Free The Feeder by Mandy White

Camille’s stage name. She’d always had a thing for fairy tale princesses.
    The door buzzed and I was in. Just like that. I checked myself in the mirror while I waited for the elevator. I was getting used to seeing Camille every time I looked in the mirror but I still found it unnerving.
    I’d had a tough time deciding what to wear, since Camille had mostly dresses in her suitcase. I preferred not to wear any of the dresses because they made me feel vulnerable; they were too tight and restricted my movements. She also had a fetish for lingerie. Everything she owned was either frilly and lacy or black with laces. Laces were good because they were adjustable. I had settled on a pair of black leather shorts that laced up the sides, slipped on over a pair of stockings with garter belt and a corset-style tank top. The stockings felt weird but I wanted to hide my unshaven legs. I didn’t know if knee-high stiletto boots went with stockings or not, but I wore them anyway. They were stable and more comfortable than Camille’s other pairs of shoes, which looked tight and teetery-high – impossible to walk in.
    Camille had a thigh-length black raincoat in shiny patent-leather-look vinyl. It was the ideal thing to cover myself up so I wouldn’t feel so naked. It also concealed the knife sheath I wore on a belt around my waist with the knife resting in the small of my back. I doubted I would need the knife but it made me feel secure. I could reach the knife in an instant if the need to defend myself arose. I didn’t expect my visit to result in a violent confrontation. I just needed to ask Louie a few questions.
    Louie’s penthouse suite occupied the entire floor. He opened the door as I stepped off the elevator.
    Louie looked like a stereotypical California surfer dude in his late thirties. His face was deeply lined and tanned like well-aged leather. His salon-streaked blonde hair was moussed and styled into an intentional tousle – a flimsy attempt to conceal the advancement of male pattern baldness. He wore a colorful pair of board shorts and a floral print Hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a well-bronzed hairy chest and the beginning bulge of a middle-aged belly. He held a tumbler of what looked like Scotch on the rocks in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.
    He looked shocked to see me, and even a bit afraid.
    “Hi,” he said.
    “Helloo,” I cooed, stalking past him into the apartment. I did my best to look unimpressed.
    Nice fucking digs, for a pimping scumbag.
    “It’s been a while.” Louie sounded awkward, shaky.
    “Yes, it has. How long, exactly? I can’t even remember,” I challenged, flinging a seductive glance over my shoulder. I hid behind my hair a bit because I didn’t feel quite confident enough in my role as Camille to face him head on. Surely he would know I wasn’t her once he got a better look at me.
    “I… I don’t know,” Louie stammered. “You want a drink?”
    “Yeah, sure,” I said, taking a cigarette from the pack on the glass coffee table. “Just give me my usual.”
    I didn’t smoke but Camille had, so I wanted to complete the illusion. I lit the cigarette with a silver Zippo lighter I found on the table beside the cigarette pack. I examined the lighter for a moment as I puffed the cigarette, only pretending to inhale so I wouldn’t choke.
    Nice.
    It was engraved with the initials C.L.B . I wondered if Louie was his middle name and what the C stood for.
    Louie handed me a tumbler full of clear liquid. I gave it a sniff. Gin and tonic.
    Barf! That was Cammie’s usual?
    Gin was the one type of liquor I couldn’t stand to drink, and tonic made it even worse. To me, the aftertaste of the drink tasted exactly like I’d just finished vomiting. I faked a sip, then took a puff of the cigarette to cover the flavor. I didn’t know which tasted more disgusting, since I indulged in neither.
    Louie fidgeted, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He downed his drink