«Rescue operation?»
Nodding, he explained, «Since we weren’t able to get the tanker to you, we decided to send out a rescue mission.»
«But I’m heading out of the solar system now.»
«We know.» His smile clouded briefly, then lit up again. «It’s going to take us at least six months to build the ship we need, and another six months to reach you.»
«You’re going to come out after me?»
«Certainly! You saved the world. We can’t let you drift off and leave us. You’re a celebrity now.»
«Oh,» said Cindy, dumbfounded.
«But it’ll take a year before we get to you,» he said, apologetically. «Do you have enough supplies on your ship to last that long?»
Cindy nodded, thinking that she’d have to skimp a lot, but losing a few pounds wouldn’t hurt, especially if… «Will you personally come out to get me?» she asked.
«Yes, of course,» he replied. «When they asked me to head up the rescue mission, I insisted on it.»
«A year from now?»
«Exactly one year from today,» he said confidently.
«Then we can celebrate New Year’s Eve together, can’t we?» Cindy said. «Indeed we will.»
Cindy smiled her best smile at him. «Happy New Year,» she said sweetly.
WE’LL ALWAYS HAVE PARIS
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream
«We’ll Always Have Paris» is a piece of fiction about a piece of fiction.
Casablanca is one of the most popular films of all time: romantic, suspenseful, filed with fascinating characters and memorable lines.
I’ve seen the movie dozens of times, and I’ve always wondered what happened to Rick and Ilsa and Capt. Reynaud after that unforgettable final scene at the airport.
«We’ll Always Have Paris» is my stab at answering my own question. A good story always leaves you asking yourself, What happened afterward?
Here is a possible answer.
He had changed from the old days, but of course going through the war had changed us all.
We French had just liberated Paris from the Nazis, with a bit of help (I must admit) from General Patton’s troops. The tumultuous outpouring of relief and gratitude that night was the wildest celebration any of us had ever witnessed.
I hadn’t seen Rick during that frantically joyful night, but I knew exactly where to find him. La Belle Aurore had hardly changed. I recognized it from his vivid, pained description: the low ceiling, the checkered tablecloths—frayed now after four years of German occupation. The model of the Eiffel Tower on the bar had been taken away, but the spinet piano still stood in the middle of the floor.
There he was, sitting on the cushioned bench by the window, drinking champagne again. Somewhere he had found a blue pinstripe double-breasted suit. He looked good in it; trim and debonair. I was still in uniform and felt distinctly shabby.
In the old days Rick had always seemed older, more knowing than he really was. Now the years of war had made an honest face for him: world-weary, totally aware of human folly, wise with the experience that comes from sorrow.
«Well, well,» he said, grinning at me. «Look what the cat dragged in.»
«I knew I’d find you here,» I said as I strode across the bare wooden floor toward him. Limped, actually; I still had a bit of shrapnel in my left leg.
As I pulled up a chair and sat in it, Rick called to the proprietor, behind the bar, for another bottle.
«You look like hell,» he said.
«It was an eventful night. Liberation. Grateful Parisians. Adoring women.»
With a nod, Rick muttered, «Any guy in uniform who didn’t get laid last night must be a real loser.»
I laughed, but then pointed out, «You’re not in uniform.»
«Very perceptive.»
«It’s my old police training.»
«I’m expecting someone,» he said.
«A lady?»
«Uh-huh.»
«You can’t imagine that she’ll be here to—»
«She’ll be here,» Rick snapped.
Henri put another bottle of champagne on the table, and a fresh glass for me. Rick opened it with a loud pop of the cork and poured for us both.
«I would have thought the Germans had looted all the good wine,» I said between sips.
«They left in a hurry,» Rick said, without taking his eyes from the doorway.
He was expecting a ghost, I thought. She’d been haunting him all these years and now he expected her to come through that doorway and smile at him and take up life with him just where they’d left it the day the Germans marched into Paris.
Four years. We had both intended to join de Gaulle’s forces when we’d left Casablanca, but once the Americans got into the war Rick disappeared like a puff of smoke. I ran into him again by sheer chance in London, shortly before D-Day. He was in the uniform of the U.S. Army, a major in their intelligence service, no less.
«I’ll buy you a drink in La Belle Aurore,» he told me when we’d parted, after a long night of brandy and reminiscences at the Savoy bar. Two weeks later I was back on the soil of France at last, with the Free French army. Now, in August, we were both in Paris once again.
Through the open windows behind him I could hear music from the street; not martial brass bands, but the whining, wheezing melodies of a concertina. Paris was becoming Paris again.
Abruptly, Rick got to his feet, an expression on his face that I’d never seen before. He looked … surprised, almost.
I turned in my chair and swiftly rose to greet her as she walked slowly toward us, smiling warmly, wearing the same blue dress that Rick had described to me so often.
«You’re here,» she said, looking past me, her smile, her eyes, only for him.
He shrugged almost like a Frenchman. «Where else would I be?»
He came around the table, past me. She kissed him swiftly, lightly on the lips. It was affectionate, but not passionate.
Rick helped her slip onto the bench behind the table and then slid in beside her. I would have expected him to smile at her, but his expression was utterly serious. She said hello to me at last, as Henri brought another glass to the table.
«Well,» I said as I sat down, «this is like old times, eh?»
Rick nodded, Ilsa murmured, «Old times.»
I saw that there was a plain gold band on her finger. I’m certain that Rick noticed it, too.
«Perhaps I should be on my way,» I said. «You two must have a lot to talk about.»
«Oh no, don’t leave,» she said, actually reaching across the table toward me. «I …» She glanced at Rick. «I can’t stay very long, myself.»
I looked at Rick.
«It’s all right, Louie,» he said.
He filled her glass and we all raised them and clinked. «Here’s … to Paris,» Rick toasted.
«To Paris,» Ilsa repeated. I mumbled it, too.
Now that I had the chance to study her face, I saw that the war years had changed her, as well. She was still beautiful, with the kind of natural loveliness that other women would kill to possess. Yet where she had been fresh and innocent in the old days, now she looked wearier, warier, more determined.
«I saw Sam last year,» she said.
«Oh?»
«In New York. He was playing in a nightclub.»
Rick nodded. «Good for Sam. He got home.»
Then silence stretched between them until it became embarrassing. These two had so much to say to each other, yet neither of them was speaking. I knew I should go, but they both seemed to want me to remain.
Unable to think of anything else to say, I asked, «How on earth did you ever get into Paris?»
Ilsa smiled a little. «I’ve been working with the International Red Cross … in London.»