by Lorna Lee
Crash!
Meri jumped and yelped like a dog being abused.
Monsieur Nurmi threw the book from his lap and onto the floor. In a much louder, commanding voice, he said, “You ungrateful bitch. I showed you kindness and this is how you repay me? You aren’t so appealing and enjoyable as you might think. Women like you are very common. You are nothing special, Meri Vaarsara, and the sooner you realize your place in life, the better off you will be.” He stopped for a moment. Meri thought he had finished his castigation. She was wrong. “At any rate, your place is not in this household. Living off of my good graces is over. Get out of my house today.”
“But, Monsieur, where will I sleep tonight? What about my wages for last week?” Meri surprised herself with her bold, practical questions.
“Do you think I care where you sleep tonight? You are no longer my employee. As for your wages, I’ll honor my obligations to you. Leave me an address. I will send them. Now go before I change my mind about your wages.”
Meri nodded curtly. He did not see Meri’s grin, nor could he possibly know how much she wanted to call him Topias one last time.
Meri packed her belongings and left the beautiful suite she called home for two years. She would miss her opulent accommodations. What will my new home be like? Just as nice or better I bet. The Dorvals must be wealthy people.
Meri walked to Siri’s apartment and spent the night with her. The next morning she walked to the Dorval residence at 56 Avenue D’éna to begin work as a maid.
§
Monsieur Dorval welcomed Meri; his wife inspected her.
“So this is the girl you blathered on about.” Greta Dorval frowned as she carefully scrutinized Meri. “You know I prefer the Swedes to the Finns, Michel.” She crossed her arms and tapped her delicate foot.
Michel Dorval nodded and shrugged his shoulders, smiling deferentially at his wife. Meri noticed how Monsieur Dorval’s demeanor changed in front of his wife. He was no longer the affable, confident businessman; he acted more like a little boy trying to be a big boy who was not quite sure of himself.
“I’m not sure she will do.” The woman dressed all in gray turned her back to her husband and started walking away.
“Greta, Darling. Please. Meri is a fine candidate for the position. She is here now. At least talk with her. You said you needed someone immediately.”
She stopped and sighed audibly. Without turning to face either of them, she said, “Very well,” as she exited the room.
Meri cleared her throat, getting Monsieur Dorval attention. “What shall I do?”
He shrugged an apology, something she would see him do for a long time to come, and escorted her to a large sitting room where his wife sat thumbing through a magazine.
“I must go to my shop, so I’ll leave you in Madame’s capable hands. I trust I will see you both tonight.” He smiled, patted Meri on the shoulder, and abruptly left the room.
Meri stood without speaking, feeling as if she was a goat in a bear’s cave.
Madame Dorval told Meri, in exacting detail, what would be expected of her as a maid working for her.
Is she trying to scare me?
Her main duties included cleaning, laundry, shopping for household items, and tending to their one-year-old Great Pyrenees, Soldat. She also discussed living quarters in the basement, so Meri knew she would be living with them as part of the job.
Greta Dorval reminded Meri of her mother, not in appearance, but in disposition. Her new employer was petite compared to her husky mother. I don’t think she’s a weak woman, though. Meri imagined sinewy, lean muscles under her dress sleeves and skirt. Both women had pale complexions, but Meri remembered her Mamma’s hair always being a dull gray while Madame’s hair shone dark, making her appear even more ghostly. All of her edges were sharp—boney, even—giving her a severe appearance, which matched her personality. Everything about Meri’s mother she recalled as round, soft—except her general temperament and particularly aggravated disposition toward her. Madame spoke French in a staccato, tinny voice, infused with a German accent. Was she uncomfortable with French or didn’t she like to speak to the help? Madame Dorval spoke economically. “Hello.” “Dismissed.” “Come here.” “Take the dog.” She had no time or tolerance for social graces or kindnesses with her staff just as Mamma had no time for kindnesses for her.
“She doesn’t seem like a very nice person. Not much better than Monsieur Nurmi.” Siri shot a concerned glance to Meri as they had their usual Sunday breakfast of croissants and coffee at their favorite café.
“At least she’s a woman and so much like my Mamma that she doesn’t scare me. Working for a woman is a welcome change, too. I don’t have to worry about her taking advantage of me.”
“What about Monsieur Dorval?” Siri cocked her head.
“Monsieur Dorval? Non! He’s a kind and decent man.” Meri watched the coffee steam rise from her cup. She lifted her head and smiled at Siri. “Plus, I think he’s afraid of his wife.”
Siri giggled.
“I’m not worried. They’re rich. They have two houses. One in Paris and one in Burville-sur-Mer on the Seine. I can be a mouse and stay out of her way. And perhaps she’ll come to like me when she sees I’m such a good worker.”
“I hope so, Meri. I hope so.”
“They have a dog. His name is Soldat. He’s big and white and shaggy. I’ve always liked dogs. One of my jobs is taking care of him.”
“Ha! The rich! They have a dog and hire someone to care for it. Why have a pet if you ignore it?”
Meri shrugged. “I don’t ask questions. I’m just happy this dog and I will become friends. Dogs are better companions than people.”
Siri put her coffee cup down with a clunk. “What?”
Meri smiled. “Well, most people.”
“All right. I hope you like me at least as much as a dog!”
Meri laughed. “Time will tell!”
“Look at you! I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time,” Siri said.
Meri raised her coffee cup and motioned for Siri to do the same. They clinked cups and said in unison, “Skål!”
“What are we drinking to?”
“To big fluffy white dogs and rich employers with dresses not pants.”
“All right.” Siri nodded in an exaggerated formal way.
Meri’s face clouded over. “I’m unsure of my new work schedule. Our time together…”
“Oui. With every change, we have to be flexible. I understand. We’ll work it out.” She reached over and squeezed Meri’s hand as they got up from the table after paying for breakfast.
“I think you’re the only true friend I’ve ever had.”
“You’re my truest friend, too, Meri.”
“As your truest friend, I’m telling you to be careful of this Monsieur Dorval. He seems too good to be true. Too helpful, if you know what I mean…”
Meri waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “Not him. I think he’s my guardian angel sent by my Papa. He’s not old enough, but he reminds me of Papa—he sees something special in me and wants to take care of me.”
Siri grimaced. “Exactly how long have you known him? His wife will resent her husband protecting the maid.” Her words had edges as hard as the gravel they walked on.
“Siri, don’t be negative. He’s only shown me fatherly kindness.” Meri grabbed Siri’s hand and squeezed it.
“Let’s hope Monsieur Dorval deserves your trust.”
§
Domestic work was, on the surface, a step backwards for Meri. The privileges she enjoyed as a quasi-professional personal assistant for a wealthy man were gone. While she had assignments each day for Monsieur Nurmi, Meri was relatively free to accomplish her work in the manner she pleased. She also had a great deal of flexibility with her time outside of his direct supervision, time Meri spent with Siri or strolling along the splendid Parisian avenues, wearing fashionable clothes. Her living accommodations had been comfortable and alway
s kept clean by the maid. As a personal assistant, her wages afforded her the ability to both save for the future and spend for the present but as a maid she had to wear a uniform. Her world shriveled from being able to wander the streets of Paris freely to cleaning the rooms of one large home for a fraction of the pay she had received as a personal assistant. Saving money only became possible because she had no social life.
Her days under Madame Dorval were structured and well-supervised. Meri had very little latitude regarding her time or her activities. Madame wanted tasks done a certain way and in a certain order in her household. Meri had to learn and abide by her rules. Meri’s room was small, one of several that shared a modest washroom and toilet with the other household staff: Zara (the other maid), Philippe (the chef), and Evette (the woman who assisted Phillipe and served the meals). A chauffeur and a groundskeeper, and his staff, lived in another building but ate with the house staff in the kitchen. Meri, like all the staff, wore a uniform, which was inspected by Madame each morning. The only time Meri left the house while on duty was to walk Soldat, a job she grew to love as much as the dog himself. Her work days began at seven in the morning and ended at seven in the evening, unless the Dorvals hosted an event. In that instance, staff would stay on duty until all the evidence of the event was removed from the residence. Madame required her home to resemble a museum at all times.
For all of the rigors of working for this German task-master, it was comforting for Meri to know at least she was a woman. Meri didn’t worry about her employer taking sexual liberties with her as part of the job. To Meri, safety from exploitation made sacrifices in her autonomy or wages a good bargain. And Meri had no concerns about Monsieur Dorval. During the rare times he spent at home, his wife controlled him with the same firm grip she used with the rest of the staff. Under Madame’s watchful eye he wouldn’t dare try anything indiscrete.
Twelve hour days of domestic labor left Meri exhausted. Technically, she could leave the premises after her day ended but had to return by midnight, when the doors were locked and the gates to the estate closed. The same rule applied on Saturday. On Sunday, the curfew changed to ten o’clock. The maids got one weekend day off each week, so Meri and Zara worked opposite days. Then the next weekend, they switched their day off. (Madame insisted at least one maid be available to her at all times.) Meri didn’t know the working conditions of the other staff. Whether they were free or not, however, ultimately depended on the Dorval’s social calendar.
Regardless of days off, Meri was responsible for the rambunctious Soldat. The dog was a gift from Madame’s parents—a substitute for the child their daughter was not destined to bear (according to Zara). Rather than a comfort to Madame, Soldat was a giant, hairy nuisance. He was still an ill-mannered puppy in an enthusiastic, elephantine body. Zara feared him and neither of the Dorvals wanted to deal with such an undignified, albeit handsome, hound. Soldat and Meri forged a close bond. She could trust this big dog not to betray her secrets or judge her. Meri found herself as much in love with Soldat as he seemed to love her.
One day early in her employment, Soldat was yanking Meri to and fro, nearly strangling himself with his collar and tripping Meri with each surge. Meri stopped, planted her feet as best she could, and yelled at him for the first time. “Soldat! Stoppen! Arrêt!” Madame wanted her dog to speak German. Monsieur wanted the dog to speak French. “Hyvä luoja!” Meri said aloud in Finnish. “Good Lord!” She continued in Finnish. “The rich, they want a bilingual dog. No wonder you’re confused and jumpy. You don’t understand anything, do you, Soldat?”
The big white dog cocked his head and barked. Then he sat down.
Meri started to laugh.
Soldat went over to her and nuzzled her crotch, something he was good at doing. He sat down close to her and leaned his big, furry, muscular body against her legs. Meri leaned into him so she wouldn’t lose her balance. She ruffled his ears and scratched the long bridge of his nose and the wide area between his eyes. He was nearly as calm as when he slept.
Meri pushed back on him so she could move in front of him without either of them collapsing. She squatted down in front of him. His head was above hers. The one-year-old dog was tall, even when sitting. She cupped his massive head in her hands and spoke to Soldat as if to a Fin.
“How long will Madame tolerate you and your crazy behavior, Soldat?”
Hearing his name, he lunged forward and licked Meri’s face. She fell back; her legs flew out from under her and, unintentionally, kicked the dog. They both let out sounds of surprise. “If I soiled my uniform, I’ll be in trouble.” Meri picked herself up and yanked on the leash. Soldat stood his ground. “Oh, you silly dog. Is big, strong Soldat afraid of little Meri?” She held her hand out and softened her voice. A peace offering in any language.
The dog responded by licking her hand.
“Good boy. Good boy.” She spoke to him in Finnish. “We must come to an understanding, you and me. Our chances of staying in Madame’s good graces are best if we behave. You must walk like a civilized dog on the leash and stop running around in the house breaking Madame’s things.”
The dog appeared to be listening. After a few moments, he shook himself and tugged on the leash with his teeth—his playful way of communicating he wanted to get moving.
“Not so fast. We’re going to walk my way, not your way.” Meri twisted the leash out of the dog’s mouth. With a firm grip close to his collar, she began training him to walk slowly.
Over several months of daily lessons with her smart but energetic canine student, Meri slowly transformed Soldat from an unruly troublemaker to a fairly well-behaved dog. Meri only had two problems with Soldat: he would only listen to her and he only responded to Finnish. She solved the second problem by teaching him the few commands the Dorvals were likely to ask of him in both German and French. The rest she blamed on his stubborn nature. Soldat became her shadow. Listening to her proved problematic only when the Dorvals wanted to take their handsome dog out to show him off to their friends with other expensive or rare breed canines. They did not want to bring their maid along to “handle” him. But after several embarrassing mishaps, they either left him at home or brought Meri along and temporarily “promoted” her to their personal aide, with showing off Soldat as her only real duty.
§
Early in 1932 Meri had settled into a predictable life—not the life she had planned on or the life she wanted, but a “good enough” life. After a year of working for Madame, they had gotten used to each other. Meri complied with all of Madame’s rules and demands; Madame conceded her dog to Meri. Madame made housework more difficult because of her exacting expectations and relentless supervision; Meri’s daily time with Soldat gave her respite from the drudgery and constant surveillance.
Free to be with her beautiful, joyful Soldat, they walked and played as much as she could without messing her uniform. Madame would not approve if anyone in her household was having fun, Meri thought to herself many times as she brushed her uniform of any wrinkles or paw prints after an outing with Soldat.
Meri often met with Siri on the one weekend day she had to herself. They shared hours together, with Meri always returning to the Dorval estate at regular intervals to attend to Soldat.
“Can’t anyone else take care of that dog?” Siri asked, snapping her handbag closed after paying for lunch.
“I won’t be long, “Meri said. “He only eats for me. No one else can handle him.” Meri smiled.
“Meri, I think you like having that dog obey only you.” Siri searched Meri’s eyes for some denial of her suspicion.
“I can’t help who a dog loves. Especially a mule-headed one.” Meri laughed. “At least one male in all of Paris has fallen under my spell. He’s handsome and funny. He has four legs, not two. But he’s a refreshing change from the men I’ve met so far!”
“I can’t argue with you.” Siri laughed too. “We are both fetching young women in a city full of Parisian men. Some of them ha
ve to be gentlemen.”
“So you say.”
“Let’s go out to a nice cabaret tonight, Meri. We can have some fun and even find ourselves some handsome two-legged men.”
“A nice cabaret? Are there such places? Do gentlemen go to these places?” Meri got up to leave.
Siri followed her. “How about the bar of a chic hotel? Surely gentlemen go there.”
“I suppose.”
“Good. We’ll have supper at my apartment. Make sure Soldat is tucked in for the night. Bring your best dress. I have makeup. We’ll show this city the two prettiest Finnish women alive!”
“Hmmm. Every time you arrange something for me, things don’t turn out so well.”
“Not this time, Meri. I’ll be right there with you. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a real lover—someone who is husband material? You wouldn’t have to be a maid. Or an old maid.”
Meri glanced at her hands. I’m twenty-nine years old, but my hands remind me of Mamma’s hands—old hands. They were rough and scarred from constant cleaning. Her nails were frayed. If not now, when? Meri thought. She glanced at her reflection in the café window. Although thinner from hard work, she still retained her womanly curves. Meri smiled into the vague reflection. She couldn’t see how tired and worn her face had become living in the city of her disappointed dreams. “If there’s a man I want for a husband—who will have me for his wife—I’d better get serious about finding him.” Meri said this more to her reflection than to Siri.
§
Meri went to take care of Soldat and to gather her best attire for her evening of husband-hunting. Siri shopped for their supper and waited for Meri.
Together they decided on the Ritz as their destination. If gentlemen were gathering for an evening of proper entertainment, the highest class establishment in Paris was the place for them to attract the kind of attention they both wanted.