Never Turn Back (6 page)

“Don’t thank me yet, Meri. Thank me after they hire you.”

Meri sighed. “That’s right. I have to get the job.” She had to face the stark truth that she may not even get hired for a maid’s job.
Surely
these Parisians believe that Finns are capable of scrubbing floors and washing sheets
. “They better hire me. I sacrificed my dream for them. They should be willing to sacrifice one menial job for me.”

The next day Meri presented her application to the hotel manager, Monsieur Monville. He reviewed
her
more closely than he did her application. “Turn around for me,
s'il vous plaît
,” he said.

Meri wasn’t sure she understood him.
What did turning around have to do with housekeeping?
Meri stood still.

Monsieur Monville sighed and made a circular motion with the index finger of his right hand. Then he nodded at Meri as if to say,
go on, turn
.

Meri shrugged and turned around as instructed. She stared at him with her gray eyes, which appeared to darken as flecks of green gave them the stormy-sea appearance her father described.

Rather than being put off by Meri’s passive act of defiance, the manager smiled. “I like a woman with some fire but who will take orders. Are you able to obey and not cause trouble…,” He had to look at the application for her name. “…Meri?” He pronounced it “Mary” rather than the Finnish “Ma-ree” (accent on the second syllable).

Meri understood most of what he said: he liked women and fire; obey and no trouble. She nodded and added the correct pronunciation of her name.

“Something tells me I shouldn’t hire you, but I’m going to anyway. What’s a job without a little fun? You start tomorrow,
Meri
.” He exaggerated the name to
May-ree
.

“I have job?” She asked, just to be clear.

“For now,
oui,
you do.”

Hearing the word “
oui
,” she smiled and thanked him.
I have my first job in Paris! It’s not in a fashion house, but I’m employed. Papa, I’ll make you proud. Mamma, you were wrong about me. I’m someone special. I’m finally working in Paris.

“Will that be all, Monsieur?”

He nodded ever so slightly. “Report for work on Monday at 7 a.m.”

Meri curtsied, turned, and walked out of his office suddenly realizing she did not know how much money she would be earning.

Monsieur Monville watched the sway of Meri’s hips as she left. He smiled and thanked himself.

For the next several months, well into the winter, Meri’s days were predictable. She found her routine both comforting and frustrating.

Her shift at the Hôtel Raphael began at 6:00 a.m. and ended at 4:00 p.m. This meant she had to begin her day at 4:00 a.m. to give her time to eat, wash up, get dressed in her uniform, and walk the six kilometers from the apartment to the hotel. Always punctual, she arrived fifteen minutes before her shift began.

Most of her coworkers were foreigners. Like Meri, they attempted to “be” French by adopting the language and mannerisms of their new country. Assimilation was the only path to success.
Even then, would any foreigner ever be considered worthy enough to work beside real Parisians no matter how well we master French and hide our accents?
Meri noticed only Parisian workers dealt directly with the wealthy clientele. They served the patrons at the reception desk, the gift shop, the restaurant, and the cabaret. In many of these jobs, the Parisian workers received tips in addition to their wages. Meri never got tips—only left over food or drinks from wasteful, sloppy, upper classes who occupied the rooms she cleaned.

To bide their time or have fun, many of the other maids and some of the handymen liked to gossip. Meri didn’t believe in gossip. “What you do to others will grow in your garden,” Meri remembered her Papa telling her.
Bad rumors about me might get back to Monsieur Monville. I don’t want to give him an excuse to get rid of me.
Monsieur Monville seemed to enjoy his job as a supervisor, strolling the long, broad halls of the hotel regularly while he checked on his staff.
He likes to hear the sounds of work, not our mouths.
As a result, Meri didn’t make any friends at her job. Her coworkers did not dislike her, they simply did not include her in after hour parties or communal lunches after she declined enough times. “Some people are just loners,” Meri overheard one maid say to another as Meri walked by. They could not see Meri’s wry smile. She was happy to be a “loner.”  She made sure she only had to worry about herself.

The work was monotonous, backbreaking, and degrading. In order to get through the day, Meri devised ways to keep her mind active. While changing sheets and wiping surfaces, she made up stories about the occupants of the rooms and the outrageous hijinks (or romantic interludes) the room’s occupants’ engaged in. She often peeked at the wardrobes of the guests to examine the fashions and fabrics. She pretended she had been hired as a fashion consultant. Her head danced with ideas of the gowns she could make for these denizens of high society if only given a chance. These fantasies kept her mind stimulated in her tedious, spiritless job.

Her shift completed, she walked an hour back to the apartment, often stopping to buy something to contribute to supper and breakfast the next morning. Elina and Tuula were always home in the late afternoon, so together they would prepare their evening meal. Then Tuula would excuse herself from cleaning up after supper to get ready for her job—one that took her away until the dawn. Elina and Meri spent most evenings inside the apartment, cleaning or each helping the other with their studies. Meri helped Elina with her numbers, and Elina continued as Meri’s French instructor.

On occasion Meri’s daily routine was interrupted with a letter from Finland. Letters to and from Kaija or Jani troubled her. They reminded her of the life she left behind—of the only people who ever loved her and the people she erased from her life. She savored the letters for making her feel loved and loathed them for the same reason. They were an unpleasant and unnecessary reminder of her failure as a famous Parisian fashion designer.
I can’t tell them the truth about my situation.
They believe I’m living my dream, no matter how misguided and impossible it is. They must continue to believe that I’m a success and leaving Finland has changed my life for the best. Otherwise, they’ll think I’m a fool and a failure.
Meri wrote terse letters to Kaija, still unable to forgive her for abandoning her on their adventure.
Perhaps if she had come with me, together we would’ve been successful in the fashion industry.
Meri could not let go of this hopeless idea. Her correspondence with Jani, like Kajia, was seldom and brief. She found brevity her ally in her duplicity. In her letters, she always teetered on the ledge of truth, knowing a whisper of a breeze would knock her words over into the abyss of her lies.

Dearest Jani,

I’m working among the most rich and famous people in all of Paris. My French is improving. Soon, no one will know I wasn’t born in this beautiful city. My wages are low because I am new in my position, so no, visiting is not possible now. You must take care of our home and family in Raisio.

Be well, my strong brother.

You are always in my heart,

Meri

§

Occasionally, Meri and Elina ventured outside in the evenings. Strolling around the neighborhood or feeding stale bread to birds at a nearby park was all they could afford to do. Elina’s energy for the outings surpassed Meri’s, who had already walked twelve kilometers for work and had been cleaning people’s rooms for ten hours. Elina’s enthusiasm was contagious enough to give Meri the stamina she needed to keep Elina entertained.

Every evening, Meri insisted on an early bedtime, much to Elina’s dismay. The little girl wanted to stay up and listen to radio shows like a big girl. Meri needed to sleep to prepare her body and mind for another day of work. She only had every other Sunday off from work to rest and have some semblance of privacy.

On those days, she slept until 6:00 a.m.—a luxury for her. She ate a leisurely breakfast, usually at the café on the corner where she first met Siri, and made plans to spend at least some portion of the day with her friend from the Finnish Embassy. They would go to museums, parks, or a walk around the opulent Paris Meri had dreamed of while living in Finland. Siri never had news of fashion district work, but that did not stop Meri from asking.

“Is the work so bad?” Siri asked.

“It is. I pick up other people’s garbage and clean their messes. Rich people don’t care about being neat because they know someone like me will pick up after them.”

“At least it’s steady work, Meri, and you’re earning money.”

“Perhaps enough money to pay my rent and food. I don’t earn enough to have any fun or buy nice things. Saving for the future? Ha! There’s no money left for such a luxury.”

Siri stopped walking and turned to Meri. She grabbed both of Meri’s hands and focused on her gray eyes. “I understand. I had a job like yours when I first came here and I hated it, too. Do like I did. Try to find the opportunities around you. The hotel is full of people who might be your next employer or who could give you a promotion.”

Meri raised an eyebrow but kept silent.

Siri continued as if Meri had just said,
Go on, tell me more!
“Patrons of the hotel might notice you if you visit their rooms at just the right time. Have a nice smile for them. Offer to do something extra. They’ll remember you if they need someone for their personal household. They might recommend you to your supervisor as an excellent maid. Being extra nice to your boss won’t hurt either. If there are jobs in other parts of the hotel, he will favor the employees he likes. Be one of those employees. Opportunities are out there, Meri. Sometimes you must pull them in your direction.”

Meri thought about her supervisor. She knew he kept a close eye on her. “My superior, Monsieur Monville, watches me carefully and smiles at me. Do you think I should talk to him?”

“No, Meri! Don’t be too bold. You can smile back, maybe. Or ask if there’s anything you can do to improve your job performance.”

“Is that what you did to get out of your awful job?”

“I was lucky and a patron noticed me—one who worked at the Embassy. He liked me. Not just my looks, but my attitude. Men like women who are eager and happy to work for them.”

The two women continued their walk in silence. Meri considered Siri’s advice.
I will approach work with a friendlier attitude tomorrow and smile more at Monsieur Monville.

Meri’s days (and nights) were soon to become much less predictable.

§

Meri waited outside Monsieur Monville’s office. She twisted the hem of her uniform apron. By the time he called her in, the fabric looked as if a small child or animal had been chewing on it.

“Come in, Meri.” Monsieur Monville swept his arm in an exaggerated gesture of welcome. His smile confined itself to his tight lips.

Meri marched into his office, her downcast head contradicting her confident stride.

“Have a seat,” he commanded more than offered, again with an overly animated motion. “I have been meaning to speak with you for some time,” he said as he plunked into his stately leather chair. His rotund midsection seemed too heavy a burden for his legs to bear, so he let himself fall into his lush chair rather than sit.
He sits like a woman ready to give birth. Looks like one, too…

“Monsieur?” Meri let out a
poof
of air, relieved the ornate, ponderous wooden desk separated them. She noticed beads of sweat forming on his upper lip and around his ample forehead—where, she imagined, hair used to grow but now had retreated.

“For the last week or so, I have noticed a change in you…in your, shall I say, disposition?” He mopped his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief.

Silence.

Meri began twisting her apron hem again. She could hear the sound of her heart beating in her ears.

“You seem more content with your work. Am I right?”

“
Oui,
Monsieur.”
Ka-thud, ka-thud, ka-thud.
Her heart beat faster.
What is he really asking me?

“When I see such a, shall I say, drastic change in attitude in an employee, I am curious about why. There are several explanations for such a change—some of them good and some of them, shall I say, not so good. It is my responsibility to find out which is which. For the good of the hotel. You understand?”

“
Oui,
Monsieur.”
Non, Monsieur,
was what she actually thought. Meri didn’t expect this. Siri said nothing about having to explain her attempts at being more positive as a ploy to get a better job or higher wages.
What should I tell him?

“So, Meri, I’m pleased you seem happier in your work, but I am confused about what makes you more content in the last week or so.”

“I enjoy my work, Monsieur.” Meri focused on her lap, smoothing and twisting her apron hem repeatedly.

“Meri. Your work has not changed. Or has it? Have you found a way to enjoy your work more by bending some of my rules?”

“
Non,
Monsieur!”

She continued to avoid his face.
Ka-thud, ka-thud, ka-thud-thud-thud.
Her heart raced. She thought her ears or her heart would burst.

“Look at me when you are speaking to me!” Monsieur Monville’s voice changed from lilting to piercing.

Meri jerked her head up.

“Explain yourself. Are you stealing from our clients? Having an affair with one of the staff? I am no fool. I know all the antics staff will engage in to get what they can from a job they think is not giving them enough.”

Meri shook her head “no” both in denial of her supervisor’s accusations and because of the incredulity of the situation.
Being more pleasant to get a better job and wages is going to get me fired…or, Mon Dieu, arrested!
She had to think of something convincing. Quickly.

“Monsieur Monville. You misunderstand. Or perhaps I’ve been the one to misunderstand.” She paused, her mouth as dry as the dust on her feather duster. Her breathes were as shallow as a dying bird’s.

“Go on.” He leaned forward, staring into her gray eyes.

Meri blushed as she continued. “I’ve noticed you smiling at me as you make your rounds. I assumed that you…you…fancied me. I know it’s wrong to get close to my employer, so I tried to ignore your smiles.”
Mon Dieu, such a lie! I’ll burn in Hell!

“Go on.” Monsieur Monville’s voice had returned to lilting. He mopped his upper lip.

“Ah…recently I decided that I would return your smiles…to see if…if you felt about me the way I…I feel about you.”
Hell will not wait for me to die. I’m already there!

“Meri, my dear, this puts an entirely different perspective on the matter.” He smiled with both his thin lips and his beady eyes, which had a devious look in them.

Meri shivered. “I don’t want to lose my job. Please don’t fire me for being so bold.”

“
Au contraire
, Meri. You are one of the best maids I have under me.” He snickered, his lame attempt at sexual innuendo lost on Meri. “But you know that we have a strict policy against employees consorting with one another.” Drumming his fingers on his desk, Meri wondered,
is he thinking about a way around this “strict policy.”