The Funeral Planner (25 page)

“No, no. I just need to call the zoo and the caterer, and a million other people…” I scramble around the apartment opening drawers and looking around stacks of paper. “I’ll be fine. Really,” I say. “I just have to book a plane right now and get ready, Victor.” I finally find the object I was looking for, a flashlight pen. I calm down enough to say, “I think we should finish this up another time.”

“Do you need a ride to the airport?”

“No, you’ve got your meeting. I’ll call a cab.”

“Well. Call me if you need me,” he says.

As soon as Victor walks out the door, I turn on the flashlight pen and hold it upright. I close my eyes and say a kaddish for Mr. Haggerty.

During the cab ride to the airport, I make phone calls and send e-mails putting my vendors and strategic partners into high gear.

Two days later, under sunny skies, Mr. Haggerty’s tribute service takes place at the Detroit Zoo. Sierra is there, documenting the experience on camera for Lights Out’s marketing and Web site samples, and for the family.

Mourners celebrate Mr. Haggerty’s life in a walking tribute around the zoo with gourmet coffee and a vegetarian meal as the symphonic sounds of Africa play on the speaker system throughout the zoo. The zoo’s president speaks eloquently about Mr. Haggerty, noting his commitment to animal rights and his substantial contributions over the past thirty-five years. The life bio video is projected against a flat rock wall inside the penguin gallery, since those were his favorite animals. A select group of Mr. Haggerty’s friends and colleagues, as well as his three children, all interviewed in their respective hometown months before, now speak expressively about their father and friend on camera.

Mr. Haggerty appears throughout the video talking about the meaning of his life. He concludes, “I want to thank all of you—for being a part of my life—for making it a wonderful adventure—and I wish you all as successful a journey as I’ve had. Oh, and one last thing. To my kids, life is too short, so work out your differences already. Adieu!”

People are teary-eyed and everyone’s loss seems collectively shared as they create fond memories of Mr. Haggerty with the digital photo experience. Everyone also receives a coffee mug with Mr. Haggerty’s critically acclaimed photographs on them, eliciting an array of wonderful stories about him.

Next to the monkey cage is a professional grief counselor I’ve hired to spend time with mourners who are having a particularly difficult time of it. At one point, the grief counselor uses group grief therapy with Mr. Haggerty’s three children.

I turn toward Sierra who has tears in her eyes. “Sierra, why are you crying?”

“It’s so nice to see people come together to really remember, not just show up and go through the motions of being supportive, but really participate in the grieving process together.”

I’m touched, but compliments make me uncomfortable. “Okay, um, thanks, Sierra.” I find a diversion and point. “Oooh, look over there—I think we should get a shot of Mr. Haggerty’s children bonding with their coffee mugs.”

Sierra looks, then turns back to me. “Didn’t you say that Mr. Haggerty’s biggest regret was that his children didn’t speak to one another?”

I nod. “Yeah, he did say that.”

Sierra looks at me, clearly moved by the meaning of it all.

“Quick, you don’t want to lose the shot,” I say, squirming out of the moment.

Sierra captures the reunion on tape, and I recede into the background watching the event unfold.

A thin man in glasses approaches me. “Are you Madison Banks?”

“Yes. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m George Toffler.”

“Really?
The
George Toffler? I love your work.”

“You know my work?”

“You cover real estate for the
Financial Street Journal.
I especially liked your article last month on the challenges of selling real estate across cultures.”

He seems flattered. “Well, thank you. I know now is not the time, but Arnie was one of my sources and we got to be good friends. Look, I really like what you’ve done here and I’d like to know if I can interview you for a story on your business.”

“You want to interview me about Lights Out? In the
FSJ?
”

“Yeah. I think you’re on to something. In fact, I think it’s a cover story.”

“Um, sure, that would be fine,” I say, trying to contain my excitement.

I join my family for dinner at Zingerman’s Roadhouse Café that evening. Eleanor and Charlie lift their glasses of red wine.

“To Maddy,” says Charlie. “Congratulations on the success of your new venture.”

“And on your upcoming interview,” exclaims Eleanor.

Daniel reluctantly toasts me. Andy excitedly lifts his glass of water to join the celebration. Rebecca and Keating are not there.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be in the
Journal,
” I say. “This is a major launch for Lights Out.”

“Isn’t there anything else you can talk about besides business?” quips Daniel.

I put my glass of wine down. “Okay, how’s your poetry book coming along?”

“That’s still business,” he says.

“You know what? I’m going to take a little walk while we wait for our meals,” I say, intent on avoiding a confrontation. “Andy, want to come with me?”

“Yeah!” Andy jumps up and follows me out the door.

The two of us pace the perimeter of the restaurant five times.

“So, how’s it going, Andy?”

“I’m okay. But dad’s weird. All he does is act moody.”

“Isn’t that typical?”

“Yeah, but now it’s, like, triple moody!”

“What about his poetry? Have you seen what he’s been writing about?”

“Loss, loss, loss, loss, loss. It’s really boring!”

I think for a few moments as we make another circle. “What about your mom?”

“She pretends not to miss him, but I think she does. And she keeps talking to herself in the shower.”

“She does? What does she say?” I ask as we finish another lap.

“She just says the same thing all the time. ‘I am grateful for the happiness Danny and I share together. I am grateful for the happiness Danny and I share together. I am grateful for the happiness Danny and I share together. Over and over and over and over. It’s kind of mo-not-onous.”

I smile to myself at his use of big words. “Those are called affirmations,” I explain. “I think your Mom is trying to invoke good things for your dad so they can be together again.”

“Well, it’s not working,” says Andy.

“I’ve got an idea as to how we might be able to help push it along, just a little. You game?”

“Yeah!”

“You have to keep it a secret, Andy. Because it’s kind of like industrial espionage, which I do not adhere to, by the way, but in this case, I guess it would be called familial espionage, which means you have to keep quiet and pretend a little. Sort of like if you had a part in a play.”

“I was the lead in
Peter Pan
last year!”

“Great, then you know what I’m talking about. Okay, here’s the plan. The first thing you have to do is to wait for the right moment….”

Two weeks later, as dawn hits the West Coast, I excitedly jump out of bed and run to the corner newsstand. I buy ten
Financial Street Journals
and bring them back to apartmentheadquarters. I spread them on my desk over an assortment of other business magazines. The article appears on the front page with a headline that reads “Lights Out Enterprises Lights Up Funeral Industry.”

The story is an-depth interview on how I came up with the concept and developed the business. There are quotes from my board member Adam Berman, and clients Norm Pearl, Arthur Pintock, the Fosters and the children of Arnie Haggerty, who also mention that when the tribute was all over their father’s estate received a refund of $2,019.23 in interest and dividends from the investments made on their father’s prepaid plan. Toffler notes that had more time passed between Haggerty’s pre-need and time of need, that number would have grown exponentially. He also mentions Uncle Sam as my angel investor, and Winston Capital, a division of Shepherd Venture Capital, who invested the initial financing. Toffler concludes that the products and services offered by Lights Out Enterprises, in essence, its experience design expertise, captures a whole new marketplace in a business otherwise conceived of as dark and gloomy.

I barely have time to gloat before my phone starts ringing. CEOs at corporations across the country from the biotech sector to Silicon Valley to the world of telecom, all start calling to book pre-need experience design appointments.

The doorbell rings. A florist delivers a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses. The note reads “You’re a star! But then I always knew that. Love, Sierra.”

Congratulatory e-mails arrive from clients, my mother and father and sister-in-law Rebecca. There’s nothing from Daniel, but then, I wasn’t expecting anything. More e-mails appear, one from Ryanna in South Africa in her e-chapter of Start-up Entrepreneurs who read about it online, and another from Professor Osaka.

The phone rings and National Public Radio calls me for an interview. Another call comes from a Hollywood producer interested in my life story as a movie. Then my doorbell rings again and this time it’s a package from Winston Capital with a pair of flannel pajamas inside. The top piece bears the silk-screened name “Lights Out.” Next to that is a novelty item, a green bowling pin bank. I smile and look up toward the heavens. The note reads “To brand awareness. May your dreams continue to inspire Lights Out. VW, Winston Capital.”

I reach into my briefcase and pull out the bag with Uncle Sam inside and address him. “Thanks for believing in me, Uncle Sam.” I place him on top of my desk. “Here ya go. You can’t miss this, because I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

The phone rings again. “Lights Out Enterprises. Experience designers for life celebrations.”

“New tag line?” asks Victor.

“I know, I know,” I say. “Brand consistency rules, but I’m still beta-testing the tag line.”

“I like it. Meanwhile, congratulations. Bobby Garelik just walked into my office begging to come in on a second round of financing.”

“Really? What did you tell him?”

“I told him at the rate you’re going there won’t be a second round. You’re already starting to pull in enough revenue that you don’t have to dilute your percentage anymore. But I told him we’d think about it. How’d you like the bowling pin bank?”

“I’m going to put ten cents on every dollar we make inside it for charity.”

“And the sleepwear?”

“I love it. Do you think we should expand the line into rainbow colors or a midnight blue?”

“All of the above, and I think you should give a free pair to all of your clients.”

“Noted and agreed upon,” I say, writing it down. “Hey, you wouldn’t believe the calls I’m getting—NPR, Hector Thornton from Thornton Pharmaceuticals and Roger Lincoln from Green Power Corp.”

“With this kind of publicity, it’s time you get a real office and hire an assistant. Now is the time to start delegating. And I e-mailed you the name of a media coach. As your adviser, I advise you to talk to her before you do any more interviews.”

“After I meet with Thornton in New Haven and Lincoln in Houston. They’re flying me in their private jets to meet with them.”

We hang up and a breeze blows the
FSJ
papers around revealing a
Business Week
on my desk. The title is “Professional Jet-setter” and the cover art shows a slickly dressed corporate female. I stare at it. I need a presentation strategy, I think, and I pick up the phone and call Eve.

“Go away,” says a sleepy voice.

“That’s no way to greet an offer.”

“Is it a part in a movie?”

“No, it’s a part in the funeral industry.”

“Oh…what’s the part?”

“Fashion therapist. On location in stores you pick. For lots of credit. Preparation involves reading the front page of today’s
FSJ
on a particular company called Lights Out Enterprises.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and oh, the cover story of this week’s
Business

Week,
too.”

I have one day to upgrade my wardrobe before jet-setting to New Haven and Houston. Since Eve is already intimate with my wardrobe, she knows exactly what I need for a Band-Aid job. Her choices are precise but not necessarily economical, since I still refuse to pay for knock-offs. We’re in her Audi TT on the way to Brentwood.

“So how goes the MBA-husband hunt?” I ask.

“Temporarily on hold while I mack it with my co-star in this really bizarro student film. Besides, the MBAs in my class are all super-stiff, as in totally one-dimensional.”

“Maybe you could un-stiff them, give them some dimension, invite them to a performance of yours or the screening for this bizarre short.” I smile. “What’s happening in Osaka’s class?”

“The worst! We have to start a business for the final.”