Because They Wanted To: Stories by Mary Gaitskill Page B

strained click, one white digit became another. It was two-forty. “She could walk in any minute,” she said, “but if she doesn’t, she’ll be back in a few hours.”
    Eric looked confused, then disturbed. He licked his finger and picked at the bread crumbs on his plate with it. Andy began a loud singsong chant.
    “She’ll be home soon,” said Elise. “Don’t worry.”
    Andy sang louder and more insistently. He stood up in his chair and thrust his lips in the air like a singing snout. Well, Elise could sing too.
    “Six foot, seven foot, eight foot—bunch! Daylight come and Blue wants to go home!”
    Andy stopped with his mouth open, his eyes bright and askance. He grinned, jumped off the chair, and sang his crazy noises right at her. He paused.
    Elise stood up; she waved her arms and wagged her butt. “Come Mister Tally Man, tally me banana—daylight come and I want to go home.”
    The boys grinned delightedly. Eric gave a high squeak; he darted forward and grabbed her thighs, butting her with his head. She wobbled and sat down, unbalanced and abashed by the sudden burst offeeling. He climbed up on her lap and groped her body like a busy animal. Andy jogged up and down, yodeling triumphantly. Eric planted his knee on her thigh and squeezed her breasts with both hands. That startled her. Boys weren’t supposed to do that, but he was only four. She wasn’t sure what to do; it seemed mean to make him stop, but if she let him do it, he might think he could do it to anybody and he’d grow up to be the kind of guy who grabs women’s boobs on the street. Then Andy came over and grabbed at her too. She sat for a moment, perplexed. If Robin walked in, would she think that Elise was molesting the children? She put her hands on their shoulders and gently pushed. “Hey,” she said, “stop it.” They clung stubbornly. She pushed them again, harder. Eric put his face against her and let out an angry, pleading little grunt. The sound shocked her, and she hesitated. Then Andy lost interest anyway. He let go and went off toward his toys. Eric sighed and relaxed against her. Tentatively, she stroked his head. Then she stroked his back.
    When she looked at the clock, it was past three. Robin must’ve gotten her job. Maybe it was a waitress job and they’d hired her on the spot. Elise imagined Robin changing into a soiled, ill-fitting waitress uniform in a dressing closet filled with odd furniture, forgotten sweaters, and a bucket with a dry mop in it. Her small limbs would be bristling with tension and determination. She would smooth the uniform in the depressing mirror and remind herself to smile. She would work frenetically, trying to do too much at once. The manager would yell. She would work through the break, sneaking olives and maraschino cherries from the condiment tray.
    Or maybe she hadn’t gotten the job. Maybe she had just decided to go for a long walk in the park, eating cheap candy out of a bag. Elise liked to do that. Sometimes when she was finished panhandling, she would take the long walk around Stanley Park, even though she’d been walking all day. It would probably be a treat for Robin to do something like that, after being cooped up in the apartment for days.
    But six o’clock came and then six-thirty, and Robin didn’t come back. Elise wondered how, if she’d gotten a job, she could know exactly when she’d get home anyway. What if the job had started atthree? What if it was a long shift? What if she’d applied for a waitress job and didn’t get it, and then looked at the paper and saw one of those “escort” ads? She pictured Robin in her little summer dress, talking to an escort service man. She pictured Robin sitting and holding her purse with both hands, her knees together and her calves splayed out, one foot tucked behind the leg of her chair.
    One night when Elise was begging in San Francisco, a man asked her if she would blow him for twenty dollars. He must’ve heard her asking other