Free The Funeral Planner by Lynn Isenberg Page B

that,” Sierra offers. Undeterred, she places my hands on the back of her hips. “Feel it and follow along.”
    I face her back, trying to own the beat. She patiently presses my hands on her hips, maintaining a slow, methodical pace until I start to catch on. In minutes, I’m moving to the music, mastering it.
    Sierra leans close to my ear. “You want to take a break and get some water?”
    I keep moving and shake my head. “Can’t stop now. I may never get it back.”
    “I see.” Sierra smiles. “Did you stop to think it might be like riding a bike?”
    I shake my head again, still moving to the beat. “Oh, no. This is much harder.”
    “Okay, marathon woman. I’ll get us both some water.” She smiles.
    Sierra heads toward the bar. A couple of guys approach her like magnets. Meanwhile, I keep moving, wondering yet again how long I can feed my ambition to pursue my goals in order to reach the life I think I ought to be living.

 
    Executive Summary: The Plan for Lights Out Enterprises
     
    O ne week later in my apartment, I hit the print button and punch the sky with victory fists. “Yes!” I shout with glee. “By George, I think I’ve got it!” I stare at my hard work in its paperform, with color coordinated graphs by Eve. I announce, “Lights Out Enterprises.” I playfully turn the light on and off, screaming, “Lights Out! Lights Out! Okay, enough.” I smile and dial a number. An answering machine picks up. Uncle Sam’s prerecorded whistle of “Fishing Free” flows into my ear, followed by his trademark line “Have a beee-utiful day.”
    I hear the beep and take my cue. “Hi, Uncle Sam. I finished the business plan, with a mission statement, executive summary, company strategy, financial review, etcetera, etcetera. And I lined up a VC meeting. I’ll keep you posted on the chain of results. Oh, and I promise to do those girlie things you insisted I do before my meeting. Love you! Mad.”
     
    I’m approaching the front doors of the famous Bali High Spa, known for its one-stop-shop spa circuit, when my cell rings. “Maddy Banks here.”
    “Hey, it’s Sierra. I’m e-mailing you the final revisions on the logo today.”
    “Awesome! I can’t wait…” I pant as I struggle to open the heavy mahogany doors while juggling the phone close to my ear.
    “What are you doing?” asks Sierra.
    “Oh, I have to get a manicure, pedicure, facial, massage, brow wax, bikini wax…”
    “Have to? You make it sound like it’s torture?”
    “Believe me, I’d rather be putting together my advisory board.”
    “Maddy, you have issues. Do yourself a favor, will you?”
    “What?”
    “Enjoy it! Let go! Pamper yourself and—”
    “Okay, okay,” I say. “I, uh, promise to try to enjoy it.” I take a deep breath and pass through the monster doors, which just added to the stress I’d come to erase.
    I close in on the front desk and hand a woman my full-package gift certificate from Uncle Sam. “Hi, there, um, I’m here for all of this…stuff,” I say, pointing to the list of prepaid items on the certificate.
    “Okay, let me see what you’ve got here,” she says.
    While she reads the list, I immediately rummage through ten different business magazines and newspapers in my briefcase. I find my trusty Financial Street Journal and pull it out, tapping my foot while reading. I can’t help but laugh out loud when I spot a headline “Companionship in Prayer Extends to Four-legged Friends.”
    Traditional clergy are creating separate services for petowning congregants, so that together, they can attend religious ceremonies. I smile to myself and wonder what’s next, doggie wafers and doggie wine? Then my eye lands on another article.
    “It’s scandalous! I can’t take it anymore.” I’m unaware I’ve spoken out loud.
    The woman behind the desk offers an odd look and then politely interrupts me. “Excuse me, would you like your treatments in any particular order, Ms. Banks?”
    Oblivious, the