The Funeral Planner (30 page)

Victor sees me and motions for me to check out my new office across the hall, which he has taken the liberty of decorating with similar furniture. I enter, barely taking in my new surroundings. I immediately pull my wireless laptop computer out of my bag and place it on my desk, also made out of chalkboard material. What a paper saver—you can make notes and scribble ideas down on the desk as you work, I think, while searching for the nearest electrical outlet.

Victor wraps up his phone call and steps across the hall into my office. “How do you like it?”

“It’s great, Victor. You and Arthur Pintock should start an office design company. Your tastes are identical. What do you have, an arsenal of high-end furniture design in storage somewhere?”

“Sort of.” He points behind me to a changing-table posing as a credenza with a portable teapot and a box of black tea. “Your teapot…and tea.”

I look and smile, but it doesn’t last.

“What’s wrong?”

“We have to talk,” I say. “Thornton cancelled his deal because Derek bought out the Baxter Funeral Home and is offering pre-need deals at one-third the cost of those at Lights Out.”

I quickly connect to the Internet. “Look at this.” I log on to Derek Rogers’s Web site and hop onto the member subsite to show Victor the hyperlink to Tribute in a Box in-house training video and manual with sample production templates.

“Can you get in?”

“I’m trying,” I say. Meanwhile, I call Toby Helman, who then quickly calls back.

“I’ve got the code for you,” she says. “The username is Attila, and the password is The Hun, spelled out as one word.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I ask.

“No. The man is so full of his imperialist attitudes that I can’t even comment anymore. Good luck.”

“Thanks so much, Toby.”

I start typing and click on the training-video link. Up streams a play-by-play version from my business plan and Web site on how to make efficacious life bio videos.

Victor squints in disgust at the screen. “It’s a complete ripoff from your business plan… He’s got balls.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Victor show signs of irritation.

We both watch as the training video displays a large number of props to select from for use during a funeral service, and which they can supply—for a fee of course.

The props that fit onto the corner of a casket are known as “corner prop symbols,” which the video shows, just as my business plan referred to them. Sample corner props include mini golf balls, guitars, horses, cars, fishing poles, chef’s hat, bowling ball, soccer ball, football, baseball mitt, American Flag, rifle and ballerina shoes, to name a few.

Other kinds of prop symbols include cloth tapestries, known as “cloth props” which have the same symbols woven into the cloth. Cloth props are used to drape over a casket or around an urn, or to hang from behind the pulpit.

I recognize the suppliers listed in the selection. “I don’t believe it, Victor,” I say, disgustedly. “Derek’s made deals with my vendors, too. But he’s really pushing the props to define a life—no wonder why it’s so cheap. It’s so cookie-cutter and tacky the way he’s doing it. Where’s the tribute? Where’s the personalization?”

“I certainly wouldn’t want that at my funeral,” comments Victor.

“Ditto.”

I click on another link labeled “Interactive Funerals.” I find the Tribute in a Box generalized interactive funeral maps for “types” of people, again verbatim from my business plan. But the way he’s presenting it is everything I had tried to avoid for the very reason that Derek wants to achieve it: mass-marketed themed ceremonies in a box. Choices are broken down into a basic price list. There are also blatant directions to go to the Lights Out Enterprises Web site for more specific ideas and details on execution of nontraditional services that they should feel free to use and integrate into their own nontraditional community services.

“T-this is unbelievable,” I stammer. “He’s conducting virtual seminar trainings off of our Web site!”

Victor shakes his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this. He’s bootlegging all your hard work.”

There’s another page offering lowball deals to corporate executives who sign up for pre-need packages through Tribute, plus discount rates tied into their credit card mileage programs, another idea ripped straight from the pages of my business plan.

“But he’s got one huge hole in his plan,” says Victor. “There is no way he can provide quality assurance.”

“Yes, but how long will it take for people to catch on? Or who knows, Victor, maybe consumers will like this.”

“Consumers, not clients. And if they do, my hunch is it will be short-lived.”

I continue through the site. “Let’s check this out.” I mouse down to a list of member funeral homes. As we review it, a new name suddenly pops up, Sullivan Funeral Home in Little Rock, Arkansas.

“Oh, great!” I toss my arms in the air. “I guess we can kiss the governor goodbye now, too.”

And right on cue, my cell phone rings. I grab it.

“I’m looking for Maddy Banks,” says a young female voice.

“This is her,” I answer.

“Oh, wonderful. I’m calling from Green Power. I’m Roger Lincoln’s executive assistant. Per Roger’s request, I’m calling to let you know that he won’t be needing his pre-need package with you anymore and that you shouldn’t worry about flying out here for the life bio video. He’s sorry if this causes you any trouble. But he wanted to do you the courtesy of calling before his local funeral home did. Oh, and he said that he would be sending you a check for a thousand dollars for your time.”

I nod, trying hard to hold back the pain of defeat. “Right. Okay. Thanks, anyway.” I turn to Victor. “Roger Lincoln is history now, too.” I think about the domino effect now taking place. “Victor, at this rate, it’s only a matter of time before the rest of our deals drop out, both the high-net-worth individuals and the funeral homes.”

Victor stands tall staring out the bay window, thinking.

“Is it possible to sue Derek and Jonny for plagiarizing Lights Out?” I ask.

“It will just turn into a three-year legal nightmare. The only winners in cases like these are the lawyers.”

He turns to face me. “We just have to outsmart him.” Victor looks at his watch. “Look, I’ve got an appointment with another client of mine right now. When I get back we’ll brainstorm for a solution.”

“Who’s your client?” I ask. “If it’s okay to ask?”

“Of course. They’re called The Designer Tank. It’s a virtual furniture design firm. We’re launching the first product in two months.”

“Virtual furniture?”

“Furniture designed to shape-shift for the wireless world.” He motions to the furniture in the room. “As an investor, I get the old prototypes.”

While Victor takes off for his meeting, I take off for the beach to think over a new plan of action. I walk along the ocean’s edge, deep in my thoughts. If I want to save my current deals, I’ll have to act fast or else come up with an entirely new business model.

I stop to scoop up a handful of sand. “Oh, Uncle Sam, I wish you were here. Does the battle ever end?” I let the sand sift through my fingers and keep walking.

I reach a little dive and stop for a grilled cheese sandwich and a bottle of water. I sit at an outside table watching an array of vendors share the boardwalk. They have virtual stores, I think, no walls and no leases to separate them. They just share the open space in search of a sale. I stop my thoughts from wandering any further, realizing the key word here is
share.
They
share.
That’s it, I think. I’ll offer all the independent funeral-home owners a percentage of Lights Out by presenting them with lucrative co-revenue sharing deals. If I can work out the numbers so I break even the first year in order to build market share, I bet I’ll be able to do it. I pull out my PDA and immediately start working on the numbers, jotting notes on a napkin.

By the time Victor returns to the office, I’ve written up a template for the co-revenue sharing deal and am printing it out.

“Ready to take a meeting?” asks Victor.

“No need to. I figured out an open chute for us and a simultaneous door-stopper for Derek Rogers.” I hand him my paperwork. “With this plan, funeral homes won’t have to sell out to Tribute and they’ll still be able to increase their revenues. If we can delay any new hires and cut my salary in half for six months, I think it’ll work.”

“But if Derek’s buying funeral homes at dollar-cap values what makes you think they wouldn’t take the money and drop the hassle of running a business?”

“First, because most independent funeral homes are handed down from one generation to the next, so for one thing, they want to keep it in the family. Second, the younger generations taking over want to work for themselves. This is a way for them to do it. And third, there’s a lot of pride that comes with owning your own business. Look at you.”

Victor nods, and then takes a seat in the compressed cardboard chair shaped like a Z with removable parts for one’s cell phone, PDA, water bottle and a hook for a purse or backpack. He carefully reads my documents and then goes into that frozen-thinking-stare phase.

I patiently watch him, but then I break his reverie. “Excuse me. Hello. Can you tell me which button do I push to put the lights back on?”

He comes to, looking straight at me. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Yes, I see. I’m beginning to recognize what thought in its intangible form looks like. So, what do you…think?”

“This is a great solution,” he says, pacing the room now. “It needs to be implemented immediately. And if it goes according to your projected schedule we can open a Series B round again in three to four months to pump up the cash flow and hire support staff.”

I am relieved. “Thanks. It will be on our Web site and go out to all the national funeral homes by tomorrow… Derek Rogers would sooner do a life bio video with me, than opt for revenue sharing.”

“In the meantime, you really do need to get someone to help you. Is there a college intern you can bring on board part-time?”

“Yes, I believe there is.”

For the next four weeks, I see resurgence in Lights Out Enterprises. The word spreads about the new plan via the Lights Out Web site, phone calls, e-mails and viral marketing. Tons of independent funeral homes across the country contact me to sign up for the co-revenue sharing deal bringing with them a multitude of clients.

Not only does my plan bring in the strategic partners and client base I need to stay afloat, but it hampers Tribute’s expansion plans, which I find out from Toby Helman, who is only too happy to share anything that rocks Derek Rogers’s boat. Apparently, according to Toby who gets it from her boss, Derek Rogers is infuriated to be trumped by Madison Banks.

I move my home-office into the office-office. I place my green bowling pin bank on my desk and proudly pin the Lights Out pajama top on the wall.

I fly in and out of town to meet with clients for pre-need setups and with Victor’s help begin interviewing for fulltime staff.

Victor and I pass by each other in our office. He continues to advise me, as well as to oversee his other ventures in development.

I still wonder about the photo of him and the mysterious woman that sits on his desk, but I’m not sure what answer I would get, so I curb my curiosity. I’ve never seen the woman at the office or heard Victor mention anything at all about a girlfriend, a wife, or a boyfriend for that matter. These thoughts quickly fade away as I deal with more pressing matters. Happily everything seems to be falling into place. I even find myself gently fondling the black ribbon I still wear on my shirt and whistling “Fishing Free” at odd times of the day.

Eve joins Lights Out three mornings a week to help with organization, phones and presentations, including my wardrobe. She’s been there three weeks before meeting Victor, who’s constantly in and out of town.

Eve is making herself a cup of coffee when she turns to me. “I’m beginning to think this VC of yours doesn’t really exist.”

I keep writing at my desk. “Eve, he’s busy. He travels. You see his office, don’t you?”

“Could be a set design. You know, a whole made-up pretense to help you get business. If people think you have a VC they’ll take you more seriously.”

“You watch too many movies. Did you get the preliminary worksheets on Pullman and Brandeiss?”

“On your desk. But don’t you think you should include what it is people want to wear in their life bio videos? After all, it does reflect on who they are…or were. Oh, while you’re at it, why not have them plan what they want to wear when they split from earth? I mean, what if they think they’re going to a party in heaven or if they want something more warrior-like, in case they think they need to battle ghosts or devils…or maybe they want wings. Wow, that’s it, a line of clothing with wings. What do you think?”

I stop writing. “I never thought of that, but you’re right, let’s add that to the worksheets.”

The door opens and Victor enters fresh from London. “Hey, Madison, how are you? I got back a day early.” He sees Eve. “And you must be Eve Gardner. Pleasure to finally meet you.” He extends his hand.