The Dilettantes Read Online Free Page A

stop lending you their lighters
.
    Tracy walked quickly, smoking and taking long swigs of coffee. First she passed the statue of Terry Fox, fallen cross-country runner and SFU’S patron saint, then headed down the steps of the AQ toward the library, where she had to squeeze in some last-minute photocopying before the
Peak
meetings started. She looked at her watch. Five minutes. They actually had an agenda that week—figuring out what to do about the free daily that was soon to be their competition—and Tracy was excited to hear what the others had come up with.She felt a little guilty she hadn’t thought of anything herself. She’d tried, briefly, that morning, while her SkyTrain was stuck between Lake City Way and Production Station for a full twenty minutes in the middle of rush hour. But she’d gotten distracted by the business-looking guy in her train car who’d banged against the window, jabbing at one of the nondescript buildings below. “That’s my fucking work!” he announced, letting his finger trail mournfully down the glass. “I just need to get
there.”
    At the entrance of the library, Tracy tripped over a bundle of thick industrial cables.
What the—?
she thought, shooting the ground a look while still stumbling into the automated doors. In her ears was a song about a girl who lives on heaven hill.
Nice try, Bob. A little too on the nose, don’t you think?
As Tracy righted herself, an arm covered in Gore-Tex shot out and held her back.
    “Sorry,” said the woman it was attached to. She was wearing a headset and held a clipboard. “We’re shooting the monkeys in there.”
    Tracy yanked her earbuds out. “Again? Come on.” She stood on tiptoe and peered over the woman’s shoulder. Inside the library, sitting on plastic folding chairs in the front foyer, were a half-dozen actors wearing monkey costumes from the neck down, each getting his or her fur touched up. They held their oversized primate heads under their arms like NASA helmets. In the background, a man in a baseball cap waved his arms above his head and pointed at various people holding cameras. Tracy thought he seemed French, somehow.
    “I just need in to photocopy two things,” she said. “You’re between shots now anyway.”
    “Can’t do it,” the woman said. She tapped her clipboard with a pen.
    “Yes, I understand it’s not on your call sheet. Just let me in real quick. Please? You aren’t even shooting the reserves, are you?”
    The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t confirm that. Got it? That’s
unconfirmed.”
Her voice turned into a kind of hiss. “I bet you’d just love an exclusive, huh? You know, we come up here to get away from the media blitz, but now everyone’s got camera phones and TMZ on speed dial. It’s out of control. This is all off the record.”
    “Listen,” Tracy said. “I’m not the press. I just copy edit the stupid student paper. I don’t care about any of this. All I want is to photocopy two articles: one that says Shakespeare was a lady, and one that says he was a series of dogs. They’re ten steps from the other side of these doors. Then I’ll be on my way.” Tracy thought for a second, as she finished off her cigarette and squished it against a nearby concrete pillar. “Funny thing about ‘off the record,’ though.”
    “Oh no. Oh no.” The woman pressed the mute button on her headset, activating a bead of red light next to the microphone. She leaned in a little. “It’s different in Canada, isn’t it? I
knew
I shouldn’t have said anything.”
    “So let’s recap. I’m hearing from a source on location that a crucial scene involving the monkeys is being shot in the computer lab—and possibly the reserves—on the second floor of the W.A.C. Bennett Library. Is that about right?”
    “You don’t understand. I could get mad fired for this. I’ve already gotten my official warning—and that rat in Seattle swore on his mother’s grave that he was a