Never Turn Back

by Lorna Lee

  Siri swallowed her bit of sandwich with an audible gulp. “Meri, be careful. You could get you fired. Or worse.”

  “Worse than enslaving a woman?” Meri’s right eyebrow arched up.

  “Well, he is your employer. A rich one.”

  “I’m careful. I don’t do these things all the time, only enough to give me some control in my life…and over him. For a man in a wheelchair, he’s surprisingly powerful.”

  “It’s his money, not his legs giving him power.”

  “True, Siri. But I think the wheelchair gives him power, too. People don’t challenge him because they’re afraid to offend him. He takes full advantage of people any way he can. Ha! They say women are manipulative.

  “I see it happen all the time. He insults visitors or businessmen and they just look away. I hear them talking as I escort them out. They say things like, ‘I would be angry if I lost the use of my legs. Can you blame him?’ They just shake their heads as if he’s a poor little boy. He wouldn’t be quite so powerful or get his way quite so much if he wasn’t tied to a wheelchair. I wonder if he always behaved this way—before the wheelchair.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t dare ask him and no one who works there knows—or won’t tell me…yet.”

  Siri lifted her cup of coffee, but stopped. “Are you going to try to find out?”

  Meri finished the last of her lunch. “I’ll find out and use the information in some way to improve my situation.”

  “Sounds dangerous, Meri.”

  “Siri, everything about working for him seems dangerous.” Meri sighed.

  Siri rolled her eyes, remembering she told Meri about this job.

  §

  In October 1929 newspaper headlines barked of the stock market crash in America. Meri worried, along with her fellow coworkers, what effect the fall of such an economic and political giant would have on France. As days, weeks, and months of conjecture and fretting went by, she noticed France seemed immune to the tidal wave of devastation America’s financial crisis caused her neighbors in Europe—Britain and Germany most acutely. For her and Monsieur Nurmi, life seemed to continue as usual.

  In 1930, Meri celebrated her one year anniversary of being a personal assistant. Monsieur Nurmi summoned her into the library after supper. She thought he was going to have her type another useless letter.

  “Meri, are you aware I hired you a year ago?” As usual, he faced away from her and was looking down at a book on his lap.

  Meri had gotten used to speaking to various inanimate objects in the library. This time she decided to respond to the marble table lamp. “Non, Monsieur. I wasn’t aware. A whole year? My Goodness.” What does he want me to say? Am I supposed to thank him for the privilege of serving him?

  “Is that all you have to say?” From the corner of her eye she saw his shoulders stiffen.

  “Non, Monsieur. I’ve enjoyed my duties and hope to work here for many more years.” He wants me to tell him how much I like him, Meri thought as she rolled her eyes.

  “Good. Good. You have come along quite nicely, having been so inexperienced when I hired you. I thought I had made a mistake, but I am not a man who makes mistakes. You have proven yourself to be an adequate assistant.”

  “Merci. Monsieur”

  Adequate? The nerve!

  “It is my policy to give my loyal employees a bit of an incentive each year they are with me. You may find this hard to believe, but many of my former employees have not lasted even one month, let alone one year.” He turned his chair, facing Meri.

  She stepped back. “Incentive, Monsieur?” Her eyes veered to the arm of his wheelchair, giving her enough scope of vision to be prepared for what he might do next and to show him, if he looked at her, that her eyes were closer to looking directly at him. He didn’t hire a wash rag!

  “I thought you might be interested. Every employee wants more then they earn. But, alas, France is not immune to the economic troubles of the world.”

  Monsieur Nurmi is up to something. But what? Meri knew a little something about the current economic circumstances around the world, but she saw no signs of any hardships in Paris or in Monsieur Nurmi’s daily business dealings. Maybe he knows something I don’t. After all, he’s connected to people in both political and financial circles who know much more about France’s vitality than I do. A worrier by nature and experience, Meri began to doubt France’s immunity from economic crisis. Meri’s head reeled with questions she dared not ask. If so many other countries are in such desperate conditions, how long can France continue to sell its wine and cheese? How many rich people around the world are left to visit Paris and buy expensive fashions?

  “Meri? Are you listening to me?”

  “Oui, Monsieur. You know much more about these things than I do.” She now spoke to the rug in front of him, her bravado waning.

  “With all this financial doubt in the air, increasing your wages is impossible. To compensate, I am willing to retain your services. Many people like you are losing their jobs, so consider yourself fortunate. In addition, I will no longer require evening work, and you may have every Sunday off to do as you wish. I think this is a very generous compromise.”

  Her gaze crept back up to the wheelchair’s arm. “Merci, Monsieur. I expected nothing.” Not even a few more francs? You miser!

  She saw what resembled a grimace fleet across his face. “Meri. You are a realist. You take what you are offered and don’t complain. You and I are alike in that way.”

  Meri thought, Ah, that’s what his smile looks like. “Do you need me for anything else this evening, Monsieur?”

  “Non. Not officially.” He chuckled. It sounded more like a hacking cough. “Since this is the last evening I will have you here on business, I want you to do one thing before you leave.”

  Meri stood still, awaiting her instructions.

  “Come closer.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Are you deaf, Girl? I said come to me.”

  “To you…to your chair? Monsieur?” He had never let Meri look directly at him and now he wanted her to stand close to him. A shiver went down her spine.

  “Where else?” Thrump-thrump…thrump-thrump. Meri had grown used to the sound of his fingers drumming the arms of his wheelchair. It usually meant he felt impatient or agitated. Neither was a good sign.

  Meri edged herself around his desk and stood behind his chair. Maybe he wants me to push him somewhere.

  “Non, come in front of me and kneel down. I do not want you looking down on me. I am a proud man—a fault I have always had—and having to live with people constantly looking down on me infuriates me. I have all the riches a man could want, yet I feel vulnerable and worthless sitting in this god damned chair.” He looked up and spoke directly to her.

  Meri knelt in front of him, sensing her professional life crash to the floor. “Monsieur, I don’t know what to say.” Meri’s heart beat so hard, she felt sure he could see her dress moving with each thump.

  “I do not speak so…intimately with most people—with anyone, really. There is something about you, Meri. You have a fire inside you that I find irresistible. You remind me of someone I once knew…someone I once cared very deeply about.”

  Meri’s body trembled with fear on the inside but remained still on the outside. This sensation was all too familiar. What’s he going to make me do?

  Meri did not wait long to get the answer to her question. “I wanted to do this since the day we first met. I had to wait to see if you were the girl I imagined you would be. You are a fetching girl, Meri. I am still a man. I have needs. I cannot fulfill them in the way that I used to, but I have found another way. You may not know what I mean, but I want to teach you.”

  “Monsieur Nurmi…”

  “When we are together…like this…call me Topias. Say it. I want to hear you say my name.” He held her chin with his remarkably strong right hand.

  “Top…Topias. This…this isn’t…”<
br />
  “Hush. I will not fire you if you leave now and we will never speak of this again.” His eyes locked with hers. “Unfortunately, I have revealed very personal things to you. Our professional relationship may be compromised and might have to be ended if I find matters, shall I say, become unsatisfactory. Do you understand?”

  Meri blinked and nodded as much as his grip on her chin would allow. “Vulnerable and worthless” my ass! I’m the one who’s vulnerable, not him!

  “Good girl. I’m glad we understand each other. Now, take this book from my lap and put it on my desk.” He released her chin. The crooked smile stayed on his face while she stood up awkwardly and followed his instructions. Her trembling hands and the dizzy feeling in her head made it difficult to remain steady on her feet.

  Meri had not yet turned to face him when he said, “Good. Now unbutton your blouse for me.”

  She froze. A sick feeling rolled around in her stomach. If I leave, he’ll fire me. If I stay, it’s Claude all over again, only with a man who can’t enter me. Or can he? Mon Dieu! Does every working girl in Paris have to give her body in exchange for her job?

  “I know you heard me, Meri. Come over here next to me and unbutton your blouse.” His voice lilted with a dangerous undertone. Meri imagined a man gently waving a razor-sharp sword in the air.

  She nearly tripped in her attempt to stand in front of him. She fumbled with the buttons on her blouse as her breathing became shallow and quick.

  “No! Slowly. Carefully. Strip for me, my good little girl.”

  Mon Dieu, are all men lusty pigs? Meri thought as she tried her best to do a striptease for another vile man who controlled her life, wondering what would happen once she was naked. All she could muster was undressing very slowly and tossing each garment—her blouse, skirt, slip, stockings, shoes, bra, and finally, panties in a small pile at the base of the wheelchair. She stood, shaking, naked and ashamed in front of him with her hands clenched by her side in tight fists. Is this what all professional assistants do? Meri’s cheeks flushed red, partly from embarrassment and partly from the rage burning inside her.

  “Ah, beautiful. Turn around.” This is familiar. Parisian men must be natural born inspectors. And pigs. I hate them all.

  She did as she was instructed so that he could see every part of her body.

  “Come here and sit on my lap.”

  Whether it was fear or apathy, Meri gave up. What’s the use in trying to prevent whatever’s going to happen to me? He wins…at least for now. She held back the tears she wanted to cry and the screams she wanted to release. At this point, she felt like a rag doll being manipulated by its owner. He suckled one ample breast with his dry lips and hot tongue while kneading the other with hands too strong and too rough from years of manipulating his wheelchair.

  Meri closed her eyes and kept her fists tightly clenched, as if doing either would protect her from the fear and pain. Then, with those same sandpaper hands, Topias pried her legs open and used his fingers to penetrate her.

  She opened her eyes. This is too much! “Please stop. You’re hurting me. Her voice quivered more than she intended. She didn’t want this man to know how much he frightened her with the new conditions of her job.

  Topias continued. “Meri, you are a beautiful woman. I was once a great lover and could bring women great sexual satisfaction. Now, to feel like a man I was, I have learned to use my hands to do the same thing. You can make me feel like a man again by taking pleasure in what I do to you. I know how to bring a woman to climax. Let me take you there and I will feel whole again.”

  Meri winced. “Your hands. They’re so…rough. I’m not used to this.”

  He removed his fingers from her and placed both hands on her thighs. Looking directly into Meri’s grey-green eyes with an expression of determination tinged with desperation, her said, “I know what I am doing. You will get used to this technique over time and allow yourself to relax into an orgasm. With me in control of your body, you will find great pleasure. Be patient.” He fondled her breasts with his free hand and kissed her neck.

  “I don’t know. It really hurts, Monsieur…I mean Topias. I’ve never been touched like this before. Please …”

  He pushed her away abruptly. “Fine. Put on your clothes.”

  Meri barely caught herself from falling to the floor. She stood, confused about what to do next. Am I fired? Should I have let him do that strange thing to me until he was finished? Mon Dieu! Men are strange!

  He finally spoke. “As for our everyday interactions, nothing will change. You must treat me with the distance and respect you showed me before. I will not show you any favors as my personal assistant.” Then his voice grew softer, yet tinged with something perverse. “For our intimate sessions, well, I have not given up on you. Your job is to allow me to stimulate you for our mutual sexual gratification. All you have to do is be sensual and let me take you to an orgasm. It is simple.”

  Meri kept nodding until she was fully dressed. I’ve never been so ashamed or exposed, not even when Mamma spanked my bare bottom. Monsieur Nurmi wants to control my body. I’ll never let him.

  She stood in front of him waiting for a dismissal. He leisurely surveyed her. She used the time to assess her new foe. Meri was under the assumption that her employer was at least thirty years her senior. Upon closer examination, she realized her error. Monsieur Nurmi’s full dark brown hair had gray strands running through it. His facial features and eyes suggested he wasn’t an old man, just a man who had aged beyond his years. He had sturdy, healthy teeth—not the decayed teeth of an old man. Although surrounded by deep furrows, his eyes were alert. The physical pain of the injury disabling him or some emotional scar he buried deep within him made him cruel and aged him prematurely, but did it make him crazy? Was he lying when he told me about how having people look down on him made him so defensive? He’s a complicated man—nothing like Claude. He’ll be a difficult man to manipulate, she decided.

  Monsieur Nurmi reached up, cupped one breast, and gave it a squeeze. “That will be all for now. I will let you know when it is time for another…ah, lesson.” He winked in a teasing way and waved her off. Meri was dismissed.

  She walked with as much dignity as she could muster from behind the desk to the library door. Turning the handle, she said over her shoulder, “Bonsoir, Monsieur Nurmi.” After she closed the door and was in the hall, she looked to see if she was alone. She did not see anyone. Taking in a big breath of air and releasing it, she darted to her suite.

  Meri wanted to do many things: cry, talk to Siri, quit her job, and report Monsieur Nurmi to the police or kill him. Instead, Meri took a long, hot bath and spoke to herself. The steam obscured her beautiful room, making anger at being in his house much easier. “Mon Dieu! Is this what life holds for me? My only employable skill is sex! I’m a smart and talented woman, but my employers only see my body. I hate men and I hate sex. I’ll do what I must to keep my job, but someday…someday no man will use me for his pleasure. I’ll stand on my own!”

  It was a good speech to make in a steamy bathtub.

  §

  Only Siri and Antoinette noticed a change in Meri. More serious and guarded, she spoke less to both of them. Siri was more perplexed than Monsieur Nurmi’s maid.

  “Meri, you’re lucky like me now. We both have Sundays off. Why in the world don’t you take advantage of your extra day off rather than staying cooped up in your room? You need to get out more.” Siri and Meri were having one of their now less frequent lunches.

  “My job is demanding. I’m out so much running all over the city for Monsieur Nurmi. Sundays, well, Sundays I like to rest and read. I don’t read enough.”

  Siri frowned. “We used to have so much fun walking around Paris on Sundays, watching people and dreaming of our futures. Remember?”

  “I can’t live in the past or impossible futures, Siri.”

  “Who said anything about living in the past or impossible futures?” Siri sat back in her chair
, as if to get a better look at the person she considered her best friend.

  Meri gave her a quick smile. “Oh, don’t pay any attention to me. Monsieur Nurmi told me I didn’t have to work for him during evenings and Sundays, but his demands never decreased. They increased. I’m tired of working for a miserable man who needs to control everything and everyone around him because he’s lost control of the lower half of his body.”

  “I wish you had a job you enjoyed, but from what I hear at the Embassy, even France is beginning to feel the effects of the Crash.”

  “Really? I was waiting for you to tell me about another perfect job.” Meri scanned the menu. Her voice flat.

  Siri looked up from her menu, her eyes wide. “Meri, what do you mean? Are you teasing me? I can’t tell.”

  Meri’s eyes met her friend. True, Siri found me jobs in Paris, but each ended up with lecherous employers. Is Siri to blame or is this just the nature of work for Finnish women in Paris? “I’m just teasing, Siri. I’m happy to be working anywhere. A job in the fashion district is still my dream, though. I’m keeping my skills up by making my own garments, and I used to make doll clothes for Elina and mend her dresses. Tuula didn’t want me to make any clothes for her or Elina. She refused to accept charity.”

  “I’m sure you’re the best seamstress in all of Paris, Meri. You can make clothes for me anytime…and I’ll pay you! I always keep my eyes and ears open at the Embassy for any job that might suit you.”

  The waiter came to their table and they ordered lunch.

  Antoinette, on the other hand, guessed the cause of Meri’s change in mood. She had seen many personal assistants, as well as other staff, come and go. This familiar pattern plagued the Nurmi household.

  One evening after dinner Antoinette caught Meri before she scurried up to her suite. “Wait, Meri! I miss our after-hours chats. You’re always in such a rush to be by yourself these days.” The woman held onto Meri’s hand.

  Meri looked at her hand in Antoinette’s and then into her face. “I always go to my room after I eat.” I can’t talk about my “lessons” with anyone—especially someone in this household. If Monsieur Nurmi finds out, he’ll fire me.