P.O. Box 53055    
Los Angeles, CA 90053   

LEFT BEHIND IN A DALLAS PARKING LOT

It may be Jesus’ most controversial parable: the Rich Man and Lazarus. The poor beggar on the street corner goes to heaven, the hotshot millionaire with a red Jaguar ends up in hell. How the tables turn sometimes at the end of life. What lessons can we learn from this upside-down story?

The April sun gleamed off the high-rise glass towers of Dallas, kicking the air-conditioning units at Lazarus Communications into high gear. A small but thriving tech company snugging up next to the big boys populating the so-called “Telecom Corridor” along Route 75, Lazarus had carved out an impressive niche for itself, sometimes outsmarting Nortel and Fujitsu for lucrative contracts. And after Dubya had departed for D.C., incoming Governor Perry had even sent some state business their direction.

Jane, who was about as plain as her name, enjoyed her work and her small but comfortable condo not too far from University Park and the SMU campus. She had to work a second job weekend nights at an UrgentCare center in Richardson in order to be able to afford her day care bills for Lucy, but her two bosses at Dallas were always understanding if she was a few minutes late on Monday morning.

“When we go completely fiber-optic,” Luke often said at their midweek planning sessions, “this is going to be a whole new business.” And of course, despite the many dot.com failures that were spoiling the New Economy, e-business was promising a bright future for Lazarus Communications, and both Luke and Howard were on the phone late into most evenings, trolling for deals.

Often, as she pulled her seven-year-old Honda Civic into the employee parking lot, Jane looked with envy at Shannon’s gleaming new Jag. The high-powered blonde made nearly double what Jane took home even with two jobs. She went to a spa three days a week during lunch, she had an active social life, hinted that she was dating one of the stars of The West Wing, and enjoyed a lakeside view from a split-level estate home overlooking Mountain Creek Lake, just east of Grand Prairie. She and Jane were both in customer relations, but Shannon had been with the firm longer, and was part of Dallas’ “old money” crowd anyway.

The two female employees had little to do with each other; in fact, Jane remembered with a flushed face the time she had timidly asked Shannon if she would buy a couple of two-dollar candy bars just to help Lucy’s school raise money for some athletic equipment. “Oh, give me a break,” the other woman had snapped impatiently. “I haven’t got time. Next you’ll be wanting me to get the Reader’s Digest and Golf magazine just to help your kid out.” A minute later, her conscience hurting her, she had thrust two dollars into Jane’s hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” But when Jane fished in her purse for the candy bars, the blonde had sighed again. “No! I don’t want the candy! Just . . . let’s get back to work.”

It was interesting, though: the memo that changed Jane’s life came the very day her VISA card got canceled on her because she’d missed two payments in a row. “Important!” the heading from Luke read. “Arrange now to attend our Employee Upgrade seminar!” Lazarus Communications had arranged for the ladies to go down to Houston at company expense and attend a one-week seminar from a dynamic specialist in the field of fiber-optics. Jesús Mendoza, one of the best consultants in the Midwest, was running hugely successful programs, and the graduates almost always came back home to major promotions in their home companies. The memo strongly urged that both Jane and Shannon sign up immediately. The handwritten note at the bottom said: “We’ve got high hopes for you!” Then Luke, with his usual sense of humor, played off the name “Lazarus,” and scribbled a P.S.: “This could really RESURRECT your career. Ha!”

The very next Monday, Jane was in a Day’s Inn in Houston, attending the workshop, taking notes, picking up the daily syllabus materials which were included in the admission price. And this guy Mendoza was everything his web site had promised. She and two other ladies from Ft. Worth had car-pooled down the I-45 together, and they talked excitedly over lunch at Arby’s about the newly fattened paychecks they hoped might be waiting back home. Jane had gotten up her courage to ask Shannon if she was attending too, but the young socialite had shrugged. “Got a wedding in Martha’s Vineyard next week,” she said. “I’ll get to it later.”

Jane returned to the skyscraper jungle late that Friday evening, picked up Lucy, and collapsed into bed. Monday morning things were like always at Lazarus: Shannon still had the bigger paycheck, the bigger car, the bigger hairdo, everything. And week after week, the wealthy social butterfly kept putting off her own trek to Houston. “It’s too hot to drive down there,” she grumbled. Plus her calendar was bulging full: wine-tasting parties, courtside seats at Wimbledon with her dad, four-day weekend jaunts to Padre Island and Monterrey. Who had time to go sit in a classroom and listen to some PowerPoint guru named Jesús?

And then one day — in fact, the Tuesday right after Memorial Day nearly a year later — Lazarus Communications . . . was . . . gone. Simply gone. Shannon squealed into the parking lot in her cherry-red Jaguar, and there was nothing there. No company. No other employees. No Luke, no Howard, no Jane, no anybody. It was like the firm had just vaporized into thin air above Six Flags Over Texas.

It took her a good five hours on her cell phone to track down Luke, and by the time he got on the line, she was about to throw a hissy-fit. “Where in the world is everybody?” she said through gritted teeth, trying to control her anger.

“Moved.” Her former boss was chewing on a carrot stick and sounded very laid-back. “Over the weekend we got our big all-digital deal, the one me and Howard been chasing, with a five-million-dollar bonus, and we took it. The whole firm moved to San Mateo, overlooking the San Francisco Bay.”

“Just like that?” Shannon couldn’t believe her ears.

“Yeah.” Luke put her on hold for a moment, then returned. “Yeah, we put everyone on planes, had an agency stake out some offices for us right on the edge of Coyote Point, and here we are. Weather’s nice too.”

Shannon took a deep breath, trying to curb her temper. “Well, what about me? Did you leave a airline ticket for me someplace? When do I come out?”

There was an uncomfortable pause. She could hear a bit of laughter in the background, and thought she almost could pick out Jane’s quiet Midwestern accent. Luke cleared his throat awkwardly, and then came out with it: “Look, Shannon. The deal is . . . we’re set out here. Howard and me and a couple of California contacts he had from college. And then Jane. And I’m afraid that’s it.”

“Jane?!” The blonde spat out the name. “You’re taking her instead of me? I run circles around her and you know it. What’s going on here, Luke?”

Her former boss decided to level with her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But Jane went out and got the training we needed her to get. I told both of you to get connected up with this Jesús fellow, that seminar leader, and Jane was the only one who went.”

“Well, can’t I still attend?” Shannon was desperate now. Her lifestyle, her car, her five-bedroom estate home, her racquet-ball membership . . . were all evaporating before her eyes. “Tell me where he’s doing seminars now, and I’ll go right this minute.”

“He’s not doing them anymore,” Luke explained carefully. “They ran until Thanksgiving last year, and that’s it.”

It was uncomfortably warm out in the parking lot of the former Lazarus
Communications, and Shannon tried to move into a little shady area, hoping her cell phone wouldn’t cut out on her. “Luke,” she pleaded, “you owe me! Come on!”

“I’m sorry,” he responded. “But Lazarus is really in a whole new game now. We have to have people who got this training from Mendoza.”

Shannon racked her brain. What can I do? What can I do? It was preposterous to think that just because she skipped some do-gooder Houston seminar, she was going to be left out in the cold. Make that HOT! she angrily thought to herself. It was really roasting out there in that Dallas parking lot; the sun seemed to blast off the dark asphalt and right into her eyes.

“Wait!” she said, an idea forming in her head. “That Jane girl . . . she got all the training from that what’s-his-name, right?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “And lemme tell you, it paid off for her. We had to start her at one-thirty-five out here, going to one-fifty by the end of the year. What’s your point?”

Shannon’s mind reeled. What?! Little mousy Jane making 135 grand a year? But she was too frantic to think just now about how the tables had turned. “Let me get with her and have her show me what she learned.” It was agony to grovel, to chew miserably on the humble pie — and she remembered with shame how she had stiffed the lower-paid girl over those candy bars. And how she’d never once invited the struggling single mother to lunch. “Please, Luke. Send Jane out here to teach me the stuff. Or I’ll come there. Or anywhere. Just don’t leave me in this roasting parking lot!” She almost added: And have her bring a fan and an ice-cold Coke, please! I’m dyin’ out here! A trickle of sweat formed a slow-sliding puddle down the small of her back as the phone line gently went dead.