The Funeral Planner

by Lynn Isenberg

  “Two hours max,” he says.

  I turn to Richard. Before I can speak, he commands,“Get out of here. Now, please.”

  I climb inside Victor’s rented hybrid. He drives us to the bowling alley.

  “We’re here,” he says, and parks the car.

  “The bowling alley? This better be good, Victor.”

  We enter the building and pass by Sally and Wally in the attached restaurant watching Roy Vernon sing “The Guy Ballad.” A few bowling regulars spot me and wave hello. Victor misses it as he greets Carl behind the counter and buys two games and shoe rentals for each of us.

  “The burgers still good here?” asks Victor, winking at Carl.

  “Second to Eagle’s Nest,” replies Carl.

  “Okay, two burgers and two lemonades. Is that okay with you, Maddy?”

  “Whatever,” I say, going along for the ride. “But I really don’t feel like bowling.”

  “Is that because Madison Banks is actually afraid to lose?”

  “Are you challenging me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You’re on,” I reply.

  Carl smiles as we get onto Lane 10.

  We pick our bowling balls and start to play. I take aim and quickly claim a strike. Victor follows with one of his own.

  “So what does bowling have to do with George Toffler?” I ask.

  “Arthur Pintock started out as your front bowling-pin client, right? And I trust Toffler asked you all about Lights Out,” he says. I nod, fearing a conundrum is on its way. “Well, it all ends here, Maddy. Because that phone call was instigated by Arthur Pintock. He specifically asked Toffler to investigate Derek Rogers. His fact-checking interviews are just part of a much bigger story. Your turn.”

  I grab my ball as I try to digest the information. I refocus and get another strike. I’m on fire.

  “Nice,” says Victor. “You’ve really improved.”

  “What kind of story?” I ask.

  Victor rolls his ball for a spare. For the first time, I’m ahead of him. He takes it in stride and turns to me. “Tomorrow’s Journal is going to cause Derek Rogers to implode. Tribute in a Box will soon be Toppled in a Box. And it’s going to completely debunk the accreditation program under the new Funeral Rule. Lights Out won’t be stymied anymore by Derek’s shenanigans.”

  I sit down, stunned. “Are you serious?”

  Carl brings us our burgers and lemonade. “Here ya go.” He checks the ball machine, half-grins at Victor and splits.

  Victor sits next to me. “Yes. But there’s more. A lot more.”

  “What?”

  He hands me an envelope. I open it up and there’s a check for $36,876 made out to Lights Out Enterprises. “What’s this?”

  “Seems your protégée picked up quite a bit from you.”

  “My protégée?”

  “When I asked Eve Gardner to wrap things up for you, she did. She closed a three-way co-branded deal with a client you introduced her to. The deal included repurposing a life bio video into music videos and commercials, and Eve got to promote FT 101 Designs in all of them. She even made sure a percentage of the revenue generated went to Lights Out Enterprises for initiating the relationships.”

  I scan my shoes. “Wow…she trumped me. I never thought of ancillary markets from the life bio videos.”

  “Your thought processes rubbed off on her…as did your ethics.”

  I am impressed by Eve. But Victor had said… “There’s more?” I ask.

  “It’s in your next ball.”

  I look at him funny, but pick up my ball. Something’s stuck in one of the holes. I pull it out. It’s a sparkling diamond ring. “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s my way of asking you to marry me. Please, let me speak before midnight rolls around and you proclaim me history again.” He takes a breath, exposing a degree of nervousness I’ve never seen in him before. “I think playing the results is overrated. I believe we’re both missing out on what life is really supposed to be about. And I made a mistake, Maddy. I thought you weren’t done grieving over Sam. That’s why I left the way I did, which was pretty rotten of me and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t realize what I was doing, which was trying not to compete with the dead. I’ve done that with my sister for my parents’ attention for too long now. It was my issue, never yours…and I’ve resolved it.” He pauses, shoring up his resolve. “I confronted my parents. I told them I can’t stop living my life because they aren’t living theirs or even acknowledging mine. It’s not what Shauna would have wanted, either.” He takes another breath. “Look, I love you, Maddy. And I’d like to be your husband…if you’ll have me. But before you answer, I want you to know I’m real, I’m alive, and I’m not leaving.”

  Before I know what hit me, Victor takes me in his arms and kisses me. It’s an amazing kiss and easily reignites my feelings for him. Finally, he pulls away.

  “You think sticking a diamond ring in a bowling ball will make me swoon over you?” I ask.

  “Well, that and the fact that I love you,” he says. “Please, at least put it on.”

  I try the ring on. No go. “It doesn’t fit. That’s a bad sign.” I give him a shy smile. “You really love me?”

  “Yes. I really do love you.”

  “Yeah? Well, my love is going to cost you,” I goad.

  “I’m prepared for whatever that is,” he says, catching my meaning.

  “Okay, here’s the deal, Victor—”

  “Wait a minute. You’re turning a marriage proposal into a business negotiation?”

  “What’s the problem with that? We are talking contracts, aren’t we? And, well, I have some results that need to be played out before I can take you seriously.”

  “You’re a much better entrepreneur than I gave you credit for. What’s the deal?”

  I pull out the sealed envelope that Arthur gave me five days ago. “See this?”

  Finale: Playing Maddy’s Results—The Pièce de Résistance

  Six a.m. the next morning. In the predawn darkness, Sid and I jog to the corner newsstand. I purchase a Financial Street Journal and aim my flashlight pen at the front page. The center headline reads, “Mortuary Empire Topples-in-a-Box: Derek Rogers’s art of the scandal unravels into view,” by George Toffler.

  Toffler’s lengthy exposé reveals the scandal behind Derek’s entire career, concluding with the plagiarism of the business plans developed “by Ms. Madison Banks for Artists International and Lights Out Enterprises, which Mr. Rogers turned into Palette Enterprises (PE) and Tribute in a Box (TIAB).”

  In addition, Toffler includes “Mr. Rogers’s crime of stealing Ms. Banks’s and Mr. Wright’s $2.99 online Pamphlet for Grief Wellness & Creating the Personalized Tribute and turning it into The Heartache Handbook for Tributes in a Box for an advance of $500,000 from Agam Publishing in a first-run distribution deal of 75,000 books that had to be pulled in the eleventh hour when Vertihore Media’s legal chief, Mr. Sanford Aidelman, was confronted by Ms. Banks on the issue, at which time Ms. Banks easily proved ownership of her intellectual property.”

  Toffler goes on to reveal how “Mr. Rogers’s leadership of PE leaves the company in financial shambles, exposing not only lavish bonuses paid to himself and his consultant, Mr. Jonny Bright, but mismanagement of funds, embezzlement and bribes committed with analysts to increase stock value.”

  A great deal more is said of Mr. Rogers’s graft with Washington lobbyists and committee members who received TIAB stock in return for making Mr. Rogers the czar of his own accreditation program inside the new Funeral Rule. And that “his lack of compliance with regard to pre-need arrangements and investments in the funeral industry makes him subject to a potential shareholder’s derivative case plus major fines with both PE and TIAB. Under the Sarbanes-Oxley Act of 2002, Mr. Rogers must certify company statements as accurate under a threat of perjury subject to criminal penalties of up to twenty years in prison, and investigators intend to prove ‘guilty knowledge’
and ‘intent’ on Mr. Rogers’s part to swindle shareholders and stakeholders.” Toffler makes it clear that this story is not an indictment of the funeral industry, but one crooked white-collar criminal.

  The pièce de résistance appears when Toffler concludes, “Ms. Madison Banks is the unsung heroine, and victim of a number of Mr. Rogers’s endeavors that under her stewardship might have provided quite a different outcome. How different, we’ll find out in the next installment: ‘Jackson, MI—Mecca for Personalized Tributes.’”

  I do a double take, surprised by the length of the story and its cliffhanger.

  Seven-thirty a.m. Showered and comfortably dressed, I pace the deck of Uncle Sam’s house overlooking Clark Lake. On this day, I wear a headset to keep my hands and arms free for battle. Siddhartha stays close to me, anticipating the action to come.

  I roll up my sleeve, look at my watch; it’s now 7:35 a.m. eastern standard time. I dial a number. “Get ready, Sid. It’s show time.”

  I hum the theme song for Mission: Impossible until an answering machine comes on. “You’ve reached Tribute in a Box Corporation. For Derek Rogers, press one. For Jonny Bright, press two—” I hit one. “This is Derek Rogers, please leave a message.”

  “Hello, Derek. Madison Banks here. Just want you to know that I’m going after your expansion plan. May the best entrepreneur win…and by the way, if you’re interested in selling, say, matching your previous offer to me…you know where to find me. Have a good day.”

  I leave a similar announcement for Jonny Bright, adding that unlike him with his style of subterfuge, I prefer to be up-front.

  I continue to pace the deck, then speed-dial a number, leaving the message, “I’m good to go.” I hit End, and then punch several more numbers, playing the buttons on the phone like rounds of artillery.

  I lay my blueprint of names and numbers on the table and place rocks on the top corners to stabilize it. Beside the blueprint are a standard tape recorder and two brown paper bags. I start pressing corporate office numbers of funeral homes and the extensions of their leaders. As soon as I get voice mail, I launch the tape recorder. “This is Madison Banks, CEO of Lights Out Enterprises. I’m interested in discussing mutually favorable co-ownership and co-revenue sharing opportunities with your organization. If you’re interested, please call…”

  I do this ten times, then I look at my watch: 8:45 a.m. I hit another button to leave yet another message. “Phase One complete. Check in from the field.”

  I pick up the two brown paper bags and the tape recorder and then leap into the car with Sid. I drive to a cemetery in Ann Arbor and purposefully walk over to the grave of my cousin Smitty. I hold up my flashlight pen, remove a bottle from one of the brown bags and gently set it next to Smitty’s gravestone while reciting the kaddish. The label reads “Everlasting Cologne for Men.” It was Smitty’s trademark. “Here’s to you, Smitty,” I say. “The coolest cousin I ever had.”

  I walk over to another grave. It’s Tara Pintock’s. Sid walks beside me. I remove the second bottle from the second bag. It’s Tara’s favorite, Lyric Perfume, of course. I hold up the flashlight pen and place the perfume on the grass. “For you, Tara. You will always be in my heart. And I really hope you’re seeing just how big a part you still play in my life. Thanks for the song.” I close my eyes. “Goodbye to both of you.”

  Several moments pass. I open my eyes and check my watch: 9:45 a.m. My PDA beeps. I check the e-mail and immediately hop back in the car with Sid and drive to the headquarters of Pintock International.

  Ten-fifteen a.m. Sid and I sit on the couch in Arthur’s office. “I couldn’t do it before this article, Arthur. I wouldn’t have had a clear conscience going behind Derek’s back, even though he’s gone behind mine…many times.”

  “I respect you for that, Maddy,” says Arthur.

  Anita’s voice enters the room through the intercom. “Mr. Derek Rogers is on the line.”

  “Put him through,” says Arthur. He nods at me. I hit Record on my tape recorder and then ready my fingers on top of my PDA keypad.

  “Hey, Arthur, how ya doing today?” says Derek, trying to sound cheerful.

  Sid raises her ears at the sound of his voice and lets out a small growl. I quickly shush her.

  Arthur cuts to the chase. “Derek. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. The lender has decided to renege on your expansion plans. After the article in the press today, they feel your credibility as a business leader has been greatly diminished.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” states Derek. “It’s just a silly article. I’ve already spoken to Toffler and he’s preparing a reprint with an apology. He’s well aware that if he doesn’t do so, he’ll be facing charges for libel.”

  Arthur looks at me. I shoot a quick e-mail to George Toffler.

  “Even if what you say is true, Derek, there’s the issue of compliance. The lender can’t go through with the deal if charges are brought against you.”

  “I’ve taken care of that, Arthur. The right people in the right places know exactly what to do. Trust me, the lender has nothing to worry about.”

  “What does that mean?” asks Arthur.

  I receive an e-mail response from Toffler denying any contact from Derek for a reprint or any mention of legal action. I look at Arthur and shake my head.

  “It means there won’t be any charges,” says Derek. “There’s too much money at stake. Too many people are way too involved to let that happen. And besides, I’m way above that, Arthur.”

  “Derek. I don’t think you realize the seriousness of the implications here. The lender feels the risk is too great and has backed out of the deal.”

  “That’s not possible. We were supposed to sign two weeks ago. They can’t just walk away from a two-hundred-million-dollar deal on the table!”

  “They can. And they did. It’s business, Derek. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”

  “No, that’s not the way I do business. I never lose, Arthur. Never.”

  “Whatever your game is, Derek, it won’t be with Pintock International.”

  “Listen to me. It’s you who doesn’t understand the implications involved here. This will be a terrible loss for you, Arthur. I’ve got other lenders lined up who can’t wait to get in. You’re going to come back to me begging to be in on this!”

  “Is this how you want me to remember you, Derek? Threatening me? You ought to try a pseudo-death sometime. It might be good for your head. Best of luck to you, Derek, you’re going to need it. Goodbye.” Arthur hangs up. “Talk about true colors. Now let’s get that lender on the line.” He buzzes Anita. “Anita, please get Jerry Haggerty from Money Manhattan on the line for me.”

  “Arnie’s son?” I ask.

  “Yes, do you know him?”

  “We met briefly at Arnie Haggerty’s tribute. You had referred me to him, remember?”

  “Yes, of course. I was out of the country when he passed away but it was the talk of the town. Shortly after that, Jerry took over for his father.”

  “Jerry Haggerty’s on the line,” says the voice of Anita.

  “Jerry? Arthur. How would you like to put the funeral home consortium deal back on the table, only with a different leader, different company, whole new ball game.”

  “Who do you have in mind?” asks Jerry.

  “Madison Banks of Lights Out Enterprises. I believe you’ve met.”

  “I’m interested,” says Jerry. “Very interested. But are the funeral homes?”

  Just then, my PDA alerts me to another e-mail. It reads, “11:05 a.m. Ohio, Michigan and New York are in.”

  I speak up. “Hello, Mr. Haggerty. Madison Banks here. And yes, so far all the funeral homes in Ohio, Michigan and New York are in, though the terms have been adjusted to reflect a co-op rather than a hostile takeover, which will actually reduce your risk.”

  “I’m all for that. Mr. Rogers’s terms were much too onesided for my taste,” says Jerry. “Get me the new terms of the deal and co
unt me in.”

  “Thank you,” says Arthur. “We’ll be in touch.” He hangs up. “Congratulations, Maddy, especially when the rest of the funeral homes sign up—and I’m sure they will.”

  “Thank you, Arthur. I couldn’t have done this without you. But I need your advice on one more matter before wrapping this up. Would you meet me at the Eagle’s Nest tonight at seven-thirty?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you then.”

  “Great. Before you come, take a look at this DVD.” I hand him one labeled “The Designer Tank.”

  Seven p.m. I’m working the bar at the Eagle’s Nest when my cell phone rings. Caller ID says “Unknown.” I answer with my speaker on. “This is Madison.”

  “You bitch! Not one lender will even talk to Jonny or me. You fucked me!” screams Derek Rogers.

  I hold the phone away from me and take a deep breath, then calmly reply,“Why don’t you look at your initial exposure and expenditures, Derek, and the way you treat people. I think that you’ll see…you fucked yourself. Bye-bye.” I hang up.

  Those sitting at the bar listening—Carl, Rocky, Lillian, Wally and Sally—clap their hands and cheer!

  I hold up my hand. “We’re not done yet.” I look at my watch. 7:10 p.m.

  “What do you give it?” asks Richard.

  “Any second now.” And right on cue, my phone rings again. I keep it on speaker. “This is Madison.”

  “Madison. Bobby Garelik here. I just fired Derek Rogers and Jonny Bright. I’m putting Tribute in a Box up for sale. Are you interested?”

  “You won’t get your original investment back,” I say.

  “As long as I get something.”

  “All right, meet me at the Eagle’s Nest and we’ll go over it.”

  “Okay. What’s the address?”

  “Eagle Point on Clark Lake in Jackson, Michigan.”

  There’s a pause. “I’ll see you in two days.”

  More cheers from the barflies. I hang up and wink at Richard.