There are less than 24 hours until the VC forum, and the debate still rages in her heart. "How gung-ho should I be?" she asks herself.
Act III: Stand and Deliver
Scene: Springboard: New England 2001 Venture Capital Forum, Harvard Business School, November 9, 2001.
In the small room off the stage Lucy waits. She is the first presenter of the day. She doesn't feel nervous, but with a few minutes to go, she suddenly bolts from the room. She wants to be alone. She quickly practices again how she will hold her props and the slide clicker. "Don't talk when you walk," she reminds herself. And then it's time.
Lucy walks across the stage holding her balloon and straw and launches into an almost dreamlike performance. She's hitting all her points and having fun. Lucy concludes with words every VC likes to hear. "If you want to invest in a company that has near-term market potential, defensible new technology, long-term growth potential, and a great team, come see me," she says.
The heat is on.
Comic relief comes when A.G. gets ready to walk on stage. The person introducing her fumbles with the PowerPoint clicker and says what sounds like "Oh, shit." The audience roars. But what truly makes the performance memorable is the way A.G. quickly takes command of the stage, makes a joke, and sails right into her story. She has everyone's complete attention as she confidently calls for $4 million in financing for PrivaSource. (One result of all the coaching: presenters have increased not only their sales projections but also the amount of funding they're seeking.) When A.G. reveals her J.D. background, a couple of thirtysomething investors let out a little whoop of approval for the lawyer who has refused to dress the part. In fact, she was counseled to remove her ear hoop for the forum, but she refused.
And the painful moments, well, they are really painful. One woman freezes like a deer in the headlights. But sitting in the first row, Amy Millman locks eyes with the entrepreneur and silently "coaches" her through the pitch. Another presenter apologizes three times for being nervous and bursts into tears when she walks off the stage. Witnessing the few disappointing performances breaks Millman's heart. "These women have done so much," she says.
No one knows what to expect when Shoba takes the stage, nearly last on the lineup. She looks radiant in a flattering beige dress, a bright red Hermes scarf, and crocodile-skin high heels. "The news industry is a bit of a mystery to many people," she begins. But as she looks out at the sea of faces, she struggles not to panic. She quickly focuses on Anthony, her business partner, seated in the middle of the auditorium. He is literally on the edge of his seat, silently reciting Shoba's pitch, word for word, right along with her. Then Shoba spots one of her coaches, a woman lawyer, sitting directly behind Anthony and doing the same thing he is. They are both gripping the sides of the seat in front of them. Shoba feels her feet weaken and her toes go tingly. "I saw their mouths moving. I suddenly went cold and said, 'My God, I can't let these people down," she says later.
But then something happens to give Shoba pause: a man carrying a toddler walks down the center aisle and settles into the front row. Shoba thinks, "Oh, it's a baby. How unusual." The man and the toddler soon leave, but somehow the baby's brief presence has soothed Shoba's nerves and put her in a humorous mood. She launches into the rest of her presentation in earnest. And she does what she once dreaded: she talks about herself and shares her big dream "to transform the way news is distributed." She plays up her own background as an experienced entrepreneur who succeeded in bootstrapping her first company and "selling it for $14 million." Gasps are heard. And for effect she adds, "It felt good then, and it still does." The crowd erupts. You get the distinct feeling it has been much too long since investors have heard a good exit story.
In the audience, VC Tom Claflin puts a little plus mark next to Shoba's name.
Act IV: The Show Goes On
Scene: Springboard reunion, Goodwin Procter law offices, February 13, 2002.
Where are they now? Shoba, A.G., and Lucy are holding on for dear life. Not all 23 Springboard alumnae have seen their companies survive. One woman was forced to liquidate her business for lack of funds.
For Shoba, who shows up at the Boston reunion looking depleted, it has been an exhausting three-month roller-coaster ride since the forum. From Springboard she drew up a list of investors and gave them each a deadline: meet with me before Thanksgiving. To her surprise, a few called her to arrange a date. "Five investors contacted me, and I called 15, of whom 7 agreed to listen." By December she had met with 12 potential investors. The good news: they wanted to go the next step. The bad news: they wanted to go the next step. Shoba struggled to juggle the demands of multiple VC firms, all clamoring for data on the NewsMarket's sales projections and customers. "One partner at a VC firm said to me, 'So you've got 30 Fortune 500 clients. Can you get another 30?' I'm thinking, 'Jesus Christ, guys!' " she says before the reunion.
Shoba has endured the ignorance of VCs who didn't bother to read a word about her company and the insult of walking into large VC offices littered with leftover pizza and some other company's term sheet carelessly left on the table. Once she simply walked out. Other times she weathered the rejection of VC firms that didn't have the manpower to tend to smaller deals.
"People are pretty quick to say, 'Should I listen or tune her out?' It's going to be a lazy audience."
