So I clicked, with much anticipation, on “Gramercy Press.” Against a dark, purplish-blue sky I saw a semiornate, low-rise office building, the same one featured in the TV commercial. Not to leave anything to chance, a caption told me about tweeds and patches and old pipes and the fact that “every one—from the receptionist to the president himself—is online via networkMCI Business.” Despite the clichés such as the stereotypical reference to tweeds, this site was clearly showing far more imagination than the usual WWW area did.
“Now,” the screen told me, “click on any window and you’ll start to get a feel of the inside workings of a major New York publishing concern.”
I chose a pane on the top floor and saw Darlene near her keyboard, smiling away and looking as if I’d caught her in the middle of an intense gossip session. The screen suggested that I click for audio. I did and downloaded a short snippet. “I love technology,” she said in a high-pitched, girlish voice, and giggled a little nervously as if to tell the world, “Hey, I’m a real person, not an actress taping an ad.”
The text on the screen was credibly self-promotional: “I’m a combination of a staff psychiatrist, gopher, organizer, coffee maker, ruffled-feather soother, astrologer, party organizer, invitation sender, flower orderer, delivered-lunch acceptor, and philosopher. Oh yes, I also disseminate messages. A job made infinitely easier thanks to e-mailMCI. I threw out those little pink message pads. e-mailMCI is so much more efficient. I just click on my computer and the message gets to the right person instantly. Whether they call back is up to them. Hey, I can’t be their conscience, mother, and etiquette professor too. I wear enough hats. And I have many aptitudes. For instance, I was college skiing champ. You didn’t know that about me. Nor did you know I have a master’s degree in medieval literature. Or that Ellen deRosset is going to need an editorial assistant. Of course, she doesn’t know it yet either.”
I moved on to Darlene’s e-mail by clicking on, yes, her monitor. And suddenly I was getting another pitch from MCI in the cleverest of ways—I saw a screen shot of a menu from e-mailMCI, complete with such commands as “Compose,” “Forward,” and “Reply.”
Beneath the menu appeared a message list:
| E. deRosset | Short Story Submissions |
| C. Bruno | Excellent Proposition |
| R. Gales | Cover Art Submissions |
| M. Dragelov | Interesting Facts |
| P. Hoffman | Free at Last |
I opened the e-mail. Ellen deRosset was complaining that “My office has more manuscripts than the Library of Alexandria—I’m running out of room for me. Could people submit their stories over the Internet instead of through the mail?” Reginald Gales wrote that he’d sent out a fax to computer artists, asking for submissions; and in fact MCI was offering to post the works of electronic artists, not just writers. Under the subject line “Excellent Proposition,” Curtiss Bruno asked: “Hey Darlene, want to come by and check out the romance section of our newest catalog?” Funny. The TV commercials had led me to believe he might be tiring of the chase. Marta Dragelov passed on some funny trivia from a book she was researching. Peter Hoffman announced that he would be out of the office the next week but would be keeping in touch with electronic mail.
So, yes, I could read the same e-mail as Darlene could. But that still wasn’t full interactivity. I wanted a two-way, and the “Compose” command intrigued me; perhaps I could e-mail the crew behind the Darlene character. I wrote that I was a real writer, working on a real book, for a real publisher; could they please tell me what kind of responses the people at Gramercy Press were getting over the Internet? And how about Darlene?
“What’s she like?” I was thinking. “How’d those people choose her? Does she enjoy computers? Has she been on the Net?” Once I established contact with the virtual Darlene’s keepers, perhaps I could find out.