(Sound of tinkly guitar. Smoke fills the late night.)
SAM: Mr. Rick, let's get out of here. She's no good for you.
RICK: Sam, you know I've developed an excellent personal relationship with "Woody", my little 51 year old Martin 0-18. But, but -- of all the guitar stores in all the world, she has to walk into mine. And she belongs to another! (glass crashes to the floor)

SAM: Boss, forget about her.
RICK: What year is it, Sam?
SAM: 2001, I think.
RICK: No it isn't. It's 1950. Somewhere in America they are making Gibson Super Jumbos, my Super Jumbo. They're all asleep there, except for the few, the lucky few who have -- sob -- Gibson Super Jumbos. Did I tell you I had my hands on one, once. It was Paris [camera dissolves into flashback, Arc-de-Triomph, camera dollies into "La Belle Aurore. Rick is on a chair by the bar, playing "I Fall To Pieces" on a Gibson Super Jumbo)
RICK: Oh, SJ, I never knew it could be like this.
GIBSON: Strum me baby, strum me!!!
RICK: Who were you before, and where did you come from, who did you know, and what did you do?
GIBSON: Oh, Rick, we said, no questions, no questions, ever. Explode me, Rick, explode me." (They embrace, camera fades to black, we open again at the fogged in airport. A big car drives up. A plane is revving up in the distance. Rick, the Gibson, and Tucker get out, followed at a discreet distance by Claude Rains)

RICK: Louis, put on the exit visas the names of Tucker and -- Gibson, Southern Jumbo. It is 1950, she will be able to carry it onto the plane.
GIBSON: But, Rick, what about last night ---"
RICK: SJ, we said a lot of things last night. Look, SJ, I don't know much, but I do know one thing. The problems of a folk singer, a guitar, and a woman who wants to start a k.d. lang-type band don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. You are now a part of Tucker's work, part of what keeps her going, part of what will make her a good, maybe great player. If you're not on that plane when it takes off, you'll regret it, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon,and for the rest of your life.
GIBSON: But I said I would never leave you.
RICK: And you never will. We'll always have Paris. We didn't have, we'd lost it until you came to Casablanca. And I got to play you one last time, last night.
CLAUDE RAINS: Better hurry.
(Gibson looks adoringly at the noble self-sacrificing Rick).
RICK (Holding back tears): Here's looking at you, kid.
Tucker and Gibson go off onto the plane. It takes off. Claude Rains looks at him admiringly if sardonically.
CLAUDE RAINS: Rick, you look like you need a drink.
RICK: One question, Louis.
CLAUDE RAINS: Yes?
RICK: Do you think they made more than one Holy Grail?
CLAUDE RAINS: I am not a theologian, but I wouldn't be surprised. But I do know one thing: it is better to drink champagne out of a champagne glass than out of a grail.
RICK: You surprise me, Louis. I think I could use a little champagne right about now. Maybe at that free French garrison in Brazzaville you are always talking about.
CLAUDE RAINS: I heard a rumour that there is a Martin once owned by one of the Delmore Brothers floating around down there.
RICK: What are we waiting for, let's get moving!!! (They walk out into the fog. The camera lingers for a moment on an empty bottle of Vichy water in the trash can. Music swells up and the sound of a heavenly Gibson can be heard in the distance).
THE END