The next morning Adam was so upset to wake up and find Jennifer’s side of the bed empty, that he left the apartment without even bothering to have a cup of coffee. By eight-thirty he was pacing restlessly outside GYN Associates, waiting for the office to open. The moment he saw Christine he began pressing the bell.

“Hello, Adam Schonberg.”

Adam thought it was propitious that she’d remembered his name. He adjusted his dark blue knit tie and said with the sincerest smile he could muster, “I was in the neighborhood so I thought I’d drop by and get an update on DJ’s batting average.”

“He’s doing terrific,” said Christine. “Better than even I anticipated. In fact, last Friday…”

Adam tuned out as he tried to organize his thoughts. When Christine paused for breath, he said, “What are the chances that you can get me in to see Dr. Vandermer?”

“Dr. Vandermer is at the Julian Clinic,” she said.

“He’s gone already?”

“Yup. The whole office is a disaster. Yesterday was his last day here, even though he has hundreds of patients scheduled for the next six months. I’ll be on the phone from now until Christmas.”

“So it wasn’t expected?” asked Adam.

“Hardly,” said Christine. “He came back from his cruise and told Dr. Stens and Dr. Baumgarten that he was leaving. He said he’d had it with private practice.”

That was exactly what Percy had said about Foley, thought Adam, as Christine turned away to answer the phone.

“What a mess,” she said once she’d hung up. “And all the patients are mad at me.”

“Did Dr. Vandermer behave strangely when he got back from the cruise?” asked Adam.

“I’ll say,” laughed Christine. “Nothing we did was good enough for him. He drove us all crazy, though in some ways he was a lot more considerate. Before, he’d always been pretty abrupt.”

Remembering his own meeting with the doctor, Adam felt that “abrupt” was a generous description of the man’s manner.

“The strangest thing about the affair,” continued Christine, “is that Dr. Vandermer’s partner, Dr. Foley, did the very same thing. And at the time it made Dr. Vandermer furious. But it wasn’t so bad when Dr. Foley left because there were four doctors to take up the slack. Now there are only two because poor Dr. Smyth is still in the hospital with his weird disease.”

“What kind of disease?” asked Adam.

“I don’t know the name,” she said. “It’s some kind of trouble with his nerves. I remember when it started.” She lowered her voice as if what she was saying were a secret. “One moment he was normal, the next he was making strange faces. It was grotesque. And very embarrassing.”

A woman entered the office and came up to the reception desk, and Adam stepped out of the way, thinking that Smyth’s problem was similar to the case of tardive dyskinesia that he had discussed in his presentation at the medical school. In that case the cause was an unexpected reaction to tranquilizers.

“Do you know if Dr. Smyth had any psychiatric problems?” Adam asked once the patient was seated.

“I don’t think so,” said Christine. “He was one of the nicest young men. Looks a little bit like you. Dark, curly hair.”

“What hospital is he in?” asked Adam.

“He was admitted to University, but I heard one of the nurses say that he was going to be transferred to the Julian Clinic.”

The phone rang again, and Christine reached for it.

“One last question,” said Adam. “Did Foley or Smyth go on a Conference Cruise like Dr. Vandermer?”

“I think they both did,” said Christine, lifting the phone. “GYN Associates, could you please hold?” Turning back to Adam, she asked, “Would you like to see either Dr. Stens or Dr. Baumgarten?”

“Not today,” said Adam. “Another time, when things aren’t quite so hectic. Give my best to DJ.”

Christine gave Adam a thumbs-up sign and pushed the blinking button on the telephone.

Leaving the office, Adam felt he could no longer ignore the strange coincidences relating to the Julian Clinic. Why had so many doctors abruptly left their practices to work there? And why, after doing so, had Vandermer suddenly decided to prescribe pregdolen to Jennifer? As unpleasant as this last interview would be, Adam felt he had no choice but to confront the obstetrician. He had to convince him either to treat Jennifer without medication or to relinquish her as a patient. Adam knew he couldn’t persuade his wife to change physicians on his own.

As he approached the southern limits of Harlem, he saw the clinic towering over the surrounding tenements. Admiring its mirrored surface, Adam realized that it must have been designed by the same architects who had built Arolen headquarters. The office building was better suited to its surroundings. The clinic struck Adam as a twenty-first-century vision flung into a two-hundred-year-old setting.

A half block away Adam found a parking spot and backed into it. Taking his briefcase in case he needed to disguise his visit as a sales call, he jogged up the broad steps to the clinic’s entrance.

The moment he walked inside his suspicions dissipated. He had intended to march through the lobby to the OB-GYN section as if he were a member of the staff. From his experience as a medical student he knew that if someone acted as if he belonged, he could go anywhere in a hospital. But the relaxed atmosphere of the Julian changed his mind. He walked directly up to the large information booth and said he wished to speak with Dr. Vandermer.

“Certainly,” said the receptionist. She picked up a phone and relayed Adam’s request. “The doctor is in,” she said, smiling broadly. “Do you know how to get to the GYN clinic?”

“Maybe I should ask the doctor if he has time to see me. I want to talk to him about my wife.”

“Of course he’ll see you,” she said, as if Adam had lost his senses. “Let me call one of the orderlies.” She pressed a small bell on the counter and a young man in blue shirt and white chino pants appeared. The receptionist gave him instructions.

He led Adam down a long central hallway, past a flower shop, a bookstore, a pleasant-looking cafeteria.

“This is an impressive place,” said Adam.

“Yes,” said the young man mechanically.

Adam glanced at him as they walked. He had a broad, expressionless face. Looking more carefully, Adam thought he seemed drugged; he was probably a psychiatric case. A lot of the chronic patients worked in hospitals. It made them feel more confident.

The man left Adam in a lounge that resembled a private living room rather than a hospital waiting room. There was a couch, two chairs, and a small desk. Strange clinic, thought Adam as he walked to the window. The darkened glass gave a peculiar cast to the row houses across the street. He felt as if he were looking at an old photograph.

He wandered back to the couch and began leafing through one of the magazines. A few minutes later the door opened and Dr. Vandermer came in. Adam got hastily to his feet.

The man was imposing, especially in his starched white coat. But he seemed less hostile than at their first meeting.

“Adam Schonberg, welcome to the Julian,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Adam, relieved and at the same time taken aback by Vandermer’s cordiality. “I’m surprised to find you here. I thought you were very happy in your practice.”

“I was at one time,” said Dr. Vandermer. “But fee-for-service medicine is a thing of the past. Here we try to keep people well, instead of just trying to cure them when they are sick.”

Adam noticed that Vandermer’s voice had an oddly flat inflection, as if he were reciting from memory. “I wanted to talk about Jennifer,” he said.

“I assumed as much,” said Dr. Vandermer. “I asked the geneticist to come by.”

“Fine. But first I want to discuss the pregdolen.”

“Has it helped your wife’s nausea?” asked Dr. Vandermer.