Jane Actually

phone, Mary communicated with Jane directly through her terminal. Fortunately the driver seemed more interested in his country-western music than conversation.
    “OK, you have a lot on your plate, but didn’t you fail to mention your argument with your boyfriend?”
    Mary regretted her words immediately. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d thought it, but that was an increasing danger as she’d become so proficient with the terminal.
    “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
    “How did you know …” Jane asked, and realized that her words now made it impossible to refute.
    Mary turned to look at Jane, smiled and said, “Well we share the same computer. You might want to clear your browsing history, or at least remember to close the window after you chat.”
    “Oh, yes. I suppose I did forget to do that.”
    “But that wasn’t my only clue. You’re a lot different after you talk to him, assuming Bertie is a him.”
    “Yes, Albert is a gentleman. And what do you mean I’m different? Do I have a glow about me?”
    “You make a lot more jokes and are generally sillier. And today you’re grouchy, so I guessed you had an argument.”
    Jane said nothing in reply, surprised that her friend had observed so much of her.
    “So what was the argument about?”
    “There was no argument, only a little … there is some awkwardness … oh Mary, I have not told him I am Jane Austen.”
    “What?” Mary said out loud. Her exclamation caught the attention of the driver who turned down his radio.
    “Is there something wrong, ma’am?” he asked.
    “Just wondering how much farther to the hotel,” Mary responded.
    He assured her it was only another ten minutes and returned the radio to its previous volume.
    “What? You haven’t told him?” Mary asked silently. “Who is this guy anyway?”
    Jane gave Mary a quick explanation of her relationship with Albert and Mary had to make sure she did not vocalize any “oohs” and “ahs” at how cute she thought their friendship.
    “So you haven’t told him you’re
the
Jane Austen. He still thinks you’re some crazed Austen fangirl.”
    “I don’t think that is his impression of me.”
    “So more to the point, why haven’t you told him?”
    “It’s … complicated.”
    “Oh my God, that’s got to be the most modern-sounding thing I’ve ever heard you say. Jane Austen says, ‘It’s complicated.’”
    “Well it is. And it is further complicated by the fact that I have … recast my success as a consequence of my employment.”
    “Come again?”
    “I have explained my many absences by saying that the pressures of my new job …”
    “You’ve lied to him? Where are you supposed to be working?”
    Jane explained the fiction of her job as an editor at Random House. The more she explained, the deeper was her shame. She almost could feel her cheeks burning.
    Mary was more than a little amazed. Even though she knew the real Jane Austen could be irreverent, dark, acerbic and even occasionally profane, she always thought of Jane as someone who steered a narrow course. To discover a Jane who made up whoppers was a revelation.
    “You do know the phrase ‘the best laid plans,’ don’t you?”
    “Yes, I am familiar with Burns, and it’s schemes, not plans.”
    “You don’t love him, do you Jane?”
    The question shook Jane, but she answered quickly, “What an absurd question.”
    “It’s just that usually people do the stupidest things when they love someone. And if you don’t mind me saying, that’s like
I Love Lucy
crazy.”
    Jane had no idea who the Lucy Mary referenced might be, but she denied any similarity.
    . . .
    Melody tapped on the door and waited anxiously for Mary to open it. She smiled weakly at two women who walked down the hallway, their JASNA badges hanging prominently from their necks. Both were wearing I Believe in Jane buttons. They returned Melody’s smile as they passed.
    Mary opened the door and Melody quickly stepped inside.
    “Hi Mel,” Mary said, but Melody stopped her from saying anything further.
    “Put Jane on speaker,” she told Mary.
    “Uh, OK.” Mary went back to the suite’s desk where her terminal was plugged into her laptop. She sent the output of the terminal to play through the computer’s speakers.
    “Everything’s arranged for tomorrow,” Melody said without preamble. “Davis has agreed to meet … even without a representative from the AfterNet.”
    “Excuse me?” Mary exclaimed. “She