Ally Hughes Has Sex Sometimes

by Jules Moulin

  Claire was gone.

  “Hello?” Lizzie said, back on the line.

  “You can wear your slippers.”

  “Please come here.”

  “No, sweetie.”

  “Mommy, please.”

  “You can do a night.”

  “Two nights.”

  “You get to go shopping tomorrow, in town.”

  “I don’t want to,” Lizzie said. She sounded as if she was going to cry.

  “I miss you too, but the city is fun.”

  “No, it won’t be.”

  “Try. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “Bye,” Lizzie said. She spoke to Claire. “She said I could wear them!”

  Ally paused and looked at the phone. Then she hung up. She looked at the window and thought, for a second, about heading south. She could gather her papers, drive to the city, and surprise Lizzie in the middle of the night. She’d read them in Brooklyn. Grade them in Brooklyn.

  Why not?

  “Hi,” Jake said, drawing himself up to his elbow.

  Ally turned, almost surprised to see him there. “Hi,” she said.

  “VENTURE CAPITAL,” TEDDY EXPLAINED as he chewed a bite of the chocolate cake. “I got in early on all the Web two point oh stuff— This cake, you made this from scratch, Al?”

  “What is that?” Jake eyed him coolly. “Web two what?”

  Teddy licked his lips. “All beyond the static page. Interactive Twitter. Foursquare. Kickstarter. Facebook. I got in early. If not for Facebook, I wouldn’t be here. It’s how I found Ally.”

  Ally forced a smile.

  “You’re on Facebook?” Lizzie asked her, picking at raspberries from a bowl. “I’m shocked.”

  “Last fall. For a month.”

  “My lucky month,” Teddy added. “The week I found her. I hadn’t seen her since senior year.”

  “When he dropped me.”

  “No,” said Ted. “No, no.”

  “The last time I saw you?”

  “The last time I saw—you were—breastfeeding. I was twenty-one and dumb. I got—weirded out and left.”

  Lizzie laughed. “Why?”

  “Her boobs got enormous, and one was, like, hanging out, and you”—he pointed to Lizzie—“you were sucking it. I was—traumatized.”

  “You backed out,” Ally said. “Bumped into the door on your way.”

  Teddy reached for the wine. “It was not a courageous moment. I admit. But I got you a present.”

  “A baby cup,” Ally said, nodding. “I think we still have it. Sterling silver. And a stuffed donkey.”

  “An ass?” Lizzie said. “You bought me an ass?”

  Ally had created the Facebook account with one intention that October: to find Jake. Not to talk, or anything else, but to see what had become of him. To see if he was alive and well.

  She hoped he was.

  Four weeks later, ninety-one people had friended her, including Anna, eighty-nine students, Meer, and Ted. Teddy asked if she was single, how was the kid, and would Ally like to go get a drink. With him. On him.

  When she couldn’t find Jake, she agreed to coffee and canceled her account. Or tried to. She wasn’t sure if she actually had or not.

  She didn’t care.

  She was a stalker, she told herself, disappointed. She had no right to look him up. But then she considered asking Lizzie to work her magic, all that trolling and sleuthing she did through high school, sometimes till morning, bleary-eyed and thrilled by her latest hack.

  But Lizzie would’ve asked for the whole story, the entire story, and Ally was too conflicted to tell it.

  “Everyone wanted your mom at Gtown. She was the get. Did you know that, Lizzie?”

  “Well, she got got,” Lizzie said dryly.

  “That, she did.”

  “Hey, you know, Noah?” Teddy said, changing the subject. “Speaking of getting: I’m raising money. Series A. For this new site.” He turned to Ally. “Is this okay? The toys thing? With you?”

  “Sure,” Ally said and picked up her fork. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “The sex toys thing?” Lizzie popped a raspberry into her mouth. “At the table?”

  “That’s right.” He turned to Jake. “Sex toy site. Silicon Valley won’t touch it.”

  Ally gazed at her waiting dessert. Her stomach felt tight and twisted in knots.

  “Tough to find funding,” Teddy continued. “Banks passed. PayPal passed. But worldwide sex toys—upscale, hygienic—shipped discreetly through UPS? It’s a gold mine. We should sit down.”

  Jake shook his head. “Thank you, but I don’t do that.”

  “You don’t what? Use sex toys?”

  “I don’t decide where I put my money.”

  Ted ignored this. “Well, tell your guys we’re going to brand it for sexual wellness. Nothing violent. Nothing dirty. Sexual wellness. Sexual health. Of course we’ll have whips and dildos and lube, and handcuffs and feathers—”

  “Coffee anyone?” Ally rose and made a getaway to the cabinets.

  “Call each other,” Lizzie said. “Swap numbers.”

  “Decaf? Regular?” She pulled down mugs from a shelf.

  “Regular, please,” Lizzie called. “Noah? Or Jake? I want to call you Jake.” She laughed and studied him. “I still can’t believe you had my mom.”

  “How was Ally? At Brown?” Teddy asked, cutting himself another piece of cake. “Was she good? Did she suck?”

  Ally paused as she poured the coffee. “You don’t have to answer that.”

  “I don’t mind,” Jake said and put down his fork. He picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth. “But what do you want? The dinner-party answer or the truth answer? You want the truth?”

  At the counter, Ally froze. The truth answer? What was that?

  Lizzie lit up. “The truth! The truth!”

  “Well,” Jake started, smiling slyly. “Sometimes—sometimes you have a teacher—who leaves a kind of indelible mark. Sometimes—not often—you have a professor you never forget, and that professor, for me, was your mom.”

  Lizzie smiled and looked at Ally. “Go, Mom! To Dr. Hughes!” She raised her glass, and Jake did too, and Teddy too. “Hear, hear.”

  Ally turned around, relieved. “Thank you,” she said, putting down the mugs. “That’s because I gave him a credit he didn’t deserve.”

  “That’s not why,” Jake said.

  “Okay, well. You guys drink up. I’ll clean up.” She turned around, back to the sink.

  “I’ll help.” Jake rose and gathered the wineglasses. Lizzie’s first.

  “Jake, please,” Ally protested. “You’re the guest.”

  “I want to help.”

  Lizzie and Teddy stayed seated. “Just want another . . . if no one cares.” He cut a third piece of cake, then licked the cutting knife up and down and put it back on the tray.

  Across the table, Lizzie studied him. “Now that has your saliva on it.”

  Teddy paused and looked at her. “At least I eat.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a hanky, and blew his nose. “You’re getting skinny. Don’t get too skinny.”

  “It’s for work.”

  He smiled. “Work? Del Frisco’s, right? Great steak there, by the way. What do you do? Hostess? Waitress? That’s what you mean by work, right?” He blew and blew as Lizzie watched. “Excuse me. I’m sorry. I know it’s— I should excuse myself . . . frigging cold. In August. It’s weird.” Then he folded the handkerchief in half, crumpled it up, and placed it down next to his plate.

  —

  Ally and Jake made small talk behind them. They moved, back and forth, from the sink to the fridge and back to the trash, and back again to the dishwasher.r />
  Hushed and quiet, shy and reserved, they did the dishes and discussed Jake’s success: What it was like to be an actor. How it happened. If he was happy.

  He fell into acting, he said, in LA.

  “Sometimes you lead your life,” he said. “And sometimes your life leads you.” He had followed his brother west to work: Beverly Hills. The Palisades. Rich people. Handyman stuff. A flat-screen TV, a dollhouse, a bunk bed, as it turned out. “For this director,” Jake explained. The director was looking for a guy for this part. “Lancelot. You know, the knight?”

  Ally nodded. Of course she knew Lancelot. King Arthur. The Round Table.

  “They called me in. I read the lines. They gave me a test and that was it. Took off from there.”

  She smiled. “Exciting. Must be fun.” Like clockwork, she handed him dish after dish, and Jake placed them carefully into the washer.

  “A lot of it’s waiting,” Jake said. “Goofing around . . . going to parties. Too many parties.” Then he asked about her work. Why she left Brown for Brooklyn College.

  “No tenure,” Ally explained. “Applied to about fifty schools and got an offer right here at home.” Suddenly she was overcome. Her eyes welled with tears, but she held them in. “Four years. Since we’ve been back. This is it.” She motioned to the room. “The house I grew up in. I spit up peas at that table.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jake said tenderly. “About your mom. Lizzie told me.”

  Ally nodded. “It was . . . We were . . . here with her. When she got sick. And at the end. That was good. And now I’m taking the year off. Not teaching. This September. First sabbatical, starting now.” She needed it badly: the rest and refocus.

  Jake nodded. “I’m sure you deserve it.”

  Ally smiled. “I feel like I do. First vacation in twenty years.”

  “More paid vacation, less sick leave. Especially for women. Isn’t that right?” Jake then said.

  Ally turned and stared at him. In May she’d had a story in Elle saying just that. Almost verbatim. “I agree,” she said and nodded.

  —

  At the table, Lizzie leaned in and lowered her voice. “Who will deal with your hanky there?” She was thinking about Ted’s appetite. His hygiene.

  Ted looked up and licked his lips. “What?”

  “Who will pick up your wet little hanky? Maybe you should clear your own place.”

  Lizzie had tried for six long months to dig up dirt or worse on Ted. She’d tried her best to hack his accounts, his phone, his iCloud account. She’d tried to crack his Wi-Fi at home. Nothing worked. He was walled in. Too well. Too protected.

  “Sure,” he said. “But your mom likes to—”

  “No,” Lizzie said. She was tipsy. “Not my mom. You’re a big boy. You can clean up. My mom’s so—fragile—these days. You don’t—want to get her sick.”

  Ted said nothing.

  Lizzie had checked his real estate records, probate court records, registrations, and 13Ds. She’d found nothing. “She doesn’t want your cold,” she said. “No one—no one wants your cold.”

  Ted paused and put down his fork. He picked up his handkerchief, leaned back, and slid it into his khakis pocket. “You’re right when you’re right.”

  Lizzie nodded. “We shouldn’t pass our diseases around.” They stared at each other meaningfully.

  “Too true,” he said. “Too true.”

  “IS SHE THERE EVERY weekend? Your daughter?” Jake asked, lying on the bed in the dark.

  Ally stood there, phone in hand. “No. Hardly ever.”

  “She can handle it. Can she?”

  “Maybe. Maybe she can. Maybe she can’t. My mother is . . . What’s the word? Exacting, I guess.” She shrugged. “I think I should head to New York tonight.”

  Jake looked surprised.

  “Not that I don’t want to do this. I do. I’m just . . . a little . . .”

  “What?”

  “Conflicted.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m a mom.” She tried to explain. “My daughter comes first. Before work, before me, and, of course, before any man I meet.”

  “She sounds like she needs a good night’s sleep.”

  “Maybe, but—”

  “Twice in ten years? Ally. Twice?”

  “Yes to all that. I know, I know. But single mothers . . . It’s hard to explain.” She took a deep breath. She was embarrassed. “And you know what? The real thing is . . . I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Even if you weren’t in my class, which you are, which you were—even if you weren’t twenty-one, which you are . . . I’m not into . . . flings.”

  Jake shook his head. “This isn’t a fling.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.” He lifted up to sitting, slid off his watch, and handed it to her. “Take it,” he said.

  “Why?” She did. She took his watch.

  He turned and arranged the pillows behind him. He leaned back and said, “Two minutes each. Life-defining moments. Top ten. You got the clock. I’ll go first.”

  Ally smiled and hesitated. She looked at his watch, then at Jake.

  “Let’s get to know each other, Ally Hughes.”

  In the dark, she could barely see the hands. Jake leaned toward her. “The face lights up. Button on the . . .” He showed her the button and his fingertips grazed hers. Ally looked up. This brief contact made her heart race.

  She pressed the button and the face lit up. Reluctantly she watched the second hand move to the twelve. “Okay, go.” She was still standing up at the edge of the bed.

  Jake took a breath and looked at the ceiling. “Born in Boston. Last of four boys. Dad took off when I was two. Mom taught first grade, so we had no money. At three, got a baseball. That was big. That was major. Moved in with Grandma, above a bar, all of us, at five. Little League at six. Oldest brother shot when I was nine. Shot, but survived. I started pitching. Arrested for possession my junior year, high school.”

  “Arrested?”

  “Convicted. Served two months at Elk Island. House of Corrections.”

  “Possession of what?” She sat on the bed and turned to face him. She was intrigued.

  “Cocaine.”

  “Wow.” She pulled her blouse down over her underwear, over her thighs.

  “My older brother dealt. I delivered. It’s a long story, but it got me into Brown.”

  Ally smiled. “Jail time. Of course.”

  Jake smiled. “They wanted my pitching. I had straight As and the baseball thing so . . . Four partial scholarship offers. Chose Brown, to pitch for the Bears . . . Three weddings later, five nephews, I quit school and decide to hit on my smokin’ professor.”

  “Is that me?”

  “Yup.”

  Ally smiled. “Time,” she said and stretched her legs toward him. He picked up her foot and bit her big toe and put it down again. Ally smiled. She gave him the watch.

  Jake lit up the face and waited. “Okay, okay, wait, wait . . . Go.”

  Ally thought about it. Defining moments? Defining moments. “Born in New York,” she started and smiled. “Only child. Dad died when I was six. Pretend to remember him, but I don’t. We have that in common.” Jake nodded.

  “Lizzie too. No dad.” She paused. “My mom was depressed. For a long time. Still is. Still is, I think. Never got over him. Then I got out. Accepted to Georgetown. Knocked myself up—I told you that. Had my baby, Elizabeth Claire. Moved to Providence to TA, for my PhD, and lived for nine whole years in this house. Turned thirty-one two months ago, and . . . and this student hit on me . . . The one I always thought was . . . so cute.”

  They stared at each other, both silent.

  “Now do you know me?” Jake asked and smiled.

  “No,” she said, staring at him, basking in how handsome he was.

/>   “So she’s safe there, and you’re safe here? Dead bolt, windows, me, done. Everyone’s safe, and you can be Ally for a few hours? Ally, not Mommy?”

  “I’m always Mommy.”

  He nodded and placed his hand on her ankle. “Good mom. Good daughter. All these roles we play.”

  “It’s not a role,” Ally said, shaking her head. “It’s who I am.”

  He walked his fingers, his middle and pointer, to the center of her shin and up to her knee. “Good professor.” He leaned forward onto his stomach. By Ally’s side, he propped himself up and inspected her leg. “Killer gams, by the way . . .”

  Ally smiled.

  He took her leg, rotated it, and kissed the nook in the back of her knee. Then he continued to walk his fingers past her knee and up her thigh.

  Ally watched. The side of her mouth curled into a smile. What was he doing?

  At the top of her thigh, he splayed his hand. His fingers spread out around her leg, and he gripped it as if to measure its girth. Then he leaned in and kissed a freckle. “Since we’re playing ‘get to know you’. . . how many freckles do you have? Do you know?”

  “No.”

  Jake nodded. “Maybe you don’t know someone . . . until you know how many freckles they have . . .” He circled the freckle with his finger. “One,” he said and gazed down the bed, back to her foot. “Do you mind?”

  “What?”

  “If I count.”

  Ally smiled. “Is this, like, a thing?”

  “A thing?”

  “To seduce me?”

  “Is it?”

  “Is it what?”

  “Seducing you?”

  Ally exhaled and closed her eyes. She opened them again and watched as Jake found the freckles on her leg, one by one, and drew invisible circles around them. “Two, three . . . I just want to know . . . four, five, six . . . something about you that no one else knows . . . seven, eight . . . that maybe even . . . you don’t know.” He leaned in and kissed the seventh and eighth.

  THUNDER RUMBLED OVER BROOKLYN. The warm, thick air grew windy and cool.

  At the front door, Jake thanked Ally and pulled her into a tight embrace. Ally froze. “I meant what I said, Professor Hughes,” he said and released her. “I never forgot you.”