The Funeral Planner

by Lynn Isenberg

  “You look amazing,” offers Jonny.

  “Thank you,” I reply, trying to maintain my composure. “You’re looking well yourself.”

  “Thanks. Hey, if it’s okay, we invited Victor Winston into the meeting. He’s got a first-look deal with Shepherd Venture Capital. Is that okay?”

  “Of course.” I turn to Victor. “Welcome.”

  He nods and the guys all sit down.

  “Well, Maddy, I can’t wait to hear what you’ve got,” says Jonny.

  “Me, too,” I chime in. “But first, if you don’t mind, I’d like you all to sign an NDA, and second, I’d like a cup of hot tea.”

  Victor releases the faintest hint of a smile.

  Always request something to drink, even if you’re not thirsty—it’s a classic power play to command respect.

  While Jonny and Bobby fumble over my looks, Victor calmly presses the intercom button. “Karina, could you please bring Madison Banks a cup of tea?” He turns to me and asks, “Milk and sugar?”

  “No, thank you. Milk is too lactose oriented and sugar is too sweet, plus I could end up having a sugar high and then come crashing down in the middle of my pitch, which would really mess up the energy.”

  “So no milk and no sugar? Do you want herbal tea or black tea?”

  “Depends on the kind of herbal, because if it’s that sleepytime kind or chamomile, it can cause fatigue due to relaxation and I’d prefer to keep my energy up, you know.”

  “Okay, so black tea, to play it safe,” says Victor.

  “Yep,” I agree. “Black tea will be just fine.”

  “Just a regular cup of tea,” adds Victor into the intercom.

  “Yes, Mr. Winston,” replies the voice of Karina.

  I pass out the NDAs and focus on my PowerPoint presentation. “Okay. So, the business I propose for you to invest in today is called Lights Out Enterprises,” I proudly announce. I clear my throat. “It’s a design firm specializing in customized funeral experiences.”

  Jonny and Bobby look at me dumbfounded. Victor remains quiet.

  “Excuse me, did you say funerals? Why on earth would anyone want that?” asks Jonny.

  I confidently click to Important Facts & Figures. “I’ll tell you why. Because the funeral industry generates 9.5 billion dollars in revenue and is expected to grow as the U.S. death rate is expected to rise…dramatically, by the way, in 2010, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.” I pause, letting it sink in. “The other reason why—is that as baby boomers age, the desire to plan ahead for their funerals with personalized meaningful services continues to grow…to the tune of 21 billion dollars to date.”

  Bobby’s mouth drops. Jonny’s eyes pop open. Victor remains stone-faced.

  “What’s the value proposition to the consumer?” asks Bobby.

  “It’s a solution to a developing need,” I reply. “Allow me to explain. You see, more and more people want a say in how they will be remembered, but typically, funeral directors deal with details associated with the burial process, and goods and services associated with that, such as caskets, urns, cemeteries, viewing rooms, death certificates and the location for these traditional services. So they rarely have the time or the skills required to prepare, plan and execute personalized memorial tributes. The solution I propose is Lights Out Enterprises, a company providing high-end preparation and planning for unique, memorable, personalized funeral experiences.”

  There’s a long pause from the guys in the room.

  “How much does an average funeral cost?” Jonny finally asks.

  “Five thousand dollars,” I quickly reply.

  “And how many funeral homes are there? In the U.S.?” asks Bobby.

  I feel Victor study me as I fire back with self-assuredness. “Twenty-eight thousand individually owned and operated for an average of sixty-nine years. Twenty-five hundred of those, which account for eleven percent, are owned by one of five publicly traded stock corporations. And each one produces an average of two hundred services per year.”

  The guys exchange glances as they do the math in their heads. I beat them to it. “That’s an average of 5.6 million funerals a year multiplied by an average of five thousand per adult funeral. That equals 28 billion dollars…gentlemen.”

  Jonny’s eyes nervously flicker. “So you think your consumer is…everyone?”

  “Well, yes. Death is universal, it’s not like you can opt out. And though our society has had a difficult time confronting death, baby boomers are beginning to embrace it, as far as preparation and planning goes. I’m not saying they’re embracing death for death’s sake, but they are getting better at approaching it from a different light, so to speak. Anyway, my focus is on the affluent pre-need client willing to spend an average of ten to twenty-five thousand on the manner in which they are remembered. Unless they want to be mummified, which alone costs on average sixty-seven grand.”

  “I thought mummification was an ancient Egyptian custom,” says Jonny.

  “It’s having a revival.”

  Bobby looks at me. “Excuse me, but what’s a pre-need client?”

  “Pre-need clients are people who plan in advance for their time of need.”

  Bobby gives me a funny look, still not getting it. “And time of need is…?”

  “As in time’s up…you know…you’re dead…lights out.” Bobby shudders, uncomfortable with the thought. “It all sounds very interesting, but what exactly is your product?”

  “Customized funeral experiences,” I reply.

  “Doesn’t customization make it labor intensive?”

  “Not the way I propose to do it…which is all in the business plan.”

  “What’s the competitive landscape?” inquires Jonny.

  “A small percentage of funeral homes are doing this in-house, but as far as I know, there are no outside vendors doing what I’m proposing to do.”

  “And you are proposing to…?” asks Bobby.

  “Create strategic alliances with all the funeral homes, vendors of funeral homes and the event-planning industry,” I answer.

  Victor remains still, keeping his eyes trained on me. I glance at him, refusing to allow myself to be unnerved by his composure. “You’re awfully quiet, Mr. Winston.”

  “I’m too young for you to call me Mr. Winston.”

  “Okay. Do you have any questions…Victor?”

  “Not one. Do you?”

  “Yes. What happened to my tea?”

  Victor smiles and hits the intercom button. “Karina?”

  Before there’s a reply Karina enters the conference room with a cup of hot tea.

  “Thank you so much,” I say. “That looks absolutely perfect.” I set the tea down next to me but far from the computer, and address the guys again, “So where were we?”

  “Do you have proof of concept? A prototype for this sort of thing?” asks Jonny.

  “Well, um…no, no prototype at this time.”

  A pause follows. “Look, I think your presentation is excellent, Maddy,” offers Bobby. “But I doubt it’s going to fly. It seems way too trend-dependent. And it seems like a, forgive me, party-planning business.”

  Jonny, who appeared enthusiastic a moment before now appears to wuss out. “Yeah,” adds Jonny. “It’s really impressive, Maddy, but I don’t envision securing customer acquisitions when the bottom line is, people don’t want to face death.”

  Victor’s eyes move back and forth as he takes everyone in.

  “I think you guys are reacting to your own personal feelings about mortality. If you look at the numbers, you’ll see that—”

  “I’m sorry, Maddy, but I’m just not seeing it,” interrupts Bobby. “I get the baby boomer angle, but when it comes to dying I think people’s fears far outweigh their pocketbooks.” He slides his signed NDA form across the table to me and then stands up to leave. “Thanks for the, uh, presentation,” he says, and exits.

  Karina’s voice beckons through the intercom. “Jonny, you’ve got a call
on line two.”

  “Excuse me, Maddy. I’ll be right back,” says Jonny. And he follows after Bobby.

  Victor stands up and shakes my hand. “Excellent presentation. Not only efficient, but effective.” He hands me his signed NDA form and adds,“By the way, you forgot to drink your tea.”

  “I’m not…thirsty anymore.”

  “You? Not thirsty? You know your value proposition on this stone-cold. Don’t let a bunch of short-sighted fools become a barrier to entry for you.”

  I look at him, totally understanding his language but wondering why then he didn’t say anything in the meeting. “So you see a path to profitability here with the right action plan and management team?”

  “It’s not what I see, it’s what you see. Keep your eye on your vision.”

  I look at him, perplexed and contemplative. “I like that. Did Drucker say that?”

  “No, Victor Winston. But it’s yours to use free of charge. I haven’t trademarked it…yet. Say, has there been any progress on the personal development front?”

  “Um, not really. I just have to get this business off the ground and then I can focus on, you know, those kinds of things.”

  There’s the hint of an awkward pause as he looks back at me. “Good luck. I hope Lights Out sees a lot of light.” I watch him leave the room as Jonny re-enters.

  Jonny faces me, staring at the dejection I’m sure is spread across my face. “Hey, I’m really sorry. You were so prepared and you look so, well, let’s just say you look really, really impressive, Maddy. And for a minute you had me going there. I thought Garelik might even go for it.”

  “I don’t get it, Jonny. I don’t get what you guys don’t get.”

  “Well, why don’t you let me take you to dinner tonight and maybe you can get me to get what I’m not getting.” I’m not sure but it sounds like there are traces of seduction in his voice. “And maybe I can help you get what you’re not getting?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, perplexed.

  “I mean, like, maybe I can help you iron out some of the kinks in your business plan. What do you say? How’s Morton’s at eight?”

  “Okay.” I nod.

  At chichi Morton’s, I sit with Jonny, not caring about the celebrities walking by, not caring about the five-star meal or the bottle of Chianti. I passionately make my case for Lights Out Enterprises as Jonny passionately pushes the wine. “Do you know what Margaret Mead said about death in America?”

  “Who’s Margaret Mead?” he asks.

  “A famous cultural anthropologist. She said, ‘When people are born, we rejoice, when they marry, we celebrate, yet when they die, we pretend nothing happened.’”

  “That’s because no one wants to deal with it, babe.” He motions for a waiter to light the candle on our table.

  Frustrated, I shake my head and carry on. “Don’t you see the potential here? More and more people are becoming proactive about their funerals.”

  “Why?” he asks. “And don’t you want to try this amazing wine?”

  “Why? Didn’t you read that article in the Financial Street Journal about couples renewing their wedding vows every year?” I ask, determined to make him see the potential.

  Jonny takes a sip of wine. “Yeah…so what?”

  I shake my head in exasperation. “Well? Weddings, funerals, memorial redos—it’s the same thing, Jonny. People want a reason to celebrate. So why not funerals or tributes or whatever euphemism you want to give it, followed up with repeat memorials, which people might very well want to do given the money one spends on the annual maintenance of a memorial site. Why not original experiences and repeat performances where you’re not mourning a death but celebrating a life? So you don’t forget your loved ones, so you never have to say goodbye, just…see ya later.” I sigh, spent on my pitch. “What don’t you get?”

  “I don’t get why this lovely lady in front of me is not drinking her amazing, delicious, fruity, mature glass of one-hundred-and-fifty-dollar red wine, with an incredible aroma, I might add. That’s what I don’t get.”

  I whip my head around to look behind me. No one’s there. “What lovely lady?” I ask, but then I spot a woman walking by with a martini in her hand. “Oh, you mean that woman that looks like Nicole Kidman. I think she’s drinking a martini, Jonny.”

  “I meant you, Maddy.”

  “Me?” I look at my wine then back at him, suspicion growing.

  “Yeah, you’re pretty damn lovely, ya know. Not to mention amusing. And when you were in the meeting talking numbers, especially the billions, let me tell ya, I had a woody on me that wouldn’t quit.”

  I look at him startled. “Is this supposed to be a date?”

  Jonny nods.

  “I don’t want you to date me, I want you to invest in me.”

  “Oh, come on, Maddy. That’s a dead-end business you’re talking about. No pun intended.”

  “Excuse me, but I happen to think that death is alive and well, thank you very much. Think about it. Everyone has to go at one time or another.”

  “I’m sorry, Maddy. I don’t think you’re going to get traction on it because I don’t believe people want to confront it. It’s fucking morbid.”

  “Oh my God. That’s the whole point. It’s always been that way in the past. But baby boomers are going to change the perception. They’re going to turn it into a celebration so they don’t have to deal with the morbid aspect. You should be loving this idea, Jonny, you’re the one with the celebration reputation. I’ve heard about the parties you threw at BU. Legendary to say the least.”

  He cocks his head arrogantly. “Yeah, they ripped all right.”

  “Think about it. How do you want to be remembered? What do you want said at your funeral?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay, okay. It’s obviously a touchy situation for you. So let’s give it a euphemism. What do you want said at your tribute? And who do you want to say it? Do you want music? Do you want a band? Do you want the chef at Morton’s to serve your favorite appetizer? Because funeral homes, I mean tributary centers, are starting to put kitchens on the premises.”

  Jonny looks at me, his interest piqued. “I could do that? Come on.”

  “Why not? You could preplan it. Pay for it up front. And get this. My plan is to invest the prepaid fees in secure bonds with double-A ratings, so by the time a pre-need becomes a time of need, it hasn’t cost a dime. In fact, if enough pre-need time passes before time of need arrives, the heirs of the pre-need-turned-time-of-need will make money back on the funeral, so it will pay for itself and leave them with a profit.”

  For the first time all evening, Jonny stops filling his face with food and drink and looks at me with keen interest.

  “Wow. I’ve got to hand it to you, Maddy. You got me. How much do you think you need to get it rolling?”

  “Just give me a first round of three hundred thousand to get it off the ground.”

  “Okay, I’ll see if I can talk Garelik into it. He’s got the final word. But I need a copy of the business plan.”

  I whip out a business plan from Eve’s bag and I hand it to him. Jonny’s eyes start to do that funny flicker thing. “When can I get an answer?” I ask. “Because otherwise I have to move on to other VCs.” I’m hoping potential competitive interest will spurn him to a quick green light.

  “Give me a couple of weeks,” he says. “Are you ever going to drink your wine?”

  I notice Jonny nervously wipe his hands on his napkin like he did in the deli, and for an instant, I get that funny feeling again that something’s amiss. I glance at my full wine glass. “I’m not…thirsty anymore.”

  Jonny leans in close to me. “Can I ask you something? Doesn’t all this business talk make you…horny?”

  I look at him, unbelieving, and lean toward him. “Can I ask you something? What is wrong with you?”

  “Come on, Maddy, you’ve got that lust for the deal in your eyes. I can see it a mile away,�
�� he leers.

  “So consummating a business deal for you is synonymous with a fuck?”

  He nods excitedly at me.

  “Well, just so we’re clear, we’re working off of two different dictionaries. I gotta go.”

  Jonny looks at me confused, then lifts my glass of wine and finishes it in one gulp.

  While trudging up Inspiration Trail at Will Rogers State Park, dry air rushes to my lungs. I suck in the smells of nature, nostalgic for a different kind. These aren’t the smells from my youth. Sycamore instead of maple, dry winds rather than humid breezes, parched beige paths as opposed to soggy black earth; I prefer the latter, perhaps because the familiarity of a happy youth brings with it a sense of groundedness I have never found in L.A., a sprawl of disenfranchised architecture sitting on earth that could be loosened at any given moment by a seismic sneeze.

  My cell phone rings and I unhook it from my hip clip like a western gunslinger.

  “Well, Sunshine?” asks Uncle Sam. “Did they go for it?”

  “Hi, Uncle Sam. The presentation went…okay.”

  “But…?”

  “Let’s just say they’re reconsidering…after a dinner date…which was not consummated.”

  “So the presentation lured them in. Did you wear chartreuse?” he chuckles.

  “I’m not a fishing lure, Uncle Sam,” I say, suddenly realizing that maybe I am. Maybe that’s the metaphor, that every aspect of my presentation is synonymous with fishing, only I’m the bait and VC money is the catch. “Okay, maybe I am.”

  “What stopped them from biting?”

  “A missing prototype. I think I can seal a deal with one.”

  “That’s easy enough,” he says cheerily. “I’ll be your prototype.”

  “You will?” I’m shocked.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Because it’s going to mean more money to do it right.”

  “What doesn’t? Besides, if you have proof of concept you can retain more assets in the company. Why do you sound so surprised?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds too easy.”

  “Well, enjoy this part of it, because the hard part will come. It always does.”