Mindy’s House
by Luke Husom

Graham signaled the bartender and asked for another Rolling Rock, telling himself that this would be the last of the night--amazing how easily stopping in for "just a drink or two" could turn into something of a binge. Seven beers now, or was it eight? Well, it didn’t matter. Graham’s house was within walking distance and he had a few sick days left for the year if, when he woke up the next morning, he’d find that the drinks had taken too much of a toll.

"Why don’t you make this one a boilermaker," Graham asked the bartender after she set his beer down. She was quasi-cute, in a girl-next-door sort of way, late twenties or thereabouts, and, with the drunk-gogs on and working their magic, she moved up a notch or two on the doability scale. "Sugar," he added, and winked at her. He’d had a lonely year.

She shook her head, averted her eyes, and her tone grew aloof.

"What kind of whiskey?"

"Doesn’t matter," Graham responded, flashing a grin. From a small part of his brain that was still capable of somewhat sober thought, he realized that he was making an ass of himself, but the prevailing drunk part of his brain didn’t care and wouldn’t let him shut up. "Whatever you want to give me, I’ll take, sweetness."

"How ‘bout a slap across the face?" She responded.

"Sure, I like it rough." The distant sober voice was now telling Graham that he’d be too ashamed to come back to this bar again if she was working.

"Just drink your stuff." She poured him a shot of Jim Beam.

Thanks," Graham tried to sound sincere, afraid now that the huge bouncer standing by the door might throw him out for being too drunk and obnoxious. He left her a two dollar tip.

"You’re welcome," she said quietly, "thank you." She grinned at him quickly before turning her attention away.

Graham looked at the clock on the wall. It contained a Minnesota Vikings logo and no numbers, and it took him a few seconds to decipher it and realize that it was past midnight. Last call was coming. Aside from a couple sitting on the other side of the bar and a few younger guys playing darts across the dimly-lit room, Graham was the only customer. He took the shot, then chased it quickly with a gulp of beer when he felt his gorge rising. The last number on the jukebox faded out, and the couple at the bar got up to leave. Graham decided to finish his last beer and go home. He drank it down quickly, then, rising up, threw another dollar on the counter for good measure.

"You aren’t driving, are you?" The bartender asked.

"I might," Graham teased, his words slightly slurred.

"Better not," she admonished. "Why don’t you let me call you a cab?"

"Naw, I’m just kidding," Graham said. "I’m gonna walk."

"You sure you can make it?" She asked. "How far away do you live?"

"Only a couple of blocks." The magnanimous side of drunkenness was now taking over for the moment. "Thanks for your concern, much obliged." Somehow, he thought that he was being funny.

She handed him a napkin.

"Here’s a number for a cab, if you need it."

"Thanks." Graham stuffed the napkin into his pocket and headed out the door, feeling the bouncer’s eyes on him. He turned quickly to get a last glance at the bartender. She seemed to be watching him leave, then quickly turned away as he turned towards her.

She really was kind of cute.

On his way home, as the cool night air filled his head and seemed to sober him up a little, Graham stopped under a streetlamp to read the napkin.

Sorry if I acted like a bitch. The bartender had written. Then, on the other side:

Call me anytime--Mindy. She’d given her phone number.

A smile spread across Graham’s face as he continued home, and he had a little extra spring in his stagger.

***

Graham waited three days to call Mindy. He considered that the best amount of time. If he called her sooner, he’d have risked looking desperate, but, if he waited longer, he may have annoyed her, making her lose interest.

They talked for a few minutes on the phone, and Graham knew instantly that he liked her. They seemed to connect. She even jokingly complimented him on sounding like a halfway decent guy when he was sober.

"Yeah," Graham responded, feeling his face flush. He’d been surprised that she gave him her number, and been surprised that she answered her phone and hadn’t yet begged out of the conversation. "I swear, I’m really not a big drinker usually. I just sort of got carried away that night, you know?"

"Hey, I understand," she said. "Decide to have a few...end up having quite a few, I know how it goes."

They continued to make small talk, and Graham was glad that, after about ten minutes, their conversation hadn’t degenerated into a bunch of "uh huhs," and "yeps," followed by long pauses. By the time he hung up his phone, Graham had secured a date for Friday night--the classic dinner-and-a-movie combo. Not very creative planning on his part, but why mess with something so tried and true? Besides, this was his first date in over a year, and he was out of practice and decided to play it safe.

Graham wasn’t what many women would consider handsome. At thirty-one, his hairline was already receding and his gut was gaining more and more prominence. His face had a taken on a rather haggard appearance, and most people guessed his age at about ten years older than he actually was. None of this instilled him with a lot of confidence, and his lack of self-assurance only made matters worse. So having a woman actually show some interest felt to him like winning the lottery--pure, rare luck. They hadn’t even had their first date yet, and Graham’s imagination was already bustling with various romantic scenarios. It had been way too long.

***

Graham sat in the restaurant, sipping a Dr. Pepper, and keeping an eye on the door. He had offered to pick Mindy up, but she insisted that they meet instead. He glanced at the clock--ten minutes after seven. Mindy was a little late, but Graham wasn’t going to panic. He sat back, enjoying the atmosphere. A tuxedoed man sat in front of a grand piano, his smooth lounge music filling the smokeless air. The restaurant’s clientele comprised mainly couples, (many on first dates themselves, from what Graham could ascertain,) somewhat nervously sipping wine and eating carefully.

Graham glanced at the menu. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a restaurant that featured filet mignon or lobster Florentine. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to a place that had cloth napkins. He wondered if perhaps he was splurging a bit too much. After all, this was his and Mindy’s first date. He barely knew her. He considered it a fluke that she’d given him her phone number in the first place. If he were to show too much enthusiasm too soon, (like spending a lot of money on dinner for instance,) she may find that a bit creepy or wonder if his intentions were less than innocent.

After about another ten minutes, just as Graham began to wonder with a sinking heart whether he was getting stood up, Mindy walked through the door. She wore a simple but elegant blue dress, which stopped just above her knees and gave Graham a nice view of her body--not bad, he decided, and neither was her face. Graham had been a tad worried that perhaps the drinking had distorted his judgment, and he was delighted to find that wasn’t the case. Actually, he only remembered thinking that she was "pretty cute." Now, seeing her in a dress and makeup, with her dark hair falling freely over her shoulders, he decided that she was really rather attractive, (and, as the night wore on, he’d steadily find her even more so.)

Graham signaled Mindy, and, as she located him, smiled, and headed for his table, his nerves went into an uproar, causing him to forget to rise and pull her chair out for her. As she sat down, and he realized his faux pas, he mentally smacked himself upside the head. If she noticed his breach of etiquette, she didn’t seem to take offense.

"Sorry I’m late," she said, sitting down. The tables were chest level, and Graham couldn’t help noticing that Mindy’s cleavage rested on its surface. "I had to talk to my ex-boyfriend before I left, and he was giving me a hard time; making it hard to leave."

"Oh, no problem," Graham responded. Great, we’re two seconds into this date and she’s already talking about her ex-boyfriend. Bad sign. And they’re still talking? Even worse sign.

The waiter came by and asked for her drink order. She ordered a glass of Merlot, and Graham decided to get some wine himself. He’d only ordered a soda because he’d been drunk the last time that he and Mindy spoke, and he didn’t want her thinking that he was an alcoholic. However, if she was going to drink, he figured that it would only be polite for him to join her. It would help him relax, anyway.

"You look good." He said.

"Thanks, you too."

Actually, Graham thought, maybe she was being honest. He’d checked himself out in the mirror before he left, and he’d decided that things weren’t as bad for him aesthetically as he’d come to believe--he could at least look presentable when he dressed up, his gut wasn’t that big, and the tie he chose seemed to bring out his eyes. And lots of men lose their hair; it isn’t uncommon. It’s the result of testosterone, and testosterone could only make him more manly. Besides, hadn’t this rather pretty woman agreed to a date with him, even when he was acting like a sloshed moron? Amazing what a little validation could do for one’s confidence.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, they opened their menus. Back in the days when he used to date with some frequency, Graham would take women to restaurants as a test to see how they’d be in a relationship.

First, he’d watch the way that she treated the server. Was she polite? Did she make eye contact? Or was she curt, short, and treat him or her like an inferior being whose sole purpose in life was to serve Her Highness.

Mindy passed the first test. She acted both pleasant and friendly towards the server.

His second test had to do with the way that a woman ordered her food. If she felt the need to customize her order with a plethora of different inclusions and exclusions, and if she had to ask a million questions of the server as to how the food was prepared and other inconsequential things, that tended to reveal that the woman could be a difficult-to-please pain in the ass in other areas as well.

When the waiter asked her what potato she wanted with her entree, Mindy said "surprise me." Graham noticed that she’d ordered her steak medium-rare, and it came out well-done. She didn’t complain to the server, nor did she even mention anything to Graham about it. So far, there were more good signs than bad ones.

"Didn’t you order that medium rare?" Graham asked. He wanted to see whether she was just easily pleased, (good thing) or a pushover who suffered in silence because she didn’t want to speak up and deal with confrontation, (bad thing).

Mindy shrugged, "It’s no big deal." She sliced off another hunk of meat and delicately placed it in her mouth. Graham noticed that she was being careful to eat in a lady-like manner, and he took that as another good sign; it probably meant that she cared what he thought about her, and that she wanted to make a good impression. "I like it fine this way. Besides, food’s just fuel. It’ll nourish me either way."

Wow. Good answer.

"You know," Graham began, after he swallowed a bite of bacon-wrapped scallops, (he was also making sure not to eat like a slob,) "I have to admit, I’m a little surprised that you gave me your number. I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but, working in a bar, you probably get hit on a lot. You don’t give them all your number, do you?"

Mindy laughed. "Of course not. No, you were kind of being an idiot that night-- no offense--but I have the unique ability to tell what drunk people are like when they are sober, and I could tell that you were really a decent guy."

"Thank you."

"Also, I can tell when two people will have chemistry, and I knew that we would. I find you attractive; it’s pretty simple."

Graham’s cheeks felt hot and his stomach tightened. He only repeated "thank you," told her that he found her attractive as well, and then went back to his food. He knew that, if he tried commenting further, he’d only stumble over his words and say something stupid, and he definitely didn’t want to blow this one.

He didn’t blow it. After dinner, they sat in the theater watching a movie that Mindy had chosen. It was a throwaway date flick, and, although Graham wouldn’t have watched it on free TV even if the only other choices were shuffleboard on ESPN2 and infomercials, he took it as another good sign that she’d chosen a romantic picture. When she moved in closer to him and took his hand, he took that as yet another promising sign.

And, after the movie, when she suggested that they go back to his place, Graham knew that he no longer needed to quibble over or try to interpret signs. Even if he’d never see her again, it was all worth the price of admission.

***

Four months later, Graham was driving home from work when his cell phone rang. He glanced at his display screen--Mindy.

"What’s up?" He spoke into the receiver.

"Not much, just thinking about you," she answered, "are you still at work?"

"Nope, heading home right now."

"Do you mind if I stop by?" She asked.

"Not at all," Graham answered, "but give me about an hour, will you? I have to run a couple of errands."

"OK, see you in an hour."

Graham hung up the phone and took a right. He pulled into a parking spot in front of a jewelry store.

He went inside and began scanning the wedding bands, telling the saleslady that he was only looking for the moment but may ask for help later.

Two months salary for one of these things? Ouch. Still, Mindy may be worth it. They may have only been dating a short while, but both had allowed the relationship to move at its own speed, and that speed happened to be rapid. They had already become rather serious--at least Graham thought so-- and he didn’t believe that he was rushing blindly by considering marriage. He was secure and ready to settle down.

He had his reservations, however. Many males tend to overly idealize new women in their lives. Although Mindy came close to his ideals, no woman could possibly match them. She seemed appreciative, rarely complained, and had enough bedroom proficiency to put a prostitute to shame. However, he was beginning to see that she could be a bit of a drama queen, especially in regards to her ex-boyfriend, who came up in conversation far more than Graham was comfortable with. He was sure that, in time, whatever residual feelings she may have harbored for him would vanish, but he was losing patience waiting for that to happen.

His name was Wilbur. Graham had gotten a good laugh the first time he heard that one. Images of a fat, ruddy-faced, shirtless, overall-clad farmer chewing on a piece of straw and randomly shouting "yee haw," came into his mind.

Mindy, however, had shot that image down as soon as he shared it with her. No, she assured him, Wilbur was intelligent, attractive, and a great lover, (and how Graham squirmed with jealousy when he had heard all of that,) but, according to Mindy, he wasn’t a good listener and never seemed interested in what was happening in her life. They also had little in common. However, she’d said that she probably could have learned to live with his faults if he could have been faithful. When she’d learned of his infidelities, that’s when she knew that she needed to break it off with him for good.

Graham was secretly glad that Wilbur had cheated on her. If he hadn’t, Graham would probably be sitting home alone every night, beer in one hand, remote control in the other, getting balder, older, and lonelier with each passing day.

It had recently occurred to Graham that Mindy had never invited him to her place. When he’d suggested that they stop by there. Mindy only shook her head.

"Naw," she’d said. "It’s too messy. Maybe some other time."

Graham hadn’t pressed the issue. It didn’t seem like a big deal, but it still struck him as rather odd.

"Excuse me," Graham spoke to the saleslady. She looked up from her magazine.

"Yes, sir?" She pasted on her saleslady smile.

The timing wasn’t right, and Graham knew it. Four months wasn’t a long enough time to court before proposing marriage, but, still, it didn’t hurt to be prepared. He’d seen a ring in the display case that he was sure Mindy would love. They were planning a weekend getaway next month, and, if the moment seemed right then, Graham decided that he might go for it.

"What are your payment options? I’d like to purchase an engagement ring."

Graham felt dizzy as he stepped out of the store and entered his car. He’d just dropped $300 on a down payment for a ring. He tucked the case into his pants pocket and drove home. Mindy was coming over.

***

"Where are you going?" Mindy asked. Graham smiled at her. They’d just spent four hours in a car together, (and they still weren’t sick of each other, another good sign,) driving back from the northern cabin where they’d had two mainly carnal days and night--managing to get a little hiking, sleeping, eating, and drinking in there as well. The coniferous North Woods had been serene, temperatures staying below seventy despite being July, loons calling over the still waters with their haunting voices in the morning and the distant cry of wolves at night. It was there that Graham no longer had any doubts about his love for Mindy, nor her love for him. Yet, he hadn’t proposed. The ring had remained surreptitiously tucked away in his suitcase. A question still lingered in his head.

Now, they where back in Minnesota’s Hills and Lakes Region, and Graham had turned onto a rural, gravel backroad. The car felt hot, and he kicked up its A/C a notch as his vehicle left a cloud of dust against the darkening late evening skies.

"I’m taking you home," Graham responded.

"But my car is parked at your house," Mindy reminded him.

"I know, but, it’s late. You’re probably tired. Besides, I’ve never been to your house. We’ve been dating for, what is it? Five months now? I just want to see where you live."

"I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"

"No," Graham said. "I’m sorry if I’m being pushy, but no." Why are you being so weird about this?

What was she trying to hide? Was she really just embarrassed? Her home was modest, he’d seen that much driving by it a few times. Was that it?

"Do you know where I live?" Mindy asked.

"I know the general area," Graham lied, "you’ll probably have to direct me from here, though."

With a sigh of acquiescence, Mindy did so. After a few more minutes, Graham turned his car up a dirt driveway, leading to Mindy’s small, white house.

"It’s just that it’s so messy inside." Mindy said as she and Graham exited the vehicle. "I never seem to get time to clean, with my weird work hours and all." Graham grabbed her suitcase and carried it up to her door.

"Look, you’ve seen my place," Graham said. "Obviously, I’m no neat freak."

"I’ll take that," Mindy said. She took her suitcase from him. "Why don’t you sit on the front porch swing, and I’ll go and get us a couple of cokes." She went inside.

Shaking his head, Graham did as directed, swaying front to back on the chain which held the bench seat aloft. The evening was still a little warmer than comfortable, but a slight breeze blew through an adjacent corn field, rustling the stalks and carrying with it a faint smell of manure from a neighboring farm. The sun had almost gone down for the night, leaving in its wake a fiery orange effulgence above a row of trees to the west. Crickets were stirring, and their nocturnal chirping mingled with the gentle lowing of cattle in a distant pasture.

The front door squeaked open.

"I find it pretty soothing out here," Mindy said.

"Yeah," Graham responded, "it’s nice. I could live without the manure smell, but, otherwise, it’s not bad."

"Oh, I’m so used to that, I’m not even aware of it anymore." Mindy seated herself next to Graham and handed him a can of pop. "I’ve lived out in the country all my life. It’s so peaceful, and private. I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Graham drank his coke in about four sips, set the can down, and moved in closer to Mindy, putting his arm around her.

"So, aren’t you going to invite me inside?"

"Yeah, I am, but I want to talk to you first." Mindy responded.

"Okay?"

"I’ve told you about my ex," Mindy said. "You’re probably sick of hearing about him by now, but, you have to realize, he’s still a big part of my life."

"So, what are you saying?" Graham took his arm back and turned towards her.

"When I caught him cheating, I knew that I couldn’t stay with him. That was out of the question. But, you have to understand, I also couldn’t stand the thought of him with anyone else. You probably don’t want to hear this, but there’s still feelings. I’m sorry. So, I had him move in with me."

Graham’s eyes widened as a burst of outrage shoot through him.

"You mean to tell me that your ex-boyfriend’s been living with you this whole time?" He stood up.

Mindy winced. "Kind of."

"You’ve been misleading me," Graham shook a finger at her, "you can’t tell me that nothing’s happened between you this whole time. That’s impossible." He started walking indignantly back to his car.

"Graham, wait." Mindy called. Graham stopped, but didn’t turn "Nothing has been happening between us, and I resent you calling me a whore in so many words."

"I never said you were a whore," Graham faced her, "don’t put words in my mouth. But you’ve been lying to me."

"No I haven’t." Mindy responded. "It’s not like you asked me if my ex was living with me, and I said ‘no he’s not.’ Why don’t you just come inside? We’ll talk some more."

"I don’t know if I want to meet the guy," Graham said, quietly.

"You don’t have to. He’s down in the basement right now. That’s where he stays. But you two probably should meet sometime, if you and me are going to get serious. There’s still a lot about me you don’t know." She opened the door and invited him in with a gesture.

Frowning at her cryptic comment, Graham did as directed.

Her place wasn’t at all untidy, Graham observed as he stepped into her living room. In fact, it was almost immaculate. The gray carpet had vacuum lines. He saw no dust on the coffee table, which he noticed held a vase containing the now somewhat withering flowers he’d presented to Mindy last week. Everything looked neat and organized.

What then, was that awful smell permeating the house?

...you have to understand, Mindy had told him, I couldn’t stand the thought of him with anyone else.

Graham took a step back from Mindy as a horrible thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Where is he?" He asked.

"Wilbur? I thought you didn’t want to meet him."

"I changed my mind."

"He’s in the basement, remember?" Mindy said. Graham saw a wicked look that he’d never before percieved on her face.

"Show me the way," Graham tried his best to keep his voice even.

Mindy hesitated, "Actually, Graham, maybe it would be better if--"

"Holy shit, Mindy," Graham said, hoarsely. Alarm had stolen much of his voice. "What have you done?"

Keeping a vigilant eye on Mindy, Graham began to follow the scent. Mindy followed him.

"There’s the door," she said, shrugging. "I guess you’ll have to know eventually."

Graham opened the door. The scent was staggering, and Graham thought for sure he knew what had happened. Mindy had killed her ex-boyfriend.

I could be next. Graham thought.

Then he heard squeals and grunts. A large hog, at least six-hundred pounds, came to the foot of the stairs to investigate. His pink skin was mottled with black patches, and his thin hairs bristled as he put his forelegs on the bottom step, sniffing at the air.

Mindy squeezed past a dumbfounded Graham and walked down the stairs.

"Meet Wilbur," she said. "But you better keep your distance, Graham. He might get jealous, and he could do some damage, if he wanted."

Graham’s legs felt weak His brain could come up with no reaction to this alien situation.

Mindy patted the top of the pig’s head.

"And how were you this weekend, Wilbur? Did you miss me? I hope you had enough food?"

Oinking, Wilbur nuzzled up to her, shoving his snout between her legs.

"Wilbur!" Mindy’s tone was mock-scolding. She then threw her head back, moaning in ecstasy. Somehow, Graham’s only thought at that moment was envy. He’d never been able to illicit quite that genuine of a reaction from her.

"You know, I lied, Graham." Mindy breathed, "We can’t always keep our hands off of each other."

Mindy began unfastening her belt.

"I’m sorry, Graham, but could you please leave? And shut the door behind you."

"You’re sick!" Graham spat. Mindy ignored him as she laid herself on the floor. Graham turned and fled.

As he walked outside, shaking, Graham suddenly began to laugh, almost uncontrollably, not sure what exactly was so funny. He’d just lost his girlfriend to a pig, an animal. He’d long held the belief that he didn’t have the looks or the charm to win a woman’s heart, and Mindy had help break that belief, building his confidence back up. Now, seeing her taste in men, Graham no longer felt flattered.

As Graham got into his car, he remembered the engagement ring sitting in his suitcase. Screw this, he thought. I’m not giving Mindy up that easily. Graham got back out of his car and started towards the house with a resolute anger. Mindy must have had some knives in her kitchen, and Graham loved porkchops...

No, no. Graham wasn’t a violent man. That wasn’t his modus operandi for revenge. He stopped himself, then turned to look at the neighboring farm. The lights flickered off in the house. Somehow, Graham felt sure that they raised pigs there, and that this was were Mindy had met Wilbur. Wilbur’s old side flings, the ones that he’d been "cheating" with, were probably still there. With a little luck, he could make both Mindy and Wilbur jealous. He started towards the farm.

***

By the end of the night, as Graham crept back to his car with dawn fast approaching, Mindy felt like something of a distant memory. There was a new love in his life. Too bad the ring he’d bought would never fit her.

©2003 Luke Husom

Luke Husom was born in 1977 and lives in Minnesota. His dark fiction has previously appeared at The Dark Krypt and Demon Minds. For more information on the author, visit his website. http://restlessgrave.expage.com