Another reply for the drabble meme!

[wordinista]

A "Casablanca" drabble for Anaphalis.  This one was tougher than I expected it to be!  (And it didn't seem to want to end, either.)



You Must Remember This
 
"So, Miss Ilsa left, just like that?"

"Just like that," I say, dragging a tarp over the roulette table, unable to suppress the painful stab I feel when I think of Ilsa -- especially the flash of hurt in her eyes when she realized I'd done exactly what she wanted: I thought for both of us.  I think she was surprised that I'm not the always selfish bastard I try so hard to be.  God knows I should be that bastard; I'd be somewhere better than this, and I'd be headed somewhere better than Brazzaville, with company better than Louis.
 
Dragging my mind away from the enigmatic Miss Lund, I think for a moment about leaving a list with Ferrari -- let him know whose money he shouldn't take too much of.  And then I think that's a professional courtesy I can do without extending.  He's getting my club at a damned good price. He's getting Sacha, Abdul, and Carl.  He's getting Sam.
 
...And Sam's getting a hell of a raise.  Twenty-five percent of the profits is nothing to sneeze at.
 
But I'm pretty sure he's not happy with it.
 
"Where you think you'll go, boss?"
 
"Don't call me that," I say, feeling an unreasonable surge of annoyance with him -- my former employee.
 
"... You want me to call you Rick?"
 
"It's a start," I say.  "It's my name."
 
There's something in his eyes, then -- like he realizes that we're not employer and employee any longer.  We're two guys closing up a club so that the new owner can come in with his own staff, his own way of running things, and get fat -- fatter -- taking Nazi Reichsmarks, while making his real money dealing in transport papers and black market trade. 
 
"Okay, Rick," he says, trying out the name a bit cautiously.  "Where you think you'll go?"
 
"I don't know," I reply -- and it's a lie.  "Back home, maybe."  That's not a lie -- I have every intention of returning Stateside once this war's over.
 
"Gonna try and find Miss Ilsa again?"
 
I don't reply right away, because the thought's already occurred to me.  I told her a lot of things, but I never told her I'd stay away.
 
Maybe I am that selfish bastard.
 
Finally, everything's covered and put away.  I even have a suitcase packed, and it's already more preparation than I thought I'd get.  I turn the lights off, and Rick's Place is no more.  Moonlight shines in the windows, casting silver light and shadows on the floor and walls.  Sam's standing by his piano -- it's covered as well; there's no telling how long it'll take Ferrari to re-open the place.
 
"It was a good run," I say, standing by the door.
 
"It was," Sam agrees quietly.
 
"You're getting twenty-five--"
 
"--Percent.  Yeah, I heard you the first time."
 
I shrug.  "Thought you might've forgotten."
 
An awkward silence settles over us.  I know I need to leave -- I'm meeting Louis soon, and I'm not fool enough to think he'll wait around for me if I'm late.
 
"I'm sorry, Sam."
 
I don't know where the words came from -- god knows I have plenty to be sorry for, but a man can't apologize for everything he's done.  If he did, he'd spend his time doing nothing else.
 
But I guess I think I owe it to Sam.  And I think Sam knows I owe it to him.
 
Several seconds pass, and I wonder for a moment if I said the words at all, but then he nods once.  "I know, Rick."  Another beat of silence passes, and he looks at me. 
 
"You need to leave, don't you?"  A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips.  "Don't want to keep Mr. Renault waiting."
 
Before I can ask how in the hell he knows that much, he turns his back to me and picks up a stack of sheet music from the piano seat.
 
"Enjoy Brazzaville, Rick.  Maybe I'll see you in New York sometime."
 
"Maybe," I say, and still I hesitate.  It's time to go.  And it's pointless to ask how Sam knew about Brazzaville. "Paris always reminded me a little of New York, you know." 
 
"Me too," Sam replies.  "But you think New York will remind you of Paris?"
 
I know what he's asking me; I'd have to be a bigger idiot than I already am to miss a hint that size.  I lift my shoulders in a shrug before picking up my suitcase and finally opening the door. 
 
"You know, Sam, I think we'd have to ask Miss Lund's opinion to find out for sure."