HAZEL FINE SINGS ALONG (WATTYS 2022 Winner!)

Chapter 22: Reputation

Hazel was in an Uber weaving through traffic in West Hollywood, on her way to meet Kate for lunch. Kate had insisted that she needed to meet away from the compound and had invited her to lunch at the San Vicente Bungalows, a private club Hazel had heard about but never dreamed of attending.

"It's there," the driver said, pointing to a white building that didn't look fancy enough to be a private club attended by all the hottest celebrities. But there was a valet outside, a small velvet rope and several tall men in black T-shirts with earpieces in their ears. All the trappings of potential celebrity sightings.

That was the odd thing about Los Angeles, you never knew what was going to take off and why, or what was inside a faded facade.

Hazel walked up the steps and went to the check-in station. She announced that she was there to meet Kate Maple to the ultra-thin woman behind the counter who was wearing four-inch heels and a tight black dress.

"There's no photography inside."

"No problem."

The woman handed her a plastic strip with two green stickers on it, the larger of which read San Vincente Bungalows in a fancy script. "What are these for?"

"To cover the cameras on your phone."

"You can't be serious?"

"We are. Please take out your phone."

Hazel pulled her phone out and put it on the counter. Its case was cracked and dingy and the whole device needed to be replaced. "Put the stickers here and here," she pointed to the camera on the back and then the front.

Hazel followed her directions. "Everyone does this?"

"Our members value their privacy."

"So, they come to a place to be seen but they don't want to be photographed?"

"Indeed. Robert will show you to your table."

An older man in a waistcoat appeared at Hazel's elbow and walked her through the main restaurant, which looked like an old greenhouse with small bistro tables littered throughout, to a dark oak paneled "library."

"Here we are, Miss."

"Thank you."

Hazel took a seat on a red leather banquette and glanced around. There was another woman in the room, sitting at a large round table, drinking a cocktail, and working on her laptop. There was no sticker across the laptop camera, Hazel noticed, a breach in their security which seemed like a sloppy mistake.

Also, what was stopping her from taking the stickers off her phone? Nothing, that's what.

Hazel turned and looked back into the greenhouse. There were several people who seemed familiar, but none that Hazel could place. They were likely celebrity adjacent, agents and screenwriters, and the real celebrities were probably escorted to the private bungalows at the back.

"Can I bring you some water, Miss?" a waiter asked.

Hazel's stomach rumbled. "Do you have a menu?"

"I can't serve you any food until your member arrives. I can bring you a drink, though."

Hazel sighed inside. This was exactly the kind of rule that drove her mad. She could get shitfaced before Kate arrived but God forbid she eat a morsel of food.

"Can I get a glass of prosecco?"

"Yes, Miss, right away."

He put a small card with the lunch offerings down on the table then beetled away. Hazel read it. The menus was surprising, full of fried items that were very un-Hollywood but sounded delicious. She pushed it away. Reading it only made her hungrier.