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The driver stays with the car while Lara accompanies me into the building.
"Hello, Mrs. Mancini. If you will just follow me?" A woman around my age indicates a hallway off the main reception area.
I hadn't even had to tell them why I was here. Which is a good thing, since I'm not absolutely sure what that is. However, I'm used to this treatment.
Keeping a Mancini waiting in Vegas is like expecting a member of the President's family to check in with reception in Washington D.C. – it's not going to happen.
I'm a little startled when I am led into an exam room rather than one of the doctor's offices. Lara waits outside the door.
"Let's get you into a gown and then we'll check your weight and vitals." The woman hands me a folded garment.
Not wanting to reveal my confusion, I take it.
"I'll give you a minute to change." She leaves.
I drop the gown on the exam table and whip my phone out of my purse to check my calendar again. Maybe I missed something. I've already had my yearly physical. So, what is going on?
The note in my calendar reads:
Dr. Hewitt
11:15 a.m.
The Smithson Building
I do a quick search on Dr. Hewitt and find several in Las Vegas. One is a psychiatrist. Doubtful. Two are general practitioners. Possible. Another is a podiatrist. Unlikely. Another is a fertility specialist. Yeah, no. There is a physical therapist as well and even a naturopath by that name.
None of them list the Smithson Building as their location, but that doesn't mean much since not all of them have locations listed, and those that do give physical addresses.
So, I search on the Smithson Building and find a physical address to compare. Is it ridiculous that I have no actual idea where I am in Las Vegas? Mamma would chastise me. I should always be aware of my surroundings and location.
I've grown lax, trusting Lara and my driver to get me where I need to be when I need to be there.
Usually, my personal assistant is with us as well, but not always and I hadn't questioned when Janine wasn't in the car. I'd assigned her several tasks for today and had assumed she was working on them.
I wish she were here now because I'm certain she knows why I am here.
Before I can cross-reference the physical address for the building with the Dr. Hewitts I found in my search, the door opens.
"Oh, you aren't changed." The woman isn't smiling now. In fact, she looks annoyed. "Dr. Hewitt made time in his schedule for you despite being fully booked. Patients have to wait months to get in to see him, but Mr. Mancini insisted."
Okaaay. "For what exactly?" I ask.
The woman's mouth twists in a frown. "For an exam." She says it like I'm not very bright.
Her attitude irritates me, but one thing a mafia wife learns to deal with is people, especially made men, thinking she's not as smart as they are.
I'm no ornament, but this woman clearly doesn't know that.
"I'll change. Give me another minute."
"I hope you mean that literally," the woman says and then leaves in a huff.
Regardless of her clear annoyance, I don’t rush removing my dark pink Chanel sheath dress and cream colored short cardigan. While February in Las Vegas is nowhere near as cold as New York City, it stays under seventy degrees most days, making a light jacket or sweater necessary.
I lay my clothes neatly over the back of a chair before donning the examination gown. I don't take off my jewelry or shoes since I wasn't asked to. Besides, there are no socks or booties provided.
I keep my purse nearby. Though I'm positive Lara wouldn't allow me to be in a dangerous situation, I feel better having easy access to my gun.
