Never Turn Back

by Lorna Lee

  “Not since Monsieur Nurmi changed your work schedule.” Antoinette had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes and a lilt to her voice. Meri remembered her brothers and sisters talking this sing-song way when they used to tease her. The image of a deadly blade swinging casually in the air came into her mind again…

  “Stop, Antoinette! Leave me alone.”

  “I’m sorry, Meri.” Her brows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wondered if you wanted to talk about…anything?” She held her grip on Meri’s hand.

  “Anything? Anything?” With each word, Meri’s voice increased a pitch. “I have nothing I need to discuss with you, except perhaps why you insist on holding my hand.”

  “Meri, I’m your friend.”

  “Antoinette, we work for the same dreadful man. That doesn’t make us friends.”

  Antoinette dropped Meri’s hand and turned away. “You’re a harsh woman, Meri Vaarsara. I’m your friend and you’re pushing me away.” She paused and lowered her voice. “And I know why.”

  Meri, on her way out of the kitchen, stopped. So did her breath. “What do you think you know?” Meri’s heart pounded. If she knows, my job is in jeopardy. If she’s angry with me, she’ll tell Monsieur Nurmi. Oh, what have I done? Meri felt dizzy.

  “I know Monsieur Nurmi likes to have private sessions with his personal assistants if he fancies them. I know he fancies you.”

  “He does not! He treats me like everyone else.”

  “I see him gawk at you as you walk away. He did that with other assistants, too.”

  “So?”

  “He treats most of us like ghosts. We can’t look at him. He never looks at us. You’re special. He’s asking you to do ‘special’ things for him, isn’t that right, Meri?”

  She had a choice: continue this pointless denial only to be a whore and a liar, or admit the truth this woman already knew and hope she could keep a secret. Her job rested in the maid’s hands either way. Everyone has power over me in this house.

  “It’s true and he’s been teaching me his ‘lessons’ for several months.” Meri sunk into a chair and rested her chin in her cupped hands, elbows on the table. “He’ll fire me if he thinks anyone knows. If you say anything, I’ll be gone.”

  Antoinette nodded. “I’ve been working for him a long time so I know his habits. I’ve also known about the two of you since it began and I kept quiet. You have nothing to worry about with me.”

  Meri breathed out a sigh. Tears filled her gray eyes, making them shimmer like puddles under a street lamp at midnight.

  “You need an ally—a confidante. No one should go through this alone. Friends or not, we’re both women and we need to stick together.” Antoinette patted her back.

  Meri wiped her tears away and eked out, “Antoinette. I’m a private person and this isn’t easy.”

  “Of course not. The others didn’t last as long as you have. Either they told someone who gossiped and Monsieur Nurmi fired them or they quit. I can’t believe you’re so strong.”

  “Strong? Perhaps. Desperate, oui. I need this job until I can find another one.”

  “How are you handling his demands?”

  “Antoinette, don’t ask me to talk about him.”

  “I know what he does.”

  Meri looked at her. The maid’s face and posture resembled a little girl aching to tell a secret.

  How does she know? Meri wondered but decided she would rather not know.

  Antoinette frowned, the child having to hold onto her secret. “I can tell you how he ended up in a wheelchair. Maybe knowing will make you feel better.”

  Meri didn’t like to gossip. She believed secrets were kept for a reason. Monsieur Nurmi will never tell me, and I spend too many hours staring at him in his wheelchair wondering the very thing Antoinette is willing to tell me.

  “Maybe it will help if I know.”

  Antoinette had rehearsed the story and she told it in exquisite, excruciating detail. His French wife came from a wealthy family. Early in their marriage, trouble began brewing over his love of drinking and gambling. He spent more nights with other drunken men playing cards than with his new bride. One night she went out to find him. Unfortunately for them, she did. Drunk, he became angry and hit her. A fight ensued. Someone had a firearm and shot several times into the brawling crowd. She was fatally wounded, taking three weeks to die an agonizing death. A bullet lodged in his back, rendering him paralyzed from the waist down. He inherited all of her money and the estate in which he lives.

  “He blames himself for her death. To this day, he bans alcohol from the house.”

  “I noticed, especially because Finns love their alcohol. How do you know all of this?”

  “The book he often has on his lap is his journal. I read it once when he was out. He writes about that night as ‘the night life as he knew it crashed around his feet like broken glass.’ Dramatic, eh? He writes about his guilt all the time.”

  Both women put their hands over their mouths—both of them now naughty girls sharing precious indiscretions.

  “You read his private journal?”

  “You have to know what kind of man you’re working for, Meri. It was just lying there…” Antoinette had a justification for everything. I’m happy I don’t keep a journal.

  “Antoinette, it seems we both have secrets to hide from our employer.” Meri smiled for the first time that evening.

  “I suppose we do.” Antoinette looked worried for the first time that evening.

  §

  Regardless of Topias’ many and determined “private lessons,” Meri never experienced an orgasm. His hands, battered from the wheels of his chair, were burlap rubbing against the tender, private areas of her body normally protected by clothing. Her position sitting in his atrophied lap was awkward. The chair poked and prodded her legs, arms, and back. He remained clothed, protected, while she remained naked and vulnerable.

  With each session ending in failure, his frustration with Meri grew.

  “What’s wrong with you? Are you incapable of sexual pleasure?”

  Meri shrugged. “I’m trying.”

  “You do not need to try. I will bring you to an orgasm. I control your body, Meri.”

  Oh no you don’t!

  At times he would even push her off his lap in frustration. Often she would catch herself and stand; sometimes she would fall to the floor. Each time she hated him a little more. He only seemed more determined to pull her back in his lap to prove his sexual skills. While his fingers did their work, she fantasized about finding another job.

  Almost two years into her job, an unusual errand took her past a familiar section of Paris: the fashion district. In preparation for a visit from Monsieur Nurmi’s sister, who was coming from Finland, he sent Meri to purchase “something uniquely Parisian for her to wear.”

  The last time she had roamed these streets she was new to Paris and eagerly searching for work in the shops she now entered as a customer. Can it be over ten years since I came here? So much has changed! Most of these shops are closed and the remaining ones seem less…ah…vibrant. They seem to be hanging on for dear life.

  While Meri did not understand the reasons behind the eventual economic depression in France, she expected it. “It is only a matter of time,” she heard people say. They were right. She stood staring at the proof. The collapse of this once bustling mecca of fashion genius skewered Meri’s heart. If I couldn’t find a job back then, I’ll never find a job here now, she thought as she pushed open the door to one of the remaining fashion houses.

  A distinguished gentleman greeted her. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Are you looking for anything specific?”

  Meri did not answer promptly. Something about this man struck her as familiar. She had seen him before. Of course! He’s the only one who looked at my dress. Rather than offering me a job in his fashion house, he offered me a job in his household.

  “Pardon? Mademoiselle?”

  “Oui. Pardon. I’m looki
ng for a hat or a scarf for a woman about forty or fifty years old.”

  “Can you tell me more about her? Coloring? Height? What kind of occasion does she need the item for?”

  Meri blushed. “Non. My employer sent me to buy something ‘uniquely Parisian’ for his Finnish sister.” She shrugged. “I thought a hat or a scarf would be nice.”

  He smiled. “Your employer knows precious little about fashion and less about women.”

  “I agree with you.” Meri smiled back at him. The unique aroma of new fabric and the kaleidoscope of colorful fashions overwhelmed Meri’s senses. Her heart filled with joy and a deep aching loss at the same time.

  “Finnish?” His gaze lingered on Meri for longer than felt comfortable. He finally said, “Are you Finnish, too?”

  Meri blushed and nodded ever so slightly.

  “Have we met before? You seem familiar to me.” He rubbed the side of his face, a face that was still handsome but wearier from the passing years.

  “Right again, Monsieur. I came to you many years ago looking for a job in the fashion district. I had just come to Paris and I barely spoke French.”

  “I remember. You were the girl with the fine lace dress, right?” His smile broadened.

  Meri nodded a proud nod. He remembers!

  “May I ask? Did you find work as a seamstress?”

  “Non. I took work in a hotel and, now, as a personal assistant to a wealthy man.” Meri fiddled with the buttons on her coat.

  “I see. I’m sorry. Work in the fashion district is hard to get—especially these days.”

  Meri nodded again—defeat infused her nod this time.

  “Well, let’s see if we can find something to delight both your employer and his sister.”

  As they perused the shop, selecting then rejecting various “perfectly Parisian” items, Meri knew she could not ask about job in his shop but wondered how she might ask him for a job in his household. If he remembers me after all this time, he’ll be a better employer than Monsieur Nurmi. At least he seems to like and respect me. It’s worth a try…“Your child must be all grown up by now,” Meri said as a way to test the waters.

  “Pardon? My child?” He shook his head.

  “Oh. Sorry. I remember you offered me work in your household because your wife needed help with the baby she was carrying. Please forgive me for being so forward.” She picked up and admired a silk scarf. “I think this will be fine.”

  “An excellent selection for this unknown woman!” He whisked the scarf from her, walked behind the counter, and began looking for a suitable box and wrapping paper. As he gift-wrapped the scarf, he said, “My wife lost the baby. We have no children.”

  “I’m sorry for asking about such a private matter. Please forgive me.” Meri turned away and pretended to look at hats. I’m such a fool! Now I’ve lost any chance at a job with this kind man—the one man I’ve met in all of Paris who recognized something special in me. She watched him adeptly wrap the scarf. This man stood heads and shoulders above her. If he was aging, no signs of it showed in his erect but easy posture. He put on wire-rimmed spectacles for close work, but they only accentuated his blue eyes and the little bump on his otherwise straight nose. When he smiled, which was often, two deep dimples appeared in his cheeks—the left one just slightly lower than the right. His chin was strong and had a slight cleft, making him appear movie-star handsome. He has smooth skin on his hands, too.

  “No apology is necessary. My wife. She…she is not the mothering kind. Perhaps things turned out for the best.”

  “Perhaps.” What else can I say?

  “Voila! I hope these Finns think you have fine taste. I certainly think you do.” He handed her the neatly wrapped package.

  As Meri paid him, she took a deep breath and said, “If you hear of any jobs…domestic jobs…perhaps you could keep me in mind? Being a personal assistant doesn’t suit me, even though my employer is happy with my work.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That is so.”

  “Remind me of your name.”

  “I’m Meri Vaarsara.”

  “And I’m Michel Dorval.” They shook hands.

  “Meri Vaarsara, your timing is excellent.”

  “Oh?”

  “Our maid of eight years just left us to return to Sweden where the economy seems impervious to the American Crash. I told her I could not afford to give her a raise this year. She decided not getting a raise for the first time in six years was a sign of worse things to come, so she left. My wife simply cannot manage our house in Paris and our house in the country without help. We have one maid but she needs two.”

  “Monsieur Dorval, I worked for six years at the Hôtel Raphael, one year as a maid and five years in the kitchen. I’m sure I can be of assistance to your wife.”

  “My wife is, shall I say, demanding. She is German and runs a strict household. Can you work under a woman who is very exacting?”

  “I would love to work for a woman.”

  Chapter 9: Timing is Everything

  “She had an unequalled gift…of squeezing big mistakes into small opportunities.”

  Henry James

  Meri planned on telling Antoinette about her departure first. She thought telling a friendly person in the household would be easy. She dreaded making her announcement to Monsieur Nurmi. Meri wondered if simply leaving him a letter would be best.

  She chose Sunday afternoon to announce her departure when the household was generally quiet and relaxed. Perhaps the peace in the house will dull the reaction to my news. She was wrong.

  “You’re leaving your job as a personal assistant to be a maid? Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how hard my life is? I would kill for your job!” Antoinette paced the kitchen floor, her hands flailing around as if batting her words in the air.

  “Remember, part of my job is sitting on the man’s lap.” Meri stood still, arms crossed as she watched Antoinette‘s agitation grow.

  “Poor innocent Meri. Do you believe you’re the only one who he calls into his private study?” She stopped only long enough to stare at Meri, and then she resumed her pacing. “Who do you think will now be called in more frequently?” Antoinette started to breathe heavily, as if hyperventilating.

  “I had no idea.” Her hands flew to her chest so quickly they made an audible thump.

  “Of course you didn’t, you silly fool. You’re so concerned about yourself and your pride. You don’t consider what’s happening around you.” Antoinette started pushing chairs into the table. Slam! Bang! Crash!

  “Calm down, Antoinette! I’m sorry you’re in this situation. Surely he’ll find another assistant. Mon Dieu! What am I saying? I don’t wish any woman to endure his abuse!”

  “Well, I’ll be left to deal with him after you leave, which will be soon. Mark my words.”

  “Perhaps I can find you work in another househo—”

  “Meri, don’t soothe your guilt with empty offers. Leave. I want to be alone and you have another matter to deal with.” Antoinette began to catch her breath. She propped herself up on the back of one of the chairs she had just assaulted.

  Meri raised an eyebrow as she questioned the woman silently.

  “Monsieur Nurmi?” Antoinette replied with both sarcasm and disgust in her voice. She turned and left the kitchen. Meri never saw her again.

  Meri’s encounter with Antoinette unnerved her. She had expected shock followed by a remorseful and friendly parting from her coworker and confidante. Meri thought they were something close to friends—compatriots at the very least. In an odd way, they had more in common than she ever guessed. Sneaky Antoinette, Meri thought, she must have been so relieved when I told her about his “private lessons” with me. Yet she never shared her story. I can’t trust most men. Now I must keep my guard up with women as well. Is there anyone I can truly trust?

  Fearing the worst, Meri knocked on the library door.

  “Enter.” Monsieur Nurmi’s voice seemed relaxed…for him.


  “Monsieur, I’m sorry to disturb you but I need to speak with you.” Meri stood in the open doorway rather than walk in as she usually did.

  He turned his wheelchair to face her when he heard her voice. “Ah, my dear, what a pleasant surprise. On your day off, too.”

  His crooked, lecherous smile was difficult to stomach, so she averted her eyes to her shoes.

  “Meri, look at me when we speak in private.”

  “Oui, Monsieur.” She lifted her eyes to meet his blue, often cruel, eyes. Two years of working for him changed her disposition toward him. When she first met him, he looked old, deformed, and ugly. Now she knew he was not as old and not really deformed. His facial features were actually pleasant under the nearly perpetual scowl and the resulting wrinkles. Why must you push people away? You don’t need to prey on those around you to make yourself feel tall. Your guilt and anger has turned you into an intolerable person.

  “Come here and close the door. What is the matter with you? You are not behaving like yourself at all.” He drummed his fingers on the book on his lap.

  “I…I’ve enjoyed being a personal assistant. Learning professional skills and dealing with professionals from various businesses has been very educational and rewarding. It’s time, however, that I move on. I’m…I’m leaving for another job, Monsieur.” Meri decided on the direct approach softened by gratitude.

  At first Monsieur Nurmi sat so still Meri wondered if he stopped breathing. He finally spoke, his eyes narrowed to predatory slits and his voice barely audible but definitive. “Mademoiselle Vaarsara, no one leaves my employment. I release them. Understood?”

  Meri nodded. She waited for him to say something more but he only turned his wheelchair around. What should I do now? Can he keep me as his employee by force? Meri recalled her confusion and fear the first time she stood in this library. What can I do? Wait, there is one thing I can try. It’s risky but he’s left me with no other choice.

  Meri lowered her head and stared at her shoes. “You’re repulsive. Every time you touch me, I get a little sicker. I refuse to continue on as your sexual play-thing so you can feel like a man.” Her strong and steady voice belied the fear welling up inside her.