Chapter Two
Rum had come to Casablanca to get away from it all. He had wanted to forget, to leave behind all the incessant failure he had experienced in his life.
And it worked, to an extent.
His restaurant, Rum's Café Americain, kept him busy enough. In addition to the responsibility of actually keeping up the place, he had to work tirelessly to keep his customers' illegal gambling under the radar of the German officers who frequented his bar. As if he weren't in enough trouble already, he also had to worry about customers being caught trading papers that would get them to Lisbon and en route to America to escape the war.
He had wanted to escape from his own troubles, and he ended up helping everyone else to escape theirs. Figures.
But despite the hustle and bustle of his new life in this new place, he never quite recovered from losing Belle. She had brought fun, happiness, love, and… life into his life. There was a hole in his heart that refused to be filled, and quite often after the Café closed for the night, he would find himself sitting alone at the bar in near darkness, drinking and drowning in self-pity. The novelty of owning his own business had worn off; he was becoming tired of the daily monotony of the Café.
Then one night, years after the events of Paris had transpired, Rum was meandering about the Café when he heard a very distinctive and different melody coming from Jeff's piano. He stopped in his tracks and just listened as Jeff's voice started to accompany the piano:
You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss…
Rum turned on his heel and headed straight for Jeff. He had no interest in reliving the memories that accompanied this song right now – or ever, for that matter. Hadn't he specifically forbidden Jeff to ever play that tune in his presence?
He quickly reminded Jeff of this as soon as he reached the piano. "Jeff, I thought I told you never to play –" And then he saw who had made the song request, who was sitting at the table beside the piano.
Belle.
Three hours earlier, Belle Legume had been sitting in a nearby Casablanca hotel room, pleading with her husband to find another way to Lisbon. "It's too great a risk, Gaston. The Nazis have eyes and ears in every restaurant and café in this city, and if we're caught… it's practically suicide!"
"But if we're not?" Gaston grasped Belle's hand earnestly, trying to convince her. "If we can get those letters of transit, we'll be clear off to Lisbon! They're authorized by extremely high-ranking officials, Belle. No one would question us; no one would search us…"
"I just don't think it's worth risking imprisonment or worse when we could just stay here a little while longer."
"Belle." He brushed a lock of loose hair behind her ear, an affectionate gesture that had become a habit of his. "I haven't traveled with you through all these cities, all these countries for the past few months to stop short now. This is probably our best chance. We can't pass this up, darling."
Belle knew he was right. It was probably the best (perhaps only) chance they would ever get. But it was also probably the riskiest option available to them. She just couldn't reconcile herself to letting her husband walk into what could very likely be a Nazi trap. She couldn't lose him again; she had lost enough love in her life already.
She looked at Gaston and said, "Alright. We'll try to get the letters. But I'm going to the restaurant with you."
"No, Belle! It's too dangerous! I won't let you risk your life –"
Belle cut him off. "And you think I'll let you risk yours alone? Besides, don't you think that a husband and wife going out to dinner would be less suspicious than you by yourself?"
She knew she had him there. And so, they arrived together at Rum's Café Americain for dinner later that evening arm in arm.
Why in God's name, Belle wondered, did the venue have to be called Rum's Café? She didn't want to be reminded of any of her previous experience with that name. Rum wasn't a very common name, though… what if…? But no. It couldn't be. That would be too great a coincidence. Wouldn't it? "What are the odds…" she muttered under her breath.
"What's that, darling?" Gaston asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.
"Oh, nothing." She sighed ever so quietly. "Nothing at all."
She and Gaston were seated at a quaint little table in a reasonably quiet corner of the restaurant. After ordering drinks, an odd-looking man approached their table under the pretense of selling them a unique ring. As Gaston was about to send him away, the man carefully opened the ring, revealing a hidden emblem all three of them knew – a sort of double-banded cross. This was one of their fellow undercover operators, one who could help them get out of Casablanca.
"Are you interested?" the man asked, giving Gaston a calculating, appraising look.
"I am very interested," Gaston quietly replied. To avoid suspicion, he waited a few minutes and then joined the man at the bar, leaving Belle alone at their table for a time.
Belle's eyes wandered around the Café, drinking in all the people of incredibly different backgrounds that surrounded her. Germans, local folks, and escapees all blended together into the melting pot that was this restaurant. Some, she knew, were here simply for a good time; others had ulterior motives.
After a few minutes, though, Belle's eyes happened to drift over to the man playing the piano. And that man had a face that she did recognize. She had known that face well, in another place, at another time... She did a double take, thinking she was seeing things, but no – it was definitely Jeff at the piano.
And suddenly, everything clicked.
She couldn't believe she hadn't realized it until now. An American café, in an unusual location, in the middle of Casablanca, far from Paris, called Rum's Café. She supposed it made sense for him to want to get far from France. And how had she not recognized the music until now? The lilting piano tune and smooth voice were undeniably Jeff's.
Everything she had rebuilt with Gaston over the past few years, everything that she had done to get past her feelings for Rum, all of that was starting to crumble at the mere thought of seeing Rum again. Belle wasn't sure if she wanted to see him, anyway. What would he say if he found her sitting in his restaurant? He probably hated her for what she had done to him. Maybe he had even forgotten about her altogether, which would almost be worse.
Despite all of her reservations, however, she couldn't help but think that seeing Rum again might help her get over these stubborn feelings once and for all. Maybe, just maybe, they could become friends and continue their relationship on an amiable note. It might be worth the risk, even if he did hate her. At least she would know for certain how he felt.
She just needed a way to find Rum without drawing attention to herself.
Looking at Jeff, she realized how to do it.
As soon as Jeff finished up his number, Belle waved him over to her table. She saw his jaw drop open ever so slightly when he saw her, then quickly snap back into place. He looked over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to stop him, then moved his stool to the top of the piano and wheeled it over next to Belle's table.
"Well, well, well. Hello there, Miss Belle." Jeff smiled, a bit sheepishly.
"Hello, Jeff. It's been a long time."
"That it has, Miss Belle. That it has."
There was a prolonged pause as each tried to figure out how to start this conversation. Belle coughed awkwardly and broke the silence.
"How have you been, Jeff? How long have you been playing at the Café?"
"Oh, I've been just fine. Rum and I came down here to Casablanca right before they took Paris. Opened up the Café after a few weeks, been playing the night gigs ever since."
"Your voice sounds just as wonderful as ever."
"Why, thank you, darlin'! I appreciate that!" Jeff smiled again, less nervous now. Belle had missed that genuine smile.
"Say, Jeff, will you play a song for me?"
"Anything for you, Miss Belle. What'll it be?"
Belle hesitated. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. She had a feeling it could backfire terribly, but something in her gut told her to say, "Play it once, Jeff. For old times' sake."
Jeff swallowed, clearly flustered by her request. "I… I don't know what you mean, Miss Belle."
Belle knew otherwise, but refreshed his memory anyway: "Play it, Jeff. Play As Time Goes By."
Jeff just looked at her, weighing the potential results of playing that song. He never wanted to betray his friend, but he wondered if denying Rum a chance to see Belle again would be a worse betrayal. He knew Rum still had feelings for her. So after a moment, he pulled his stool down to its place in front of the piano, and sat down to begin playing a tune he hadn't played in years.
Almost immediately, they both saw Rum come barreling toward the piano, looking incredibly angry and making great time for a man with a cane. Belle noted that he was wearing a white suit – a color she had never seen him wear before. Paired with a green tie, it made him look quite dapper and sophisticated, and she found herself unable to stop staring. He started to give Jeff a piece of his mind, but then he saw Belle sitting at the table. He stopped mid-sentence and just stared.
"Hello, Rum," Belle said, her timid, shy voice giving her nervousness away.
Rum failed to notice her uneasiness, staring at her a moment longer before actually processing that she had spoken at all. He responded with a measly "Hello."
"Would you… would you like to have a seat?"
All of Rum's instincts told him that he would regret this, to turn around and walk away, that this would do both of them more harm than good. Yet he still answered, "Don't mind if I do," and sat down opposite Belle.
Not even seconds after he sat down, a German officer appeared next to Rum beside the table. August was his name, and he was a frequent patron of the illegal gambling that went on in the Café. Rum wouldn't exactly call him a friend, but he wasn't quite an enemy either.
"Ah, a precedent is being broken!" August leaned over to whisper in Belle's ear. "He never dines with any of the customers." He winked at her, sat down next to Rum sans invitation, and waved over a waiter, ordering a bottle of champagne.
Rum was fairly certain August didn't have the money to cover that.
Nevertheless, the intruder made himself at home and introduced himself to Belle. "Lieutenant August Booth, my dear. And you are?"
"Belle. Belle Legume."
Rum nearly yelled, "What?" before catching himself. Her last name was Legume? Legume? No, that wasn't right. Her last name was French. He at least knew that much about her.
Thankfully, August was also intrigued and asked the burning question for him. "Legume, you say? You wouldn't happen to be related to Gaston Legume, would you?"
"Yes," she replied. "Gaston is my husband."
Her husband. She was married. Married to Gaston Legume, no less – a man renowned among their people as a fugitive leader, doing all he could to help refugees get to America. Lately, Rum had heard word in the local rumor mill that Gaston had been making his way toward Casablanca, working around many obstacles in several cities to bring himself and a mystery girl to safety.
Well, now he knew without a doubt who the "mystery" girl was. He was becoming hypnotized by her eyes again. Now, though, those beautiful eyes belonged to the face of a married woman. A married woman in a gorgeous, pale green dress that made her look like a shimmering jewel. Clearly, she had done a much better job of leaving Paris behind than he had. Nothing was the same; it could never be the same again.
Yet he still felt his heartstrings tug when she caught him staring and stared right back. It was as if she were trying to make it difficult for him to accept that she was off limits.
August hadn't missed the knowing look they shared. "So, you two know each other? That is most interesting, indeed!"
"Yes, yes," Belle replied, her eyes still locked with Rum's. "Let's see, the last time we met…"
Rum finished for her, a hint of melancholy blanketing his voice. "…was at La Belle Aurore. We seem to have a tendency to find each other in restaurants, I suppose."
Belle smiled, finally dropping her eyes to the table. "Ah, yes. Of course, that was right before the Germans marched into Paris."
Rum's expression quickly turned solemn. "I remember every detail."
Saying nothing, Belle lifted her head to look at Rum once again, eyes guilty and sad. August's brow arched in suspicion, but he resolved to ask Rum about his relationship to Belle later.
An uncomfortably heavy silence formed, and all three of them took the opportunity to partake in some hors d'oeuvres that had been brought out. The silence was quickly ended, however, by Gaston's reappearance behind Belle. "I see you've made some new acquaintances, darling."
Belle jumped, startled, and turned around to smile at her husband. She smiled and gestured to Rum. "Ah, yes. This is… Rumford Gold, and Lieutenant Booth."
Rum rose to shake Gaston's outstretched hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Your wife is an absolutely lovely lady."
"I'll have to agree with that." Gaston looked happily at Belle, who returned the look with equal affection. "I'm glad to finally meet you as well. One hears much about Rumford Gold around Casablanca."
"And about Gaston Legume everywhere."
Gaston simply smiled in response, and reached down to take Belle's hand. "We should be going, dear. It's late, and we have much to do."
Belle looked a bit stricken, as if trying to make an important decision. "Oh. Yes, yes. We should go."
August rose from the table. "I'll get you a cab," he said, and headed for the door.
"Well, it was lovely seeing you again, Rum. We should do this again sometime." Belle slipped into her coat as Gaston offered it to her.
"It was good seeing you too, Belle."
She extended her hand, and Rum hesitated for just a moment before hastily shaking it. They pressed their hands together a bit longer than necessary – an extra second of contact unnoticeable to Gaston, but very much felt by the two of them.
Rum wondered if this would be the last time he would ever see her, and quickly realized that he absolutely did not want it to be the last time. But, when he added her husband and their plans to escape into the picture, he realized there wasn't much he could do about it.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and casually walked the couple to their taxi. Gaston helped Belle into the back of the car and turned to Rum. "Good luck with all your future endeavors, Rum. It was a pleasure to meet you."
"Best of luck to you as well, in all your work."
With that, Gaston climbed into the car and it pulled away from the restaurant. As the driver turned around to head in the opposite direction, Rum caught Belle gazing at him out the window. She gave him a little wave that he returned with a smile. She didn't take her eyes off him until the cab was out of sight.
As the car turned a corner and disappeared from view, Rum turned to walk back into the Café. He didn't quite know what to make of the evening's events, but one thing was certain: as much as he had tried to make it so, he was definitely not over his feelings for Belle.