The Funeral Planner

by Lynn Isenberg

  Once again, Derek Rogers’s name is in print. A brief blurb mentions his appearance in Washington, D.C., with the Senate Special Committee on Aging and the Federal Trade Commission. Why would Derek Rogers be concerned with that? What did aging have to do with art? Unlike other professions, didn’t aging artists possess greater bodies of work giving them greater recognition and greater value in their senior years than that of young, struggling, unknown artists? But knowing Derek, there had to be a twist. Then I think about what Victor said: Keep your eye on the pin. Yes, I tell myself, stop looking at Derek and stay on your own track.

  With that I put the paper down and write up my action plan for the rest of the week.

  I sit around the kitchen table at my parents’ house with Charlie, Eleanor and Daniel. We sip tea and nibble sliced oranges, except for Daniel, the perfect picture of misery with his all-black wardrobe and matching facial expression.

  “What was her overriding reason?” asks Eleanor.

  “I’m not proactive enough. Correction—at all,” replies Daniel.

  “What are you supposed to be proactive about?” asks Charlie.

  “I’m supposed to have us counting dollars…not pennies. I’m supposed to find a way to provide a lifestyle with some modicum of security. She also says I don’t do enough to help out with Keating, or play with Andy—that I’m too busy locked up in my room…creating doom and gloom, as she puts it.”

  “That rhymes,” I say.

  Daniel shoots me a look.

  “Sorry.”

  “Has she filed for a divorce?” asks Eleanor.

  “She wants a separation for now and probably a divorce later,” says Daniel. “She wants us both to take time to think about what we want.”

  Eleanor and Charlie pause. They know how hard it is for Daniel to make money and how hard it is for Rebecca to raise a family without financial support.

  “What about the money you’re inheriting from Uncle Sam?” asks Charlie. “I would think that would be a big help.”

  Daniel sighs. “Oh, it is. But even with all of that going to pay off all of our bills, we’re still in debt.”

  “How much debt are you talking about?” asks Eleanor.

  “The loan officer at the bank said it was over a hundred thousand.”

  “How did that happen?” asks Charlie.

  “That’s the thing,” says Daniel. “I have no idea.”

  “I do,” I say, then suck on an orange.

  They all look at me…waiting.

  “Risk management,” I say, as if it makes perfect sense.

  “What are you talking about?” asks Daniel.

  Charlie and Eleanor raise eyebrows, as well.

  I put the orange down to answer. “Well, nowadays, the cost of raising a family includes accounting for risk management in everything you do, and that, on top of inflation, costs money. It’s no longer just a bicycle, it’s the bicycle helmet, and the protective knee pads and the wrist guards. It’s no longer just a stroller, it’s the top-of-the-line ultimate-safety stroller. It’s no longer regular produce, it’s organic produce. It’s no longer public schools because they’ve gone to pot; its private schools that cost a fortune, not to mention the fund-raisers where they constantly hit you up for more contributions on top of the annual fee. And it’s no longer a good ol’ used car, it’s the family van with all the safety features and the safety buckles required by law when it comes to driving around kids… It all adds up… Shall I go on?”

  “How do you know all this if you don’t have kids?” asks Daniel.

  I lift up my trusty Financial Street Journal.

  Charlie looks at Daniel. “So what are you going to do?”

  “First I want to know if it’s okay if I stay here for a while so I can save some money and be close to the kids.”

  “Of course,” answers Eleanor.

  “Take the time you need,” adds Charlie.

  “Thanks,” says Daniel. “I’ve got a meeting with a publisher next week and I’m hoping that goes somewhere.”

  “Where do you want it to go?” I ask.

  “I want it to go toward a publishing deal.”

  “What if you get published but they don’t give you an advance?”

  “What are you getting at?” asks Daniel defensively.

  “Just trying to help you focus on what you really want,”

  I say.

  “I’ll manage on my own, Maddy,” says Daniel. “You’re hardly the picture of success. Mocking the dead for a buck. Death is not a fucking party.”

  The comment stings. “That’s what you think I’m doing? I raised $250,000 to start this business. Obviously, the idea has merit.”

  “Yeah, merit to your pocketbook,” says Daniel.

  “Please take your verbal abuse outside,” says Eleanor. “I will not have it in this house.” She turns to me and smiles with genuine happiness. “Did you really raise all that money for your business, honey?”

  “The first VC I went to,” I add, with bittersweet tears running down my face.

  Charlie smiles. “That’s fantastic, Madison. Congratulations.”

  Daniel gets up and leaves the room.

  “Don’t take it personally,” says Charlie. “He’s just going through a tough time right now and he’s taking it out on you.”

  “So what am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Practice compassion.”

  “Good answer,” says Eleanor.

  “I’m not staying here,” I say. “I’ll stay with Sierra while I’m in town.”

  Sierra opens the front door and I drag my luggage inside. “I can’t thank you enough, Sierra,” I say.

  “Don’t be silly. I love having you here. And you don’t have to stay on the couch, you know.”

  “No. I insist.”

  Inside the foyer, I spot a beautifully framed black-and-white photograph of Sierra in the arms of a handsome man. “Is that Milton?” I ask.

  Sierra nods. “That’s Milton.”

  “He’s handsome. You guys look good together. Happy.” I take a deep breath. “Jeez, I feel like I’m hitting loss on every level.”

  “Please don’t say that, Madison.” She puts her arms around me. “I will never be a loss to you, ever.”

  “Look, I want you to be happy. I’m just ultra-sensitive about loss these days. Apparently, any kind.”

  “I know. It’s okay. I’m always there for you.”

  “I know. Thanks.” I put on a cheerful face. “So…how is he?”

  “He’s good. He’s a good guy. And we have fun…when we see each other.”

  “He travels that much?”

  “Yeah, but it’s okay because I’m so busy working for you.” She smiles.

  “Speaking of which—” I pull out an envelope for her “—your first official paycheck… I included your reimbursement for the trip to Vegas.”

  “Thanks. Now that you’re here, let me show you what I’ve done for Mr. Pintock.”

  Sierra pops the video in the machine and…

  I sit with Arthur in front of a large flat-screen television inside his office showing him the rough cut of his life bio video. He watches intently.

  On screen, an executive from Pintock International comments, “Arthur Pintock. He’s a genius who knows how to turn a company around. A hell of a guy.”

  An executive from a furniture design firm speaks. “Arthur is a professional. He really understands how good design can enhance an environment, especially the workplace. He’s a true visionary.”

  “You went to Zeeland?” asks Arthur.

  “I like to be thorough,” I reply.

  A married couple appears on screen standing in front of their home, thanking Pintock International for the mortgage that helped them acquire their first house.

  Three businessmen stand with pride in front of a giant shopping mall pointing to its expansiveness. They thank Pintock International for helping them make their dreams come true.

  We cut to Arthur
Pintock in his New York office. “When you’re having a bad day, the best thing to do is simply…Aeron-it.”

  Grace Pintock appears on screen. She speaks of Arthur with disciplined emotion. “Arthur…well, I’d have to say…his intentions were always honorable.”

  “Intentions?” asks Arthur out loud. “What about my actions?”

  “She didn’t discuss those.”

  Grace continues on the video. “I believe his potential was…minimized by his grief over Tara. He knew how to work but he missed out on the chance to live. Most people work to live. But Arthur lives to work….”

  There’s a montage of photos of Arthur Pintock. Every photo is work-related, from his childhood where we see him on a scooter selling ice cream, to his higher education graduations, to his days in corporate America. There are photos of Tara and Grace, but few have Arthur in them. The music underneath is “The New World Symphony” by Dvorak, for its likeness to marching band music, with a full dynamic range and strong, hearty finish.

  Arthur looks at me. “I believe the music has more range than me,” he says quietly.

  “You didn’t specify a particular kind of music and I wanted to give the piece some…flavor that also reflects the complexity of running a huge corporation.”

  He looks disappointed. “Is that how people really perceive me?”

  “They have the utmost respect for you.”

  He shakes his head,“Come on, Madison. I look more like a commercial product for an impervious CEO than a human being.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, Arthur.”

  “I would, and I did.” He pauses, thinking some more.

  I show him the storyboards for when the pre-need becomes time of need. “Here’s a sketch of the service. I removed the standard seating and replaced it with a variety of Herman Miller furniture. I thought funeral favors could be gift certificates to Herman Miller, or stock options, depending on how elaborate you want to go. And I thought you might want to designate charitable contributions to Detroit’s Center for Creative Studies—in particular, their design division.”

  “These are impressive ideas, Madison. Impressive for a, uh, workaholic.”

  “I would say achiever.”

  “That’s a euphemism for workaholic,” he says, and stands up. “You’ve done an outstanding job. I want you to use what you need to for the purposes of launching your business. And I’ll recommend your company to others. But with respect to my own pre-need requirements, I want to reshoot this entire piece. I’ll let you know when I’m ready. I’ll pay for it all over again.”

  “Are you sure? We can re-edit it.”

  “More sure than ever. But first, I need to have a long talk…with myself.” He presses the intercom button on his phone and addresses his executive assistant,“Anita, what’s the rest of my day like?”

  “You have a conference call with Mr. Haggerty at noon, lunch with the corporate governance committee, a presentation from Herman Miller on their new office plan, updates from the senior executives in Tokyo and drinks with a Mr. Derek Rogers, sir.”

  I do a double take. The sound of Derek Rogers’s name sends chills down my spine.

  “Remind me who Mr. Rogers is again?” asks Arthur.

  “You met him at…your daughter’s funeral, sir.”

  What is Derek Rogers doing meeting with Mr. Pintock? I wonder. But then I remember his actions at Tara’s funeral and I am no longer surprised by his means—it’s the end that concerns me. If Arthur is looking for a successor, after all, Derek should be his last choice.

  Mr. Pintock takes a moment and replies. “I’d like you to cancel everything for today. In fact, please cancel all my meetings for the rest of the month. Tell Mr. Rogers I’ll have to reschedule. I’m going on sabbatical.”

  Operational Strategy: A Power Surge for Lights Out

  True to his word, Arthur promotes Lights Out to his colleagues and my phone begins to ring. One by one the jobs start flowing in.

  Arnie Haggerty, Sr. Loan Officer, Chase Manhattan Bank

  The first call I receive is from a retiring banker named Arnie Haggerty, who’s done business with Arthur for over twenty years.

  We meet for breakfast in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. The first thing he asks me is if I like coffee. I nod. This pleases him. I order poached eggs, rye toast and coffee.

  Mr. Haggerty orders egg whites and spinach, and then turns to the waitress. “Shirley, I’d like to try a new brand today. This one’s from the Dominican Republic. Can you brew this for me? Thanks, dear.” He hands her a fresh-ground bag of coffee. “For both of us.” He winks at me. “You’ll love this coffee.” He turns to Shirley again. “By the way, did you like that nutmeg flavor I got you for Christmas?”

  “I loved it!” says Shirley. “I finished it in a week!”

  Arnie turns his attention back to me. “As you can see, I like to prepare for everything—that goes for death, too.” He smiles magnanimously. “So, I don’t look so bad for seventy-eight, eh?”

  “You look great,” I say. And he does. Fit and trim.

  “I ran a six-mile marathon last week. I do it every year for charity in memory of my wife. So Arthur tells me I need to bare my soul to you. Did he tell you I was a semi-practicing Lutheran until my wife passed?”

  “He didn’t tell me anything, Mr. Haggerty.”

  “Call me Arnie. I’ve got three children who live across the country and no longer talk to each other. That’s the only sad thing you’ll hear from me. So where do we go from here?”

  “My job is to find out what and who is important to you and then create a plan for the best way to celebrate your life. I have a questionnaire that will help.” I hand it to him. “I’ll need photos and a list of names and numbers of who you want interviewed for the life bio video. Do you have any hobbies, Arnie?”

  “I love landscape photography. I do my own printing, too. My work is on display in several galleries in Michigan, has been for the past ten years. Oh, and I’m on the board of the Detroit Zoo, and let’s see, I’m an animal rights activist.”

  I write that down. “Is there anything in particular you’re known for at the office?”

  He laughs. “Probably my annual holiday gifts. I always give gourmet coffee.”

  Arnie and I meet several more times and each time I experience a new kind of gourmet coffee. Once we meet in his offices and he offers me use of the videoconferencing room.

  I compile my ideas and video conference Eve Gardner on the UCLA campus. “Since you’re the queen of presentation, how would you like to stylize a client presentation for me?”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Give it a graphic flair, you know, à la Eve.”

  She stares me down.

  “For eight points,” I add. “And I’ll cover all the costs.”

  “How many points do I need for an A?”

  “Fifty. That includes participation, not just pop quizzes here and there.”

  “What am I at now?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “I’ll do it for fifteen.”

  “Man, you’re tough, Eve. Ten, and you deliver on time.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh, all right,” she says, sighing.

  “And, Eve, a cheery countenance gets you a bonus point.”

  “Ha-ha.” She quickly draws a happy face and tapes it to the lens.

  Armed with my PDA-cell phone-camera, I do a little research, starting with the Detroit Zoo, where I meet with the administrator and take photos of specific locations. I visit galleries where Mr. Haggerty’s work is on display and I stop in at one of those do-it-yourself ceramic shops. I e-mail the photos to Eve with instructions and one week later she delivers my ideas in a polished format.

  The next time I meet Arnie, I offer a slick presentation of visual concepts on high-end poster boards. Each display represents a variety of ways to celebrate his life.

  “Over here—” I point to a graphic display of coffee mugs “—we’ll have funeral favors.
” The next poster board reveals samples of Mr. Haggerty’s prized photographic work screened onto the coffee mugs. “To give it more meaning, I thought we could add your photographs to the mugs.”

  Mr. Haggerty nods. “I love these ideas.”

  “Now for location, I was thinking of this.” I reveal a visual display of the Detroit Zoo. “I suggest a ‘walking tribute’ at the zoo, with stops in front of different animals for those who want an opportunity to speak about you.”

  He looks thoughtful, and takes a sip of coffee from somewhere in Brazil.

  “In addition, we’ll have a gourmet coffee stand at the zoo’s entrance.” I show the poster depicting the scenario. “We’ll serve gourmet coffee and everyone will receive a digital camera to take photos of the animals. But what will make this an even more unique memento is a superimposed photograph of you, Arnie, alongside their favorite animal. We can either have that photo superimposed on the coffee mugs or use photos of your landscapes. Now for music, I’d like to suggest this.” I hand him an iPod with all the samples I need from Ubiquitous Music. I hit Play so he can listen.

  “That’s fantastic. What is it?”

  “Symphonic Sounds of Africa,” I reply. “Well, what do you think, Arnie?”

  “I love it, Madison. Tell me, what kind of numbers are we talking about?”

  “Including the video tribute, digital cameras, coffee mugs and the day rental at the zoo with catering, valet parking and the gourmet coffee stand, for a hundred people, we’re looking at approximately $54,000.” I hand him a general breakdown list.

  He looks it over, sips his coffee and smiles. “I’m in.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Victor is more excited than I thought over the consummation of Arnie Haggerty’s pre-need deal. His enthusiasm breaks through his usual cool, calm demeanor. For a minute, I look at my phone, wondering if I’m talking to the same Victor.

  “This is great, Maddy. I’m proud of you, and I’m proud of Lights Out,” he says again. “This is real cause for celebration.”