napkin before answering. “In passing. Why? You think he pulled a copycat on you?”
I shrug. “I can’t help but wonder, you know.”
“It’s always like that,” says Bobby. “I get the same ten pitches on the same concept in the same week…without fail.”
“I wouldn’t sweat it, Banks,” adds Jonny.
“I guess you’re right. So, enjoy your lunch. See ya.” I walk over to the counter to collect my food. I glance back at the group. Jonny easily dominates the picture with his animated kinetics. I can still feel something amiss inside from talking with him. I wonder what it was that made me clam up, even though I don’t have time to figure that out right now as I cast my eyes around the deli, eager to find the two elderly tennis buddies. But they are clean gone; the booth they sat in has new occupants. As I pick up my take-out, I am left to wonder what kind of funeral service the man named Walter had planned, if any.
I sit in my apartment sipping lemonade and surfing the Web for a start-up deal for my new business. There’s a bundle for a DBA, Federal and state tax ID, business license, seller’s permit and domain name—which I buy. I set up an accounting system, open a bank account and obtain a company credit card. Next, I need a Web site and a hip, cool logo to breathe life into Lights Out. There’s only one person I trust for the job. I pull a business card from my wallet, remembering how White Mondays’ logo sparked a legend.
I call and a young lady answers,“Candelabra Productions, may I help you?”
“Sierra D’Asanti,” I say. “It’s Madison Banks from Los Angeles.”
In a moment, I hear a sweet, gentle voice ask, “Are you okay? Do you need to talk about Tara?” Concern dominates Sierra’s tone.
“No, no, it’s not that,” I reply, touched by her immediate concern. “I’m okay. I want to know if I can talk to you about becoming a strategic partner on a new business venture.”
“I’d be honored to.”
“But I haven’t even told you what it is.”
“Anything you do, I want in on.”
“Really?”
“You’re so funny, Madison. You’re the last one to see your potential. But I’ve always known it’s just a matter of time before you pop into entrepreneurial stardom. I’d like to be there when it happens. So whatever you’ve got going, count me in. Now, what’s the next step?”
“I need you to meet me in Vegas.”
“For?”
“A funeral convention.”
“When?” she asks, nonplussed by the topic.
“December first. I booked a room at the Hilton. I’m in major start-up mode, so are you okay sharing a room with me?”
“What do you think?”
“Okay. Can I reimburse you on your airfare in two months?”
“Of course. Just one question—are we paying homage to Tara with this new venture?”
“Let’s just say the lack of meaning at her funeral was a catalyst.”
A long pause follows as we both take a moment.
Sierra quietly adds,“I’m looking forward to this, Maddy.”
“Me, too.”
One hour later I’m standing in the empty lobby of a law firm in Santa Monica. I look at my watch. She’s late again. Impatient, I pull out my FSJ. There’s an article on gender-swapping roles in wedding parties. Apparently, the title of bridesmaid is expanding to bridesfriend and best man to best woman, making room for brides and grooms who wish to include close friends of opposite gender in the gig.
I hear a succession of clomping heels followed by the sulky voice of Eve. “This better be good. Sales at Nordstrom don’t come around that often.”
I put the paper down and look at her, decked out in a potpourri of the latest fashion brands. “Do you have your mission statement?”
“It took a back seat to The Tempest. ”
“Then let’s start with a quiz, shall we? Inspired by today’s FSJ. ”
Her face sours. “Since when do internships include tests?”
I ignore the minipout. “For two points, what would the analogous role of best man in a
I shrug. “I can’t help but wonder, you know.”
“It’s always like that,” says Bobby. “I get the same ten pitches on the same concept in the same week…without fail.”
“I wouldn’t sweat it, Banks,” adds Jonny.
“I guess you’re right. So, enjoy your lunch. See ya.” I walk over to the counter to collect my food. I glance back at the group. Jonny easily dominates the picture with his animated kinetics. I can still feel something amiss inside from talking with him. I wonder what it was that made me clam up, even though I don’t have time to figure that out right now as I cast my eyes around the deli, eager to find the two elderly tennis buddies. But they are clean gone; the booth they sat in has new occupants. As I pick up my take-out, I am left to wonder what kind of funeral service the man named Walter had planned, if any.
I sit in my apartment sipping lemonade and surfing the Web for a start-up deal for my new business. There’s a bundle for a DBA, Federal and state tax ID, business license, seller’s permit and domain name—which I buy. I set up an accounting system, open a bank account and obtain a company credit card. Next, I need a Web site and a hip, cool logo to breathe life into Lights Out. There’s only one person I trust for the job. I pull a business card from my wallet, remembering how White Mondays’ logo sparked a legend.
I call and a young lady answers,“Candelabra Productions, may I help you?”
“Sierra D’Asanti,” I say. “It’s Madison Banks from Los Angeles.”
In a moment, I hear a sweet, gentle voice ask, “Are you okay? Do you need to talk about Tara?” Concern dominates Sierra’s tone.
“No, no, it’s not that,” I reply, touched by her immediate concern. “I’m okay. I want to know if I can talk to you about becoming a strategic partner on a new business venture.”
“I’d be honored to.”
“But I haven’t even told you what it is.”
“Anything you do, I want in on.”
“Really?”
“You’re so funny, Madison. You’re the last one to see your potential. But I’ve always known it’s just a matter of time before you pop into entrepreneurial stardom. I’d like to be there when it happens. So whatever you’ve got going, count me in. Now, what’s the next step?”
“I need you to meet me in Vegas.”
“For?”
“A funeral convention.”
“When?” she asks, nonplussed by the topic.
“December first. I booked a room at the Hilton. I’m in major start-up mode, so are you okay sharing a room with me?”
“What do you think?”
“Okay. Can I reimburse you on your airfare in two months?”
“Of course. Just one question—are we paying homage to Tara with this new venture?”
“Let’s just say the lack of meaning at her funeral was a catalyst.”
A long pause follows as we both take a moment.
Sierra quietly adds,“I’m looking forward to this, Maddy.”
“Me, too.”
One hour later I’m standing in the empty lobby of a law firm in Santa Monica. I look at my watch. She’s late again. Impatient, I pull out my FSJ. There’s an article on gender-swapping roles in wedding parties. Apparently, the title of bridesmaid is expanding to bridesfriend and best man to best woman, making room for brides and grooms who wish to include close friends of opposite gender in the gig.
I hear a succession of clomping heels followed by the sulky voice of Eve. “This better be good. Sales at Nordstrom don’t come around that often.”
I put the paper down and look at her, decked out in a potpourri of the latest fashion brands. “Do you have your mission statement?”
“It took a back seat to The Tempest. ”
“Then let’s start with a quiz, shall we? Inspired by today’s FSJ. ”
Her face sours. “Since when do internships include tests?”
I ignore the minipout. “For two points, what would the analogous role of best man in a
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