The Funeral Planner

by Lynn Isenberg

  “You can’t buy my business, Derek. It’s an honorable business and it’s not for sale to you, not for one hundred thousand or one hundred million, because no matter what, all you end up doing is leaving a black stain on whatever you touch!”

  Derek laughs. “Still sore about that, eh, Maddy. Let it go. It’s in the past.”

  “But this isn’t, and neither is Artists International, which apparently became Palette Enterprises,” I say, glancing between Derek and Jonny.

  Derek looks at both of us and drops all of his pretenses, including his fake smile. He snaps,“This conversation is over. If you wish to reconsider my offer, Madison, you know where to reach me.”

  As Derek turns to address the attendees in his booth, the Donald Trump look-alike walks up to my face and blurts, “You’re fired!”

  I look at him, shocked and indignant, and then instinctively slap him in the face. He stands there, stunned. He looks at Jonny, who impotently shrugs.

  Sierra stands at the corner of the aisle and has one eye on me and the other on the Lights Out booth. I see her gasp, “Oh, no” when my hand flies. I am marching toward the Lights Out booth, shaking, when I run right into Victor Winston.

  Victor must see that I’m pale. “Madison?”

  “What—I thought you had meetings in Phoenix.”

  “I saw the article in FSJ and got on the first plane here.” He looks around and sees the Tribute in a Box booth with Jonny Bright standing on the stage proselytizing. In one instant he gets it. “Jonny Bright is here?”

  “He never signed my NDA. Would you and Bobby Garelik testify if I sued him?”

  “Maddy. Listen to me,” says Victor. “Jonny Bright owes Bobby Garelik half a million dollars. It’s unlikely Garelik would ever testify against Jonny if he ever wants to see his money. That would put me in a dead zone on the matter.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Victor nods. “I would testify, but we wouldn’t get any traction on it legally.”

  “Then what’s the point of having an NDA?”

  “The truth is, not much.”

  I shake my head and mutter, “There was a movie we watched in our Ethics class in college. It was a 1957 version of The Brothers Karamazov.”

  “Starring Yul Brenner and William Shatner,” says Victor. “What about it?”

  “There’s a line where they talk about how business can contaminate you. That’s how I feel now,” I say, dropping my head.

  Victor gently lifts my face up by my chin. “The point of that story, Maddy, is that anything is lawful, even crime, because everything…is not lawful.”

  “I really hate conundrums.”

  “Leave the conundrums to me and keep your vision on Lights Out. The game is far from over.”

  I try to pull myself together again. “Well, um, what’s the next step?”

  “Same as before, you just stick to the strategy. And expect there to be losing streaks in the short run. Remember, you’re the one who envisioned a great opportunity. Your instincts for balancing risk against reward are spot-on. Don’t forget that.”

  “Should we have an advisory board meeting?” I ask, trying hard to get back to business.

  “Good idea. Let’s set it up for next week.”

  Back at the Lights Out booth Sierra waits for me. “Sierra, this is Victor Winston, of Winston Capital. Victor, this is Sierra D’Asanti—she’s the one…”

  Victor extends a hand. “So you’re the one who brilliantly puts the images together. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Sierra carefully looks him over, every inch, and then extends her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

  He looks around the booth. “You’ve both done a great job with this. The sculpture’s likeness to your uncle Sam is remarkable.” Then he sees samples of the framed leaf art. “What’s this?”

  “Maddy’s attempt to promote homegrown art,” says Sierra.

  “The leaf art is my nephew’s work. The poems are from his father, who doesn’t know that we’ve matched his words to dead leaves,” I explain.

  “I like it,” says Victor. “Have you sold any yet?”

  Sierra shakes her head.

  “Then I’ll be the first,” says Victor. And he buys two.

  For the next two days, Sierra, Victor and I work the booth to make strategic alliances with funeral homes outside of Derek Rogers’s domain. By the end of the trade show, we rack up partnerships with twelve independent funeral homes.

  The second I return to Los Angeles, I contact everyone on the advisory board to set an urgent meeting for next week in New York, making it convenient for the three board members who live there. I offer to cover expenses to fly Richard Wright in from Michigan.

  I receive e-mails from JoAnna Myman at Event Ventures and from Adam Berman at Ubiquitous Music, both saying that due to company pressures at this time they have to decline from being part of the Lights Out Enterprises advisory board. Completely baffled, I call Adam asking for an explanation.

  “Derek offered me more money to be on his board, but I turned him down, Maddy. And then I realized that it’s too politically risky for me to be on any board at all right now. But if you ever need me for anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call. I think what you’re doing is smart and courageous. I just can’t personally be involved.”

  Then Richard Wright calls and tells me that he can’t do it, either.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I got bought out. My funeral home is part of a chain in a public company. It was the only way I could stay afloat. They used to let me do whatever I wanted. But they were taken over by another company. A thousand funeral homes are under new management now. And we’ve all been told we’re not allowed on boards of any other companies.”

  I ask what I know I don’t have to, but confirm it anyway. “What’s the name of the corporation who took you over?”

  “Tribute in a Box,” says Richard.

  Then Toby Helman calls from New York. “Maddy, you’re not going to believe this, but I have to resign from your board.”

  “You, too? Why?”

  “My boss has been asked to be on the board of directors of Derek Rogers’s new venture, to do exactly what I was doing for you. He says it’s a conflict of interest for me to be on your board if he’s on Derek’s, and told me I have to resign immediately.”

  “Wait a minute. You told me that your boss hated Derek Rogers for cheapening the value of the museum art with Palette Enterprises.”

  “Yes, he did,” explains Toby. “But I did some digging, and well, opinions change when you get paid to change them.”

  I rub my eyes and shake my head. “Okay, thanks for letting me know, Toby.”

  “No problem. If I see anything funky, Maddy, I’ll let you know.”

  I hang up and look at Uncle Sam in the Ziploc bag resting on my windowsill. “Are you hearing this? This must be the part you warned me about, Uncle Sam. Only you’re not here to guide me through it. You broke your promise.”

  I meet with Victor at the offices of Shepherd Venture Capital. For the first time I sit in his office, which is as immaculate as he is. The entire room is sophisticated in design; there’s a photo of his parents behind his desk, and another photo of Victor with a beautiful woman by his side.

  I wonder if that’s his girlfriend or perhaps his wife. For all I know, Victor could be the kind of guy who doesn’t wear a wedding ring so as not to hamper business opportunities. I realize he knows a lot more about my personal life than I do about his. But then, I never wanted to know. I always believe it’s best to keep personal and business separate, like church and state. But suddenly, I have this inexplicable desire to know who the woman in the photo might be.

  Karina brings me a hot cup of black tea. I thank her and place it on the side table.

  “Look, Victor, the entire advisory board has either been forced out or defected to Derek Rogers’s camp. By the way, is that even legal?”

  “It’s sketchy. Bu
t I don’t want you to worry about that. It’s a ploy by Derek to psych you out. He’s the kind of chronic liar who gets people to believe him even when they know he’s lying.”

  “Should I counter? And offer the board more money to stay with Lights Out?”

  “No,” advises Victor. He leans closer to me. “No one gets a second chance to prove their loyalty. Once betrayed, it’s forever gone. But don’t dwell on that. We have other work to focus on.”

  “Like what?”

  “Putting together an IPO.”

  “Now? List the company on the New York stock exchange with Derek Rogers sabotaging everything? Besides, I thought we were keeping it private for now. Didn’t you tell Bobby Garelik we weren’t opening it up?”

  “With Derek in the picture, it’s a new ball game. We need to think bigger. And I underestimated the potential here. Besides, competition is good, Maddy. It keeps you on your toes.”

  “Keeps you on your toes?” I repeat, remembering those were Uncle Sam’s words.

  “Believe it or not, it will help with an IPO,” adds Victor. “I want to offer a Series B at five dollars a share. And I’d like to open it up to Garelik.”

  “Is that high?” I ask, trying hard to keep my eyes from shifting between Victor and the photo of him with the unknown woman.

  “Not when you’ve been able to show revenue already.”

  “How many shares do you want to sell? And what will we use the money for?”

  “Five million shares,” Victor says confidently. “The money will go toward business development and marketing. I want you to hire full-time staff and start delegating some of your responsibilities.”

  “How much of the company will Garelik get? Assuming he buys the entire Series B round?”

  “We’ll give him fifteen percent. That gives us plenty for stock-option grants down the line. You good with all this?”

  I nod.

  “Okay. I want you in real offices now. There’s an extra space at the end of the hall. If Bobby comes in on this I’d like to include those offices in the deal.” He gets up from behind his desk. “Ready to take your baby into puberty?”

  “If a Series B equals puberty, then what constitutes adulthood?”

  “A successful IPO and a profitable business,” answers Victor.

  “And maturity?”

  “A seminal exit strategy,” he laughs. “Keep me posted on any hires.”

  He gets up from behind his desk and offers me a hug. I stare at the photo behind him, wondering but not wanting to intrude. I refrain from asking. Maybe I’m afraid to know the answer, but more importantly, why did I even care?

  The UCLA cafeteria is charged with students, youthful energy and wireless laptops. I sit with Eve in a booth overlooking the campus. I’ve come prepared, dressed in one of my finest Eve concoctions and wearing the black ribbon, necklace version, specifically for her.

  “I like your outfit,” she says with a boastful smile.

  “You taught me well. So how’s the fashion therapy business coming along?”

  “Here’s my business plan. Will you be on my board of advisors?” she asks, handing me a pamphlet.

  “Of course I will. I’m honored. Who’s your target market?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve decided to give the MBAs here a second dimension through fashion. It’s close to home, so my marketing comes down to direct word-of-mouth, as in my mouth.”

  “Well, you’ve got the right mouth for it.” I smile as I sip a cappuccino.

  “Thanks. I was hoping you would also mouth your praises as a guest speaker and lead generating client. All you have to do is come to class and sing my praises. You know, talk about how what you wore to the VC meeting landed you your capital. That should be rather easy, don’t you think?”

  “Confidence is something you definitely don’t lack, Eve. Sure, I’d be glad to.”

  “Thanks,” she says, and scans the crowd for some divadressed dudes. “See that guy over there? He’s one of mine, and that girl, she’s one of mine, too.”

  There’s no question they’re the best dressed in the cafeteria.

  “How’s Lights Out?” she asks.

  “Great. I need to start hiring staff—one full-time and one part-time. Interested in the part-time?”

  “You’d hire me? Really?”

  “Well, only if you included designing my meeting wardrobe.”

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say, except that I’ve got a full schedule. I wouldn’t be able to until after spring break. But…you can hire one of my graduate makeovers for the full-time position. That would be good for my business. I’ll send you only my best dressed.”

  “Gee…thanks, Eve.”

  “You’re welcome. Shall we?” she asks, reaching for her Prada bag and getting up to go.

  “Shall we what?” I ask, still working on my cappuccino.

  “Go to my class, so you can talk to them. They’re waiting.”

  “Now? You set this up for now and didn’t tell me?”

  “First of all, I knew you’d come dressed to impress me to make me feel good about my…work with you—or shall I say, on you—and second, they sprung me with today so…here we are.”

  “I’m not p-prepared,” I stammer.

  “Oh, please, like you can’t improvise.”

  I shake my head. “Sometimes I wish Osaka never sent you.”

  She smiles at me. “You don’t really mean that. Otherwise you’d have come in your torn Levi’s. Come on, Osaka and twenty-two students are waiting.”

  I follow Eve, once again, wondering how that happened. We enter her classroom of first-year MBA students. Their eyes are filled with enthusiasm.

  Professor Osaka immediately stops in mid-lecture and smiles. “Class, we have a very special visitor today, my former student, runner-up in the Challenge a Vision Prize, the most promising ethical entrepreneur I know, Eve Gardner’s mentor and guest speaker, here to talk about Eve’s new venture, let’s welcome Ms. Madison Banks.”

  The class cheers as Professor Osaka relinquishes his lectern to Eve and me. Eve takes the microphone first like it’s oxygen she swallows every second. Her entire demeanor suddenly lights up the room.

  “Welcome, fellow students, to my business, FT 101, which stands for Fashion Therapy for beginners. And my first client is my mentor, Madison Banks, CEO of Lights Out Enterprises, a creative experience design firm specializing in preneed celebrations. It’s imperative for Madison Banks to look good when it comes to attracting her clients….which is where my new venture, FT 101, takes the ordinary and turns it into the extraordinary. Allow me to show you some examples. Toni, hit it, please.”

  The lights go dim and a pull-down screen automatically drops from the ceiling. In moments, several photos appear, photos of me wet and naked behind a towel in my doorway, photos of me in mismatched outfits, and then photos of me looking smashing in my Eve-do’s.

  “While Madison Banks has been playing mentor to me,” continues Eve on the microphone,“I have been playing fashion therapist to her. So you see, this has been an organic process. Here are some before and after shots. And here is the outfit that Madison Banks wore the day she secured her initial round of venture-capital funding for her new company called Lights Out Enterprises. A picture speaks a thousand words, but Madison is here to speak ten thousand more. Let’s all welcome my amazing mentor and my successful lead generating client, Ms. Madison Banks!”

  Eve joins in the round of applause and hands me the microphone.

  “Hi, everyone. It’s a pleasure to be here. First, I want to acknowledge Professor Osaka. He’s truly the best when it comes to entrepreneurial studies. He’s a master at closing deals, fair and square, even when you’re not aware that you’ve been party to one, like me, in this mentorship program. But somehow, it always turns into a win-win for everyone, even if one party might not think so at the time. You just have to have faith.” Everyone laughs. I smile at Osaka and at Eve, trying to contain my embarrassment at not bei
ng prepared, but then I realize, I am the one with the microphone now.

  “So what can I say? I’ve been mentoring Eve, not an easy task. As you can see, she’s quite strong-headed and determined to do things her way and on her terms. But that’s what you want when you’re looking for that perfect blend of fashion and therapy to guide you through the most delicate business opportunities. Let’s face it, we live in a society that judges a cover first and so you have to make a good presentation, not just with your, uh, presentation in terms of your, uh, ideas, but the very presentation of yourself. The key is to remain authentic to yourself in the process. And that’s what Eve does. She may challenge you along the way, testing your ethics when it comes to, say, wearing designer knock-offs, but isn’t that what every good therapist does? So in the end, when you wear an Eve-do, you, uh, well, you’re stronger for it, and you come to own it, so it’s really, truly you, the best of you, and when you’ve got the best of you in sync with…you, you naturally win…even VC money.”

  As I come to the end of my improvised speech, I realize that Eve’s very style of challenging and prodding, in the end, did just what I said. And my speech becomes an authentic description of her work. “So, with that said, I highly recommend Eve’s FT 101 for all of you who wish to step out and represent the best of yourselves, the best of your ventures and the reclamation of angel money, VC money and customer satisfaction.”

  Everyone cheers. Students come up to me to talk and get my business card.

  One handsome young guy gazes at me. “You are awesome, Ms. Banks, and so hot. If you ever go out with younger guys, here’s my card.” And he slips it to me. I blush. Eve sees and smiles.

  I sit in front of my computer scrolling through resumes on Monster.com for MBA professionals seeking jobs. I am posting a description for staff hires at Lights Out when Richard Wright calls.

  “I’ve left the business,” he tells me.

  “Why?” I ask. “It seems so unlike you.” Hadn’t he been in the funeral business his whole life? I swivel away from the computer screen.

  “I don’t care for the way Tribute conducts business. They want us to offer prepaid plans but with hitches. I can’t do that.”