Tales of the Ragoon, Kate's Movie Star by Stan Morris

some reason, it didn’t bother him at
all. He was feeling rather cheerful. She complained and grumbled,
but he made her try on dress after dress, skirt after skirt, and
blouse after blouse. Finally, he was satisfied. He took the items
that looked best on her to the sales counter.
    “That will be one thousand one hundred and
four dollars,” announced the clerk giving him a fish eye.
    “What? That’s crazy! No way, I’m letting you
spend that much on me, Silverstar,” proclaimed Kate.
    Runyon ignored her and handed the clerk his
debit card. When the clerk saw the Ragoon hologram, she quickly
became much more polite, one might say even fawning. She quickly
completed the transaction. Runyon listened to Kate complain all the
way to the car. Once in the car, she lapsed into brooding
silence.
    Finally, she spoke. “Am I your, Galatea,
Runyon? Are you Pygmalion? You probably didn’t think that a poor
small town girl like Kate Garcia would even know about a play by
George Bernard Shaw. Is that was this is? Ever since I told you
about my Mom, you’ve been acting different. Poor motherless Kate.
Is that what I am to you?” She lapsed back into silence.
    For minutes Runyon just stared at the road as
he drove.
    Then he said, “My mother is a whore.”
    Stunned, Kate caught her breath. Her eyes
widened as she stared at his profile. Whatever Kate had been
expecting him to say, this was not it. Kate had no idea how to
reply to this announcement.
    Then Runyon explained in a voice that was
seemingly devoid of emotion, yet with a manner that somehow Kate
already recognized, from her brief acquaintance with him, was
painful.
    “Not legally,” he said. “It’s just that if
you want to marry her, you need to meet her price. She will
negotiate a little. She’s been married nine times, so far. Each guy
gets a certain amount of time, for a certain amount of money. It
doesn’t have to be in cash. She accepts jewelry, especially
diamonds. A painting that she envies might do. Once, she accepted a
villa in the south of France. I call it prostitution by
marriage.
    “Remember back when lessies and gay guys
couldn’t marry? I was just a kid then. I used to wonder why they
let my mother get married again and again while two old ladies,
living in the wilds of New Hampshire who loved each other and had
lived together for decades, were forbidden to take out a marriage
license.
    “I imagine you know her or about her. The
media, and everybody who works for her, calls her, ‘The Lady’. I’m
supposed to call her that too. She’s not crazy about people knowing
that she has a kid.”
    He glanced at Kate. “See Kate?” he said with
a humorless smile. “Now you can think, ‘Poor Runyon. He has a whore
for a mother’.” His voice had become derisive.
    “So, ‘The Lady’ is your mother,” Kate stated
slowly while thinking about it.
    The title referred to a famous aging movie
star. Kate had read about her. She was one of the rich and famous
who were regularly featured in what was left of the sensational
press. Somehow, that seemed to explain Runyon a little better to
her.
    Still, when they arrived home, she was hoping
that her father would not allow her to accept the purchases from
Runyon. Her hopes were quickly dashed.
    “Well, he is responsible for you Katey,” her
father said apologetically. “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt for you to
wear a dress once in a while.”
    Her brothers just snickered at her.
    In the following week, Kate discovered that
she had suddenly become one of the most popular girls in school.
Everyone wanted her to come to one of their parties, “and bring
your boyfriend, too.”
    And her new clothes didn’t hurt. At first,
she had vowed not to wear them, but after a while she decided that
it just would not be fair to all of the hardworking designers,
manufacturers and shippers who had managed to deliver such lovely
items to a backwater like Livingston. She decided that she would
just have to endure the sighs and