“Let me help you, Mrs. Tremont.” Bill, her driver, took her alligator Birkin and almost lifted her onto the two-foot step into the car.

“I’m fine, Bill.” She smiled at him. Bill never quite got that because Judy spent sixty minutes on a StairMaster four times a week at level ten that the incline into the Mercedes SUV was a piece of cake. “I’m going to 102nd Street and Fifth Avenue. We’re picking up Charlotte at the doctor’s office.”

From Judy’s point of view, shortly after 9/11 everyone and their mother felt a need to come and visit New York. But the worst traffic days were the ones when the president decided to come to town. As she sat stalled on Park Avenue and Eighty-sixth Street, Judy’s positive energy began collapsing. She didn’t know who she resented more—the president for showing up, the terrorists for executing their hideous plan, or Dr. Francesca Weissman for moving her goddamn office.

“Could you take Madison, please!” Judy lowered the glass divider. “Bill, Madison Avenue please!” She was a little more irritable than she meant to be, and she decided to finally blame it all on Frankie Weissman. Adrienne Strong-Rodman had warned Judy about the waiting room with the welfare mothers and the germ-ridden toys, and Judy was not about to sacrifice her daughter’s health for some liberal doctor’s political agenda.

“Sorry, Mrs. Tremont. I’m doing the best I can.” Bill smiled into the mirror.

“Bill, it’s not your fault,” Judy sighed. She often wished the rest of the world could be as courtly as Bill.

Right then Judy resolved that after this appointment she’d ask Arnie Berkowitz for the name of a new pediatrician. Arnie had a joint degree in pediatrics and psychiatry with a specialty in adolescent medicine. He was everyone’s answer to medical anxiety, and he did wonders with Ritalin. Surely he could recommend someone who was a little more convenient and a little less strange.

When Judy’s car finally pulled up to the building on 102nd and Fifth she was thirty minutes late.

“Bill, I’ll be right out.” Judy smiled at him. She had no idea how people could get anywhere without a car. Seeing several off-duty yellow cabs pass by, Judy once again felt centered. She’d go into the office, pick up her daughter and the nanny, and never come back to this hellhole again.

“Your daughter will be right out.” Rosita looked up at Judy. “She’s inside getting her flu shot. You can join her back there if you like.”

A small Puerto Rican child began coughing on a toy car while a grungy pink poodle barked at Judy’s shoes.

“I’ll just wait here.” Judy had no desire to encounter the germs that must be alighting in the examining room. She picked up a copy of Manhattan magazine from the side table. Deliberately she flipped past the 1930s glamour photo of Samantha and stopped at the bright headline of a new page. “The Best Pediatricians in New York.”