouldn’t have stayed up without the canvas belt to help. Both were at least two sizes too big.

And yet, expensive leather lace-up boots, clearly broken in and polished, hinted that he had some idea of what worked on him. He dragged his gaze from the boots to Eli’s face. “Who would say a thing like that?”

“My friend Jessie. She wears only second-hand stuff from the shop where she works, and even she thinks my clothes are crap.”

“People who wear only vintage clothes tend towards too kitschy for real life.”

---