rear-ended one another on route 91, causing a massive traffic jam and forcing them to drive slowly past an army of cops, sparked another round of belly laughs.
By eleven o’clock the twins’ eyes were at half-mast. Packy had a buzz on. Milo had limited himself to a couple of glasses of wine. He didn’t want to wake up tomorrow and forget anything that had been said. He also intended to stay sober until his money was safely under a mattress in Greenwich Village.
Jo-Jo pushed back his chair, stood up, and yawned. “I’m going to bed. Hey, Milo, that extra fifty thousand means you do the dishes.” He started to laugh, but Packy thumped on the table and ordered him to sit back down.
“We’re all tired, you idiot. But we have to talk business.”
With a burp he didn’t try to stifle, Jo-Jo slumped back into his chair. “I beg your pardon,” he mumbled.
“If we don’t get this right, you may be begging the governor for a pardon,” Packy shot across the table.
A nervous tremor ran through Milo’s body. He simply didn’t know what to expect next.
“Tomorrow we’re getting up real early. We’ll have some coffee, which Milo will have ready.”
Milo nodded.
“Then we back the flatbed out of the barn, drive to a tree a few miles from here that happens to be located on the property of a guy I worked for when I was a kid, and cut down this very special tree.”
“Cut down a tree?” Milo interrupted. “You’re not the only one cutting down a tree tomorrow,” he said excitedly. He ran over to the pile of newspapers by the back door. “Here it is, right on top!” he crowed. “Tomorrow at ten A.M. the blue spruce that was selected as this year’s Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is being cut down. They’ve been preparing it all week! Half the town will be there, and there’ll be lots of media—television, radio, you name it!”
“Where’s this tree?” Packy asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Hmmmm.” Milo searched the article. “I could really use a pair of reading glasses,” he observed. “Oh, here it is. The tree is on the Pickens property. Guess there’s good pickins on the Pickens property.” He laughed.
Packy jumped out of his seat. “Give me that!” he yelled. He grabbed the paper out of Milo’s hands. When he laid eyes on the picture of the tree—alone and majestic in a clearing—that was about to be sent to New York City, he let out a scream. “That’s my tree! That’s my tree!”
“There are a lot of nice trees around here we could cut down instead,” Milo suggested, trying to be helpful.
“Roll out the flatbed!” Packy ordered. “We’re cutting down my tree tonight!”
14
A t eleven o’clock, just before she got into bed, Alvirah stood at the window and looked out. Most of the villas were already in darkness. In the distance she could see the silhouette of the mountains. They’re so silent and still, she thought, sighing.
Willy was already in bed. “Is anything wrong, honey?”
“No, not at all. It’s just that I’m such a New Yorker, it’s hard to get used to so much quiet. At home the sounds of traffic and police sirens and trucks rumbling kind of blend into a lullaby.”
“Uh-huh. Come to bed, Alvirah.”
“But here it’s so peaceful,” Alvirah continued. “I bet if you walked along any of these paths right now, you wouldn’t hear a sound other than a little animal scampering through the snow or a tree rustling or maybe an owl hooting. It’s so different, isn’t it? In New York right now there’s probably a line of cars at Columbus Circle, honking their horns because the light just changed and somebody didn’t step on the gas fast enough. In Stowe you don’t hear a sound on the road. By midnight all the lights will be out. Everyone will be dreaming. I love it.”
A gentle snore from the bed told her that Willy had fallen fast asleep.
“Let’s see what’s going on in the world,” Nora suggested as Luke unlocked the door to
By eleven o’clock the twins’ eyes were at half-mast. Packy had a buzz on. Milo had limited himself to a couple of glasses of wine. He didn’t want to wake up tomorrow and forget anything that had been said. He also intended to stay sober until his money was safely under a mattress in Greenwich Village.
Jo-Jo pushed back his chair, stood up, and yawned. “I’m going to bed. Hey, Milo, that extra fifty thousand means you do the dishes.” He started to laugh, but Packy thumped on the table and ordered him to sit back down.
“We’re all tired, you idiot. But we have to talk business.”
With a burp he didn’t try to stifle, Jo-Jo slumped back into his chair. “I beg your pardon,” he mumbled.
“If we don’t get this right, you may be begging the governor for a pardon,” Packy shot across the table.
A nervous tremor ran through Milo’s body. He simply didn’t know what to expect next.
“Tomorrow we’re getting up real early. We’ll have some coffee, which Milo will have ready.”
Milo nodded.
“Then we back the flatbed out of the barn, drive to a tree a few miles from here that happens to be located on the property of a guy I worked for when I was a kid, and cut down this very special tree.”
“Cut down a tree?” Milo interrupted. “You’re not the only one cutting down a tree tomorrow,” he said excitedly. He ran over to the pile of newspapers by the back door. “Here it is, right on top!” he crowed. “Tomorrow at ten A.M. the blue spruce that was selected as this year’s Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is being cut down. They’ve been preparing it all week! Half the town will be there, and there’ll be lots of media—television, radio, you name it!”
“Where’s this tree?” Packy asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Hmmmm.” Milo searched the article. “I could really use a pair of reading glasses,” he observed. “Oh, here it is. The tree is on the Pickens property. Guess there’s good pickins on the Pickens property.” He laughed.
Packy jumped out of his seat. “Give me that!” he yelled. He grabbed the paper out of Milo’s hands. When he laid eyes on the picture of the tree—alone and majestic in a clearing—that was about to be sent to New York City, he let out a scream. “That’s my tree! That’s my tree!”
“There are a lot of nice trees around here we could cut down instead,” Milo suggested, trying to be helpful.
“Roll out the flatbed!” Packy ordered. “We’re cutting down my tree tonight!”
14
A t eleven o’clock, just before she got into bed, Alvirah stood at the window and looked out. Most of the villas were already in darkness. In the distance she could see the silhouette of the mountains. They’re so silent and still, she thought, sighing.
Willy was already in bed. “Is anything wrong, honey?”
“No, not at all. It’s just that I’m such a New Yorker, it’s hard to get used to so much quiet. At home the sounds of traffic and police sirens and trucks rumbling kind of blend into a lullaby.”
“Uh-huh. Come to bed, Alvirah.”
“But here it’s so peaceful,” Alvirah continued. “I bet if you walked along any of these paths right now, you wouldn’t hear a sound other than a little animal scampering through the snow or a tree rustling or maybe an owl hooting. It’s so different, isn’t it? In New York right now there’s probably a line of cars at Columbus Circle, honking their horns because the light just changed and somebody didn’t step on the gas fast enough. In Stowe you don’t hear a sound on the road. By midnight all the lights will be out. Everyone will be dreaming. I love it.”
A gentle snore from the bed told her that Willy had fallen fast asleep.
“Let’s see what’s going on in the world,” Nora suggested as Luke unlocked the door to
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