Mr. Doherty had not come.

To her left were two men from the mail room. Tweedledee and Tweedledeedum. As far as she knew, no one ever used those names in their presence. To her right was Barry. Then two women—kitchen staff?—who complained about the food all through dinner; in the end they left their mashed potatoes and beans uneaten.

Jill enjoyed everything and was glad no one offered seconds or she would have been unable to resist. She had been careful not to eat too quickly, to chew with her mouth closed. She placed her fork down, pausing after each bite. Last night she had propped a mirror on the kitchen table so she could watch herself eat.

Pitchers of ice water sat in the center. She decided not to drink water; asking someone to pass her the pitcher would mean interrupting a conversation and she wasn't certain how this could be done without appearing impolite or worse, being ignored.

A waitress whisked away the plates and the cutlery. Another poured coffee. Their uniforms reminded Jill of the dress she had picked up at Sadie's, a short black number with an open white collar. Slimming, the saleslady had offered. All the time she was eating, she could feel Barry looking at her. Barry from Sales had suggested they could come together, but he was turning out to be too common for her liking, squeezing her knee every time he finished a joke, not one of which was really funny. She couldn't imagine Mr. Doherty forgetting his manners; he was always so polite, whenever he came through the lobby. "Good morning, Miss Baxter" or "How are you today, Miss Baxter." He knew her name and she had only been with the company two months.

Tweedledee bumped Jill's arm and the coffee sloshed out of her cup, leaving a stain on the white tablecloth. He mumbled an apology; she hurriedly placed the saucer over the stain and watched with dismay as it took on a life of its own, spread out and down the tablecloth. She re-arranged the cloth napkin over her lap—one accident might lead to another—and focused her attention to the front of the room.

Behind the podium, Mrs. Bowles, a large woman with thinning blond hair was thanking everyone who had contributed to the success of the annual company dinner. She had a long list of names. In the end she thanked Mr. Doherty, chief executive officer and owner of Acme Boxes and Labels. The audience clapped on cue and it was on this wave of applause that Jill imagined He would enter.

He would walk past the tables near the door. Jill's table. She played out the different scenes in her head. Mr. Doherty, so nice of you to come. Perhaps, she could call him Jack. Hi Jack. Jill. The receptionist in the lobby. No, that wouldn't do at all. Jack and Jill would elicit ridicule. She could start using her second name, Deborah. It had substance. She sat up tall and straight. He would acknowledge her greeting, shake hands, move easily between the tables, saying hello to others in turn, before finding the table reserved for him. His chair just like hers. The backdrop would be serene: floor to ceiling windows, sheer curtains, vertical stripes of light and muted gray.

The woman at the podium began to speak, again. She was inviting everyone to the lounge for after dinner drinks.

What about Mr. Doherty -- Jack? Wouldn't he simply unfold his long legs, stand up and walk out of the hotel? He was a busy man. She couldn't ask him to stay behind. But, what if Mr. Doherty couldn't move? What if some small mishap got in the way? Nothing life-threatening like a heart attack. A piece of pastry stuck in his throat. Easily dislodged. She would rush to save him, wrap her arms around his middle and thrust her fist against... She couldn't remember where exactly. In the abdomen? Just below the rib cage? And, what if she wasn't strong enough? Missed?

"Doherty stayed away," said Tweedledee.

"Do you blame him?" said Tweedledeedum.

Jill felt rather shaky. "Was there something wrong..." she began.

"That's why they stayed away from chicken this year," said one of the kitchen ladies. She looked at Jill then gave Barry a playful jab in the shoulder. "He's the one who saved him."

Barry came up behind Jill and slid his arm around her midriff. "If you ever need to learn how to do the Heimlich Maneuver." He gently pressed his fist just under her rib cage.