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
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
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