The Funeral Planner (23 page)

I sit at a coffee shop on Main Street catching up with the
Financial Street Journal.
I learn that Arthur has taken an extended leave to travel around the world. He still refuses to name a successor, instead trusting all to do their jobs without him for the time being. Apparently his trust in his executives is greater than the market’s, because the stock has dropped a significant point. Palette Enterprises, on the other hand, seems to pick up speed again with the announcement of an acquisition deal of a leading video-game publisher. Palette will license the videogame publisher’s artwork. I shake my head and sigh.

Sierra joins me. “You know, I think reading that paper is a downer for you.”

“Information is power,” I say.

“Depending on how you use it. Otherwise it’s a depressant.”

“Duly noted,” I say. “Did you find a shooter for South Carolina?”

“Yep. I sent him the video-production template to follow. I’ll edit as soon as I get the footage.”

“Awesome. Oh, that reminds me. I have to make sure my lawyer trademarks the production template.” I shoot off a quick e-mail to Todd reminding him, and then look at Sierra. “Can you create a Lights Out banner?”

“Are we going on parade?”

“If you weren’t so cute, I’d…”

“What?”

“I can’t think that fast. Anyway, I need a banner for the funeral convention.”

“Why don’t you hire a company to build an exhibitor’s booth for you?”

“That’s not where I want my dollars to go.”

“But that is what the business is about, no? Impressive exhibitions? And you do want to inform potential clients about what you’re doing.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to go over the top. It’s not an entertainment trade show. I want a simple, tasteful booth.”

“Do you want me to set up the video projection and make sure it runs smoothly?”

“That would be great. Invite Milton if you want. I’d love to meet him.”

“If he’s not traveling.”

Mr. Pearl’s “rehearsal tribute” takes place at his favorite golf course in Hilton Head, South Carolina. Approximately one hundred friends, family and business associates arrive at dusk to pay tribute to him.

I stand offstage next to Norm, who wears a tuxedo with a Taylor Made golf hat and shoes. He looks out at the burgeoning crowd of would-be mourners. I glance around looking for a familiar face in the crowd.

“Not a bad turnout, huh?” Norm smiles. He looks down at his feet and murmurs, “I think I’m feeling kind of awkward about all this. I never thought so many people would come to celebrate my life.”

“How can you say that? You are an amazing person,” I say. “You have accomplished so much.”

“I don’t think I’m worthy of this kind of attention.”

I notice the crowd is growing restless, waiting for Norm to speak. I look Norm in the eye. “Oh my God, you are soooo worthy. You’re worthy of being praised, you’re worthy of being loved, you’re worthy of celebrating
you
with the ones you love,” I say encouragingly. I flash on my liberal arts degree and wish I had added just one course in psychology to all those business classes.

“Really?”

I wing it. “Yes. Absolutely. Now go out there and…be a brilliant dead man. You can do it. Go on. They’re all waiting. If you get nervous, just look at the TelePrompTer.”

“We have a TelePrompTer?”

“Well, sort of…the old-fashioned kind.”

“The old-fashioned kind?”

I point to my mouth. “Read my lips.”

“But I won’t be able to see your lips in the dark.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll send the words telepathically. Go on, you’ve got great dead-man talent in you.” I give him a big push and out he goes.

Norm Pearl stands on stage staring out at his family and friends. He takes a deep breath. “Everyone, thank you for coming here tonight to participate in this tribute to…well, to myself. This tribute is supposed to happen in the distant future, but Lights Out Enterprises made it look so good, I thought I’d have a dress rehearsal so I could partake in the fun with you! Only you guys get a reprise!”

The guests cheer.

“Okay, so the deal is, we’re going to pretend I’m not here so I can hear all the nice things you guys are going to say about me when I’m gone. At least I hope they’re nice. If not, don’t expect an invite to the encore!” He laughs and the crowd laughs with him.

“By the way, if you do make it to the encore, there’s one overriding rule, no crying! I’ve had a great life so don’t waste any tissues on me.

“Okay, so first up is the life bio video, which will play on the wall of the country club building. If I missed anyone—sorry, but we can reshoot and add you into the video for the final playback!” He chuckles. “Okay, everyone, enjoy!”

I cue the projectionist while guests lie on blankets watching the video summation of Norm’s life. It ends with a resounding applause. Afterward, people mill around the buffet featuring all the food and drink that Norm Pearl wishes he could eat without restraint and which he happily partakes in tonight. And off to the side, the Charleston Philharmonic plays Norm’s favorite symphonies by Ravel and Stravinsky.

Everything goes according to plan. Guests receive glowin-the-dark golf balls with Norm Pearl’s name engraved on them. Norm Pearl stories are told at each hole. I shepherd the rounds making sure everyone has enough balls, making sure that the field lights are on, that the video crew is getting all the highlights, and that no one gets hurt, for which I have a registered nurse on the premises as backup.

In the middle of a Norm story on the fourth hole, also designated as the Orion hole after an urban development in Cleveland, my cell phone vibrates. I grab it and walk away from the hole. “Madison Banks,” I whisper.

“Madison, Victor Winston. I’m sorry but I’m not going to make it.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay,” I say. But I’m disappointed. I didn’t realize how much I wanted my round-A investor to see my first official Lights Out dress rehearsal send-off.

“I’m stuck in a board meeting in Houston and missed the flight. How’s it going?”

“Great. It’s going great. Mr. Pearl plays a wonderful dead man. My skills at dead-man therapy are growing, and the sky is all a-glow with golf balls.”

“Good. Keep up the good work and we’ll talk later. Bye,” says Victor. He hangs up.

“Right. See ya later,” I say, and hang up. I stare at the phone, sighing and return to the celebratory crowd.

We reach the ninth hole and I turn to a sweet blond woman in her mid-fifties. I hand her a wireless microphone. “Okay, Elizabeth, you’re up.”

“Oh, dear. I’m not very good speaking with large crowds,” she says nervously. “I usually speak to small groups.”

“You’ll do great. Just think of this as, you know…groups of small groups. Here’s your speech.” I hand Elizabeth a piece of a paper.

She looks at the crowd. “Oh, dear. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Just look for the TelePrompTer. And don’t forget to tie in the constellation.” I check my notes. “This is Aquarius, a.k.a. Project Phily.”

“Did you say there’s a TelePrompTer?”

“Sort of. But don’t worry. Think of all the good this will bring!”

Elizabeth stands there frozen…until I shove her into the center of the green. Norm watches as Elizabeth shyly lifts the microphone to her mouth.

“Hello, everyone. Welcome, um, to the ninth hole, I mean, the hole of Aquarius. My name is Elizabeth Thyme. I’m here to make an announcement on behalf of the Philanthropy Golf Society. I’ve never had the honor of meeting Mr. Pearl, but I am so touched by this man’s generosity and goodwill. Tonight, in paying tribute to this fine man, I am pleased to announce the formation of the Norm Pearl Golf Camp Academy.”

Everyone raises their fists to the sky and cheers. “Go, Norm! Go, Norm!”

Norm blushes. A good friend pats him on the back. I notice Norm no longer watches the crowd of family and friends, but is suddenly mesmerized by the shy, humble, sincere and forthright qualities of Elizabeth Thyme.

“Really,” says Elizabeth. “This is truly something. The Norm Pearl Golf Camp Academy is going to help many children across the country. Children who wouldn’t normally have this kind of opportunity…to learn the game of golf and the leadership and team skills that go with it and that will serve them on the green and off. I can’t thank Mr. Pearl enough. He’s a real water-bearer, and water is the bearer of life, so please, let’s all bless this man and give him a round of applause!”

Everyone cheers some more.

A small elderly lady walks up to Norm and pinches his cheek. “You’re a good son, Norm. A good son!”

Norm blushes some more.

Elizabeth turns to Norm in the crowd. There’s a glitter in her eye. “I know you’re supposed to be dead for the night, Mr. Pearl, but I’d like to resurrect you and ask you to say something to your guests, on behalf of this occasion.”

I watch Mr. Pearl suddenly become quiet and soft-spoken as he approaches Elizabeth. She hands him the microphone.

He slowly raises the mic. “I thought my life was great… until I died tonight…and was reborn in this moment. Because who can turn down a resurrection from a beautiful blond?”

People laugh.

“Seriously, I gotta tell you, a dress rehearsal on death is the best way to play out life. I never knew how much I was loved. And I never knew how much I liked to give. Without this tribute, there would be no Golf Camp Academy. And for that I’d like to thank the woman who inspired the idea to begin with, Madison Banks.”

He points to me. Everyone looks. I try not to show how shy I suddenly feel. I nod my thanks, not really wanting any of the attention. I mumble, “Thanks.”

Norm continues. “Thanks, Madison. I gotta say that death has never made me feel more alive. What a life-enhancer this is. Okay, now, everyone, I want you all to honor the request of a resurrected man…and that is enjoy this moment!”

Everyone cheers again and I notice Norm takes the moment to enjoy Elizabeth Thyme.

The finale to the evening has approximately fifty people lined up ready to tee off their glow-in-the-dark golf balls simultaneously. Someone counts down: “Three… two…one…and tee!” Suddenly fifty glowing golf balls baring Norm Pearl’s name hit the sky. I look up. The sky is indeed all a-glitter with small lights popping through the atmosphere in an improvisational theatrical free fall. I smile to myself and whistle the theme of “Fishing Free.”

I return to Ann Arbor to put together Kate and Henry Foster’s “death of a marriage” tribute. I expect a somewhat resistant crowd of attendees, so I hire JoAnna Myman from Event Ventures to help with the details. Because the Fosters are adventure travelers, the marriage tribute is held at a local summer camp where they first met. Everyone has an opportunity to go waterskiing, sailing and kayaking.

Sierra puts together a ten-minute life video bio of the Fosters’ marriage for the finale in the camp theater. One red balloon with both Kate’s and Henry’s names on it is released into the sky before the video begins. The video includes a montage of photos and video depicting the life of their marriage and its happy ending. When the video ends, a set of balloons, both white, bearing each of their names separately, is released into the sky. Kate and Henry assure everyone this is what they want, that they are fine with it, and they want everyone else to be fine with it, too.

Finally, one of the attendees lifts his glass of champagne and yells, “To the death of a marriage and the birth of new beginnings!”

It’s exactly what Kate and Henry had hoped for.

I’m in Los Angeles when Arthur calls to say he’s in town on his way home from Australia. He invites me to dinner at the Bel Age Hotel.

I wait for Arthur at the bar, reading my
Financial Street Journal
and sipping grapefruit juice. I notice Gold Guy at the end of the bar, leering at me. I smile politely, but then he cocks his head and winks while flexing his body. He starts moving toward me. I quickly drop my paper and grab the black ribbon on my shirt, pointing to it and shaking my head. He shrugs and sits back down, glancing around to make sure no one saw his rejection repeat.

Arthur arrives and we’re seated for dinner overlooking the glowing neon lights of Sunset Boulevard.

“How have all your travels been?” I ask.

“Good. No. Terrific,” he says, placing his napkin on his lap.

I ditto his action, remembering one of the golden etiquette dining rules is to napkin-place only after your host. “I’ve made some remarkable discoveries about myself… and all because of Lights Out, Madison.”

“Arthur, I believe you’re smiling.”

“Am I? Well, it’s about time.” He picks up the menu, glances at it and puts it down. I barely have time to read the first item. I wonder if Arthur took classes in speed-ordering.

A waitress appears, ready to take our order. “What would you like this evening?”

I hesitate. Arthur looks at me, politely waiting for my answer.

“Um…you know what, I think I’ll have whatever Mr. Pintock is having,” I say, unless of course he orders something really difficult to eat.