The breeze off the Atlantic was welcomed with a smile. It had been a long day and now all she wanted was to sit still, enjoy the twilight on the terrace surrounded by bougainvillea's and perhaps have another glass of wine. It was early and she had the hotel terrace almost all to herself.
As if he read her mind, a waiter appeared and she ordered another glass. She looked around she couldn't believe she was actually here after all these years. She had finally come to Casablanca. Ever since she had heard Ingrid Bergman whisper "Play it again, Sam" she had been captivated by the mystique of the country. She remembered a line from another movie, 'Patton', when George C. Scott said that Morocco was the perfect combination of Hollywood and the Bible. She could hardly wait to start exploring all that she had read about and managed to glean off movies.
She was looking at brochures outlining different tours of the area when a shadow fell over her and she looked up expecting to see the waiter returned with her glass of wine. Instead there was a tall man with his back to the sun so that she had to shade her eyes with her hand to try to see his face. "I beg your pardon," he said, "but I wanted to make sure everything was to your liking. My name is Chase Dumond and I'm the manager of the hotel ... I like to introduce myself to all or guests."
He had seen her when she checked in. The thing that first brought her to his attention was her voice. His back had been to her when she first spoke, but there was a softness in it that made him turn around. What he saw there made his chest contract and he was aware of a stirring in his groin.
At the registration desk was a beautiful young woman. She didn't realize she was under scrutiny, so he took his time looking her over. She was petite, probably not much over 5'1", her auburn hair was short and combed back to show a profile that was of cameo quality, her soft curves were far from voluptuous but were proportioned nicely to her size.
He immediately wanted to meet her, so a little white lie about introducing himself to all the guests came easy.
It took a few seconds for her eyes adjusted to the light then she saw that Chase held two glasses of wine, "Do you mind if I sit down," he didn't wait for her answer as he handed her one of the glasses. "Welcome to Casablanca, Miss ..." She scooted up in her chair and responded "Clare Andrews".
She lifted the glass to her lips and observed Chase Dumond over the rim. He sat down and casually stretched out his long legs crossing them at the ankles. He wore a very well tailored suit of a brown light weight wool and a silk tie and she couldn't help but notice how attractive he was.
His face was slender with brown eyes that were so dark she almost thought they were black. His hair was dark and when he smiled he showed a row of white teeth that contrasted against his tan. He was tall and well made, even under the suit jacket she could sense his broad shoulders and chest, and the thought of being pressed against that chest came unbidden and was shocking to her.
It had been months since she had even noticed a man. She had just come off a big case that left little time for her personal life. Now suddenly there was an attractive man sitting with her on a terrace more than 3,000 miles from home and she was responding to him. More than responding, she was entranced by Chase Dumond good looks and casual self-assurance.
"I see you are looking at tour brochures. Do you know what you want to see?"
She chuckled, "Oh yes. I know exactly where I want to go and what I want to see. Of course there are some new places like the Grand Mosque that I'd like to see, but I can't wait to visit the medina and the marketplaces. I'm looking forward to the bargaining with the shopkeepers. The larger things like the oriental rug and brass pieces I want to buy can be shipped home, the smaller things like Moroccan leather can be carried home in an empty piece of luggage I brought."
He laughed, "It seems you'll be needing a porter, not a guide."
She continued as though he'd never said anything, "And I want to go to the ruins of Volubilis. I want to see the mosaics in the House of the Labors of Hercules and the House of Orpheus. I want to wander through the ruins, to walk where people in the third century walked."
"I want to see belly dancers, and camels. I want to eat couscous and drink mint tea ..."
He laughed again, "I see you have already planned out almost your whole vacation."
She blushed, "I've waited a long time to get here, Mr. Dumond, I can rest when I get back home ... I'm afraid I am a typical card carrying, camera toting tourist."
"Not so typical these days ... after 9/11 I'm afraid the tourist trade from America has been almost non-existent."
"I've been saving and planning for this trip for a long time. There was no way I could have put it off not even for a day." Unwilling to let the conversation die quite so easily she added, "Tell me where are you from ... I can't seem to place the accent."
"I'm from right here is Casablanca, my mother was Moroccan and my father was French. I grew up not far from here and went to school in Paris, something my father insisted upon. After graduating from the University I came back and started to work at this very hotel as a desk clerk. I worked my way up over the years and now I manage it."
Before she knew it the twilight had become darkness and they had been talking for over an hour. They talked about their diverse experiences growing up, about the hotel, about her job as a paralegal. When she finally realized what time it was Clare asked him, "Could you recommend one of the agencies to guide me. It would be nice to have someone around who had a car and knew his way around."
He sat up and leaned his forearms on the table, "I decided over an hour ago that I would be your guide. I can't think of a more pleasant way to spend tomorrow than showing you around Casablanca."
"Mr. Dumond ..."
"Call me Chase, and I won't take 'no' for an answer."
