Chapter 8 Part 1
The Funeral Trade Show in Las Vegas is filled with exhibitors displaying their wares. There are wall-to-wall items related to one’s time of need and the afterlife, and the room is jam-packed with owners and employees of funeral homes from across the country and its allied industries, as well.
My booth is in the low-rent district away from the main thoroughfare, a cost-conscious move on my part. A large banner boldly hangs above the booth baring the name Lights Out Enterprises. I did, however, give in to Sierra’s suggestions and display a forty-five-inch television monitor playing clips of the life bio videos in an ongoing loop, including scenes of Maurice LeSarde singing live at Uncle Sam’s tribute.
Pajama tops and novelty flashlights with the name Lights Out on them are giveaway items. And on display is the customized gravestone by the renowned French sculptor Davide. It is an extraordinary patina sculpture of Uncle Sam fishing. The artist cleverly placed the fishing line’s hook and lure in a round empty watering hole where visitors can leave a memento. There’s also an attachable video monitor inside a matching patina sculpture in the shape of a fishing tackle box. When you open the tackle box, the life bio video automatically plays with sound. There’s also a button to push on the sculpted fishing lure that plays the melody to “Fishing Free.” At the base of the sculpture Uncle Sam’s name is engraved along with his dates and a small inscription that reads “It’s a beee-utiful day.”
I also included samples of Andy’s now-framed leaf art with poetic words about loss, loss and more loss written by Daniel Banks.
Crowds stand and gawk at the sculpture and the videos.
Sierra fiddles with the projector to make sure the image on screen is crystal clear. More and more people stop by. I conduct a series of miniseminars outlining the offerings of Lights Out with a PowerPoint presentation. And on two separate monitors at either end of the booth the Web site is prominently displayed.
Sierra motions to me that she’s going to check out the show. She signals that she’ll be back in ten minutes. I nod and continue my speech to the group in front of me. “And so you see...”I explain, “Lights Out Enterprises offers strategic partnerships with funeral home directors so you can enhance your services to your communities. You supply the pre-need clients and we’ll take care of all the details. Are there any questions?”
A man raises his hand. “How are you different from Tribute in a Box?”
“Tribute in a Box,” I repeat. “I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with them. What do they do?”
“Seems like they do exactly what you do,” a woman replies. “And they guarantee celebrities will perform at the funeral, I mean tribute.”
I’m baffled.
“They’re right around the corner,” says another man. “And their price points are lower than yours.”
On those words the crowd begins to disperse. Sierra returns wearing a concerned expression on her face as she shuffles through the exodus to me. She places a copy of the Financial Street Journal in my hands.
“Maddy. Today’s journal,” says Sierra. “Read and breathe. And whatever you do, don’t go around the corner unless you want to short circuit your own lights.”
I look down. There on the front page is a cover story:
Derek Rogers resurfaces with “Tribute in a Box.” Derek Rogers’s latest and greatest venture: prefab customized tributes for all. Since leaving Palette Enterprises, Mr. Rogers has quickly and quietly amassed ownership of 1,000 publicly traded funeral homes offering after-funeral services, estate planning, legal advice, grief counseling and now, Mr. Rogers’s latest product, Tribute in a Box, specialized funeral services aimed at the baby-boomer generation. The consortium of funeral homes also offers accrued interest earned in prepaid plans. Tribute in a Box rolls out its offering at the Funeral Trade Show in Las Vegas with exceptionally low price points due to volume-based business incentives...
I throw down the paper and look at Sierra. “How is this possible? What does he do, have a chip in my brain that tracks novel business ideas? Even if he read the article on Lights Out, he wouldn’t be able to copycat me like this, and in such record time!”
Sierra shakes her head. “It’s weird, Maddy. Twilight Zone weird.”
“I have to go over there.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
But I’ve already begun my journey. I stomp toward the main aisle. As I turn the corner I stop in my tracks. My mouth drops open. The most extravagant exhibit on the whole floor is Tribute in a Box. Not only is there a slick life celebratory video on a giant eighty-foot HD plasma screen that bares an uncanny resemblance to my life bio video template cut-by-cut, but it seems like every concept of my business plan is on display in 3-D virtual hologram format, rotating at different points in the booth. On top of that, celebrity look-alikes for Billy Crystal, Whoopi Goldberg, Jennifer Aniston, Tom Cruise, Bob Dylan and Donald Trump wander the perimeters of the booth blurting out their trademark lines, shaking hands with all of the attendees, and promising to speak on their behalf at their time of need as long as it’s arranged in advance via the Tribute in a Box Pre-need Celebrity Package.
I blink and take a step closer, only to discover none other than Jonny Bright animatedly propagating the business to a crowd of funeral-home owners.
I grab Sierra’s arm. “That’s...that’s...that’s Jonny Bright!”
Sierra shakes her head. “Holy shit. He never got back to you on your business plan. You’ve got one hell of a lawsuit if you ask me.” I start heading toward Jonny. Sierra grabs my arm. “Don’t go there, Maddy. Remember what Professor Osaka taught us. You’ll just reveal weakness inside your anger. Besides, competition is good. Even your Uncle Sam told you it keeps you on your toes. Remember?”
“I’ve got my anger under control,” I mumble through tight lips. “I’m just going to do some competitive trolling, that’s all. Can you please watch the booth?”
“Do I have a choice?” asks Sierra. “Maddy, if you’re going to walk into the lions’ den...take Uncle Sam with you.” She hands me my purse.
I look awkwardly at her. “How did you know Uncle Sam was in here?”
“How long have I known you? I used to be your girlfriend, remember? It doesn’t mean I stop knowing you.”
I nod, pat my purse, walk right up to Jonny Bright and immediately unleash my anger. “Excuse me, but what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
In the distance, Sierra shakes her head and covers her eyes.
“Maddy! Hi! Um...welcome...welcome to, uh, Tribute in a, uh, Box,” Jonny stutters. He turns to the crowd. “And here’s a, uh, sample video for all, uh, of you to look at.” He hits Play on a DVD machine and moves to the side of the booth with me.
“Hey, you’re looking really, uh, hot. So, how are you, Maddy?” he asks, nervously wiping his hands on his pants.
“How am I?” I ask, infuriated. “You hold on to my intellectual property, you don’t return calls, you don’t communicate, you pull a Houdini—on everyone—and you turn up here, with my business plan on display, and you ask ‘How am I?’”
“Look, Maddy. I think you’re, uh, way, way overreacting.” “Don’t you dare try to turn this around, Jonny.”
He swallows hard. “Look, how do you know I’m not protecting you? That Derek didn’t come to me with the idea and I kept your plan away from him so there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest?”
“Then why not return my calls? Why not return my business plan? What are you hiding from unless you’ve got something to hide?”
Jonny fidgets, nervously rubbing his hands together like he did at Morton’s restaurant and like he did at the Beverly Hills Deli. And then it hits me. “You gave Derek my business plan for Artists International, didn’t you.” I am stunned by my realization.
Jonny squirms some more.
“You signed an NDA. I can sue you for this, Jonny.”
“I never signed an NDA,” he whines defensively.
I pull out my PDA to retrieve the legal docs I scanned in a long time ago.
“Really? I can prove it.” I show him signed NDAs by Bobby Garelik and Victor Winston. But the third NDA is blank. Jonny never signed it. I falter.
He gloats and says, “See. I never signed an NDA.”
“There are witnesses, Jonny.”
“Only if you can get them to testify,” he says cockily.
Before I can reply, Derek Rogers appears, immaculately dressed, and as usual, bearing an arrogant posture. “Well, look who’s here. Madison Banks. I like your booth. It’s got a nice quaint charm to it.”
“Tell me something, Derek. Do you ever generate an original concept on your own?”
“Why should I? That’s what I hire other people to do for me.”
“Like Jonny?”
Jonny stands behind me, shaking his head in an attempt to signal Derek on his response. Derek remains calm and nonplussed as he replies, “Madison, you wouldn’t want me to ask you to reveal your sources of inspiration, now, would you?”
“Why don’t you try me?”
“Because frankly, I don’t care where your inspiration comes from. I care about results. And I have to say your Lights Out Enterprises is a nice little outfit. In fact, I’d be interested in acquiring it. What do you think, Maddy? Would a hundred thousand do it?”
“Is there anything you can do besides insult people, Derek? Or are your only abilities stealing, raping and pillaging other businesses?”
“What? My number’s too low and you’re hurt?” snickers Derek.
“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. But 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 diva-dressed 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 pre-need 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 being 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.” “Well, what’s the hitch?”
“For one thing, they neglect to mention that the interest earned goes to them, but taxes are paid for by the beneficiaries. And they won’t honor state-to-state transfers unless it’s one of their own funeral homes. So if someone buys a pre-need plan from Tribute in Missouri and then moves to Arizona where the company doesn’t own any funeral homes, that person forfeits his entire investment.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not even for a bad thousand-dollar joke, I’m not.” There’s a pause. “Since I’m the only certified mortician in town, the funeral home is now closed down.”
“Will Tribute in a Box recruit someone else to take over?”
“They’re so busy merging the bigger homes they acquired that they don’t have time for a small-time operation like this one.”
“What’s the town going to do when someone dies?” “They’ll just have to call it in from Grass Lake or Ann Arbor until things turn around...if they turn around.” “What about you, Richard? What will you do?” I ask, concerned for him.
“My buddy owns the Eagle’s Nest. He offered me the job of running the place while he takes off for Australia. So if you’re back this way, stop in and have a beer on me. Good luck, Maddy.”
“Thanks, Richard. Good luck to you, too.”
I hang up. Curious about Derek’s motives, I log on to his Web site to do some digging of my own. I drill down through the pages and find the small-print clause allowing Tribute in a Box a legal out on what is otherwise worded to imply full compensation if a prepaid client moves out of state. But nowhere can I find the details of their investment plan. They reserve the right to supply that information on a client basis—making their policies suspect to say the least.
I call Sierra. “I found a loophole in Derek’s Web site. And we’re going to use it to our advantage.”
“How so?” she asks.
“By modifying our site. I want to highlight our offerings in comparison to what he neglects to reveal, that Lights Out—unlike Tribute in a Box—guarantees nothing less than one-hundred percent of consumer funds placed in interest-bearing trusts that give the client the right to a full refund of principal and interest if they cancel their pre-need prepaid plan at any time and protects them from losses if they transfer from one funeral home to another.”
“But we already offer that,” says Sierra.
“I know. I want to make a bold statement and stress the comparison with Tribute. If competition is supposed to be good, then let’s use it to our advantage. It’s time for truth in advertising. Let’s put our truth out front and center and stress that Lights Out lights up the benefits to consumers unlike Tribute in a Box, which keeps a lid on it.”
“I see you’ve got your fire back,” says Sierra. “I’m glad.” “Me, too.”
“Send me the copy and I’ll do it today. And, Mad, be careful whom you reveal your fire to.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, what’s with you and Victor?”
“Nothing,” I say, surprised. “He’s my VC. Should there be?” “I thought I saw a flicker of something between you guys at the trade show. I think he’s a really good guy, Maddy.”
“You saw a good business relationship in play, and it will remain one. And besides, I’m playing my results, remember?” “What about him? What’s he playing?”
I’m stumped. I never thought of that. “I don’t know. That’s not my business. Besides, I think he’s spoken for, so let’s drop it.”
We hang up. I set up interviews with candidates from Monster.com and one of Eve’s top referrals when the Sullivan Funeral Home calls me. They’re one of the funeral homes I created a strategic relationship with at the trade show. They contact me about a high-end, high-profile client. Before I know it, I’m on a plane to Little Rock, Arkansas, to put together a pre-need double header for the governor.
That evening in Little Rock, Arkansas, Governor Anderson sits in the parlor of his mansion drinking tea as I lay out the template for a pre-need plan. I’m quick to take note of all the details in the house, especially the items that point to the governor’s love of motorcycles.
The governor’s deaf mother, Willa Anderson, an elderly woman in her nineties, sits on a couch behind us meticulously knitting a pillow cover, chain-smoking cigarettes and drinking black coffee.
Governor Anderson shakes his head. “Understand that aside from my primary desire to represent the good people of Arkansas, my one and only other love is motorcycle ridin’.”
“I see,” I say, taking notes. “Then how about a hot-rod salute—a fleet of your friends and colleagues on motorcycles laying down some rubber immediately following the ceremony.”
“I like that,” he says, pacing the room. “Let’s do more of that.”
“Okay, well, tell me your favorite song you’d like to have played and if the musician’s alive, we’ll try to get him to sing it in person.”
“In that case, I’d like to hear Neil Young sing, ‘A Horse with no Name.’”
I write that down. “Tell me, Governor, do you watch movies, TV, go to clubs, play sports...?”
“I’ll tell ya what I like. I like jokes. That comedy TV network keeps me sane after a long day in politics. Thing is, I can’t remember jokes to save my life. So I started a little collection of jokes. See here?” He pulls an anthology of handwritten jokes out of his drawer.
“What if you could have a joke-telling festival? Who can tell the best jokes? Including some jokes about you, Governor.”
“Yes! A joke-telling festival. I do believe I like that, Ms. Banks. Do you think we could get some famous comedians, too? Billy Crystal, Jerry Seinfeld, Ellen DeGeneres, Whoopi, and oh, that fellow Larry David! Maybe he could ‘Curb My Funeral.’”
I chuckle. “We can certainly try,” I say, but the governor can’t hear me because he’s laughing so hard. Finally, he sobers.
“Now what about my mother?” says the governor. “I want to prepare for her time of need, too.”
“I can have a conversation with her, as well.”
“No you can’t,” says the governor, flatly.
“How come?” I ask, and stop writing, surprised by his quick, stern reply.
“Because she’ll pretend she’s deaf.”
I turn to look at his mother, who sits there as if she has no clue that we are talking about her.
“The truth is my mother is a first-class bitch,” says the governor.
I cringe at the governor’s choice of words, but I notice that Willa Anderson doesn’t flinch at all. Instead, Willa takes a long drag on her cigarette and blows it in the direction of her son’s face, then misses the ashtray, flicking her ashes on a white lace tablecloth. I wonder if it’s on purpose.
“And proud of it,” he adds.
“Oh,” I say, trying to figure out how best to handle this situation.
“What do you do to honor a bitch?” asks the governor.
“Well, for starters,” I say, thinking fast, “we could...pass out coffee and cigarettes and let everyone bitch...about the bitch. And we could supply knitted bitch pillows as funeral favors.”
The governor points his finger at me. “I like the way you handle bitchin’!”
“Well, uh, thank you, Governor.”
“You want more tea?”
I look at my untouched cup. “I’m good, thanks.”
When I return to Los Angeles late in the evening, Victor insists on picking me up at the airport. I climb into his convertible as he drives me home northbound on the 405.
“How was Governor Anderson?” he asks.
“Great. He complimented me as someone who really knows how to bitch.”
“Good, cuz you might want to do a lot of bitchin’ right about now.”
“So this is a bad-news pickup... What happened?” “Bobby Garelik isn’t investing in Lights Out Enterprises.” He glances at me to see how I take it.
I pause to take a deep breath, preparing for the worst. “Why not?”
“Because he just put twenty million into Tribute in a Box.” “They gave him a deal to offset the half million Jonny owes him?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Precisely,” says Victor.
I let out a sigh, and then take stock. “Well, that’s too bad, because it looks like Bobby Garelik just lost it all and more, then, doesn’t it?”
Victor smiles at me. “That’s my CEO!”
I notice Victor’s eyes darken at the fire in my voice. Maybe Sierra was right. I must be careful where I toss my flames.
“I’m moving into new offices,” he says. “I don’t want to worry about competitive intelligence.”
“You think Garelik would commit corporate espionage inside your office?”
“Garelik’s okay, it’s Jonny Bright I don’t trust. He’s got a hacker background and knows the server codes at the office. Who knows what he might have already stolen off my computer. And he may be visiting our offices more than I care to see him now. Besides, it’s time I took some risks and put Winston Capital out there on my own.”
“Wow, this is really big.”
“Yeah, Lights Out is lighting up a new course of action for me.” He turns toward me. “So how about it? Want to share office space with Winston Capital in a tiny furnished shack on Venice Beach for five hundred a month? My share is seven-fifty.”
I look him over. He’s serious. “Will you handle the office setup? I don’t have time for that.”
“Is that all?”
“Does it come with a teapot?”
“And the tea...” Victor smiles.
“Okay, deal,” I say as Victor pulls up to my apartment building.
He parks the car and dangles a pair of extra keys in front of me. “The address is in your e-mail. Doors open at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow morning.”
I take the keys and get out of the car. “Thanks. I’ll be in at ten.” I stop and turn just before he’s about to take off. “How’d you know I’d go for this?”
“I’m the one with the faith, remember?”
“Right,” I say, and watch Victor peel away into the night.
The next morning, I try to sleep in after my whirlwind travels but my internal clock objects. I find myself practicing reclining meditation at 6:00 a.m. as usual. I roll over, write up my action plan, then hear the thud against the front door. I’m quickly out of bed, hauling in my Los Angeles Times, New York Times, and Financial Street Journal.
I scan all of them from the only free space in my apartment, my bed.
My cell phone rings. It’s Sierra. “What’s up?”
“Hector Thornton of Thornton Pharmaceuticals just cancelled the life bio video shoot.”
“Why?” I ask, rising to a full sitting position.
“Are you sitting down?”
“Perched. Go ahead, spill it.”
“He’s opting out of the whole deal for a less expensive one with Tribute in a Box.”
“He can’t do that. We have a contract.”
“He says he can, since he included his local funeral home in the contract. And since the local funeral home has a deal with you, he claims he can opt out.”
“But we have a contract with the Baxter Funeral Home.” “Not anymore...they were just bought by Tribute.” “What!” I say, shocked, trying to assimilate this. “Okay, thanks. I’ve got to look into this right away. Bye.” I hang up and immediately call the Baxter Funeral Home in New Haven, Connecticut, only to discover that they have indeed been acquired by Derek Rogers’s company.
“The deal was too good to pass up,” explains Mr. Baxter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to, but they wanted everything kept secret until the papers were signed. It was conditional to the deal.”
“But that’s a breach of contract to Lights Out Enterprises,” I explain. “Not to mention damages.”
“Tribute said I had nothing to worry about. They’re taking full responsibility for any legal actions you might take. I’m really sorry about this. But business is business.”
“What about ethics is ethics?”
“Look, they said they would pay you for damages if you sued.”
“And you believed them?” I ask, now pacing among the start-up obstacles in my apartment.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“So, basically, you think it’s fair for me to have to file a lawsuit and incur legal fees over your actions?”
“Well, no,” says Mr. Baxter. “I guess I didn’t look at it like that. They did such a swell job selling me on this whole thing. They promised this was going to triple my business.”
“How are they proposing to do that?” I ask, tripping over a ream of paper.
“Well, for starters, they’re providing in-house training for nontraditional tributes in a box. The deal comes with a training video, production template, and they’re even throwing in the video camera. And then there’s the major discount for pre-need corporate executives...which is less than what Lights Out charges. Look, I shouldn’t be telling you all this, but now I’m feeling badly for you.”
“Me, too,” I say, holding my tongue.
“I’m sorry,” says Mr. Baxter. “I do wish you the best of luck.”
I bite my lip, remembering that you never know how a ship can flip its sails, that one day I might need to do business with Mr. Baxter again. “Thanks,” I mutter, and then swallow the rest of my unspoken anger.
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BEHIND THE CHAPTER:
This chapter is brought to you by Cohen Media Group, a theatrical film production company. Their film, Mademoiselle C, is a documentary focused on former Vogue Paris editor-in-chief and fashion stylist Carine Roitfeld as she moves to New York to launch her own magazine. Mademoiselle C comes to Blu-ray, DVD and Digital on March 11, 2014. Own a copy at Amazon.com.
Carine Roitfeld ran French Vogue for 10 years, building a reputation as one of fashion's most influential movers. Her inner circle of friends includes Donatella Versace, Tom Ford, Karl Lagerfeld, Mario Testino, Riccardo Tisci, Diane Von Furstenberg, and Alexander Wang. Yet few people outside the fashion world have heard of her... until now. Mademoiselle C chronicles Carine's launch of her new magazine "CR Fashion Book." It gives a rare inside glimpse at the inner workings not only of Roitfeld's professional world but also her personal life. It is a film about transition, letting the audience watch as Carine moves to New York, starts a new business, and prepares to become a grandmother. And of course, it's filled with the the models, celebrities, and eccentric personalities that make the fashion world so entertaining.
*To see the flowers that Norm had at his wedding, check out the 1800Flowers.com Floral Heart Tribute.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE:
We hope you enjoyed this chapter of The Funeral Planner! We will be posting a chapter every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. If you just can’t wait to read the latest episode about Maddy, Eve and Sierra and their entrepreneurial adventures The Funeral Planner Trilogy is available online at the usual suspects (Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Sony). Also check out LynnIsenberg.com for more information.