Jane Actually

it.”
    “I don’t know. She said she wouldn’t publicly challenge Austen at the AGM, although she’s practically done that online. I’m going to call everyone I can think of; maybe somebody can convince Davis this is not a good idea. The other possibility, I guess, is if we can get Austen and Davis to meet before the breakout sessions.”
    “How does that help?”
    “Well, it only helps if Jane can convince Davis she’s wrong … I mean convince her she’s really Austen. Oh God, this is just awful.” She took a deep breath and continued. “OK, no sense in crying about it. Beth Ann, we need to get everyone in a room together, away from everyone else. Can you find out if there’s a conference room at the hotel we can use?”
    Beth Ann replied, “We’ve already booked every room at the hotel, but I’ll see. When do we need it?”
    “Well, Austen doesn’t arrive until tomorrow, and Davis doesn’t arrive until Wednesday, so let’s see if we can get a room Wednesday or Thursday.”
    “That’ll be cutting it close.”
    “What else is new? And Megan, can we find another speaker to take the place of Davis if … or another activity? Maybe we talk to one of the workshop people.”
    “We already have a contingency for this,” Megan said. “We just combine two of the breakout rooms into one. You don’t get the breakout session you signed up for, but …”
    “Right, I forgot, but if we can find … oh, this is awfully bad form, but we can ask Paula. Considering we bumped her because of Jane, it’s awkward, but I’d still rather have a presenter, plus the time it would take to re-configure the room. OK, off you go, start making calls.”
    Beth Ann and Megan looked at each other, aware they’d just been dismissed. They left and as the sliding door closed behind them, Cindy took the opportunity to slump and lean against her husband.
    “Why did this have to happen on my … I mean our AGM? Next year would be New York City. They know how to handle warring celebrities. Criminy.”
    “When’s the last time you ate?” her husband asked. When she didn’t answer, he said, “Thought so. I’ll get the boys to make you a sandwich. I’ve got to drop off the check with the caterers. Got to leave now.” He stood up and kissed her on the top of her head. She put out her hand, hoping he’d squeeze it one last time, but he was already going back into the house. She dropped her hand back to her lap and sat a moment before retrieving her phone from her back pocket. She looked up Ajala Johnsson’s number and prepared to have to explain the whole sorry business again.
    . . .
    Alice looked at the caller ID of the newest person to call and scold her. It was Dr Ray in Colorado Springs, a woman she admired a great deal. She turned off her cell phone instead of answering it.
    I know I’m making the biggest mistake of my career … unless I’m right.
    Her computer beeped to tell her she had an email and saw it came from Deirdre. She put the computer to sleep to keep it from reminding her, from prodding her, from forcing her hand.
    She’d always been a person who would mulishly push back against anyone telling her what a mistake she was making. Her father had learned the best way to control his daughter was with reverse psychology, which worked throughout her adolescence, but as she got older, she learned to disguise her bloody-mindedness. But still each phone call, each email, just kept pushing her toward a confrontation with Austen.
    Then her desk phone rang and in a contrary mood snatched it up, hoping to pick a fight with whomever was calling.
    “Alice, it’s Court. I got the report and I’m heading back in a couple of hours,” he said quickly. He’d already tried several times to call and took no chance of her hanging up.
    “Oh, Court, I’m glad you called. I would look pretty stupid if I exposed Austen without that report.”
    “I already forwarded you a copy of it. Check your email.”
    She awakened her computer and found Court’s email and its attachments.
    “Thanks,” she said.
    “I’ve been trying to call for hours. I’ve left voice mails.”
    “I’m sorry, I’ve been getting a lot of calls. The cat’s out of the bag, it seems. Everyone seems to know what we’re up to.”
    “It wasn’t me,” he said, the worry in his voice very evident.
    “No, I know that. It was me. I practically said I would call her out. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    “Yeah, that’s not going over