"This is a big day for the church," Danny says.
Amy spins his chair a little, allowing them to make eye contact by way of the makeup mirror in front of them. "Excited?" she asks, swabbing at his cheeks with a brush filled with a subtle blush. Danny watches his reflection's wrinkles and blemishes disappear.
"A little nervous to be honest."
"Yeah, I can see you're sweating." She dabs at his hairline with a cleansing hankie, wicking away the droplets she's mentioning, "You don't usually sweat at all."
"Like I said, it's a big, big, day." The rest of the interaction is filled only with the small scratching sounds of scrubbing on his skin, and combing through his gel encrusted hair. Halfway through, and the gauntness his narrow face often takes up after a long night is masked, and on an ordinary day, Amy would be sending him away, but she shows no signs of stopping as she goes back to the concealer to touch up once again. Real good gal, Amy is, and she's only trying to impress, but time is running low and at this point she's just ruining and fixing his look over and over to take time to make it seem like she's giving thought to the gravity of this sermon. When he likes the way he looks, Danny has to put a hand up to block her applier. Specks of salmon powder splash upon his fingers, getting all caught in the webbing.
"It looks great, Amy. I really have to get going now, though."
"Oh, okay. I'm sorry - and good luck!"
"Thank you Amy," he grabs a wet wipes and absentmindedly flosses his hand, "And it's quite alright." Then he exits. Outside of his dressing room, the anticipatory silence remains. People, people he has great relationships with, are pointedly avoiding him and keeping to themselves. Perhaps it is for the better, keeps him focused, but it saddles him with a bezoar, or even a wee babe, of apprehension in his bowels. He considers leaving the behind-the-scenes corridors to visit the foyer, and the incoming congregation - surely they would have no qualms over approaching him with questions and adulation. Especially on this rumor-sopped Sunday morning. The wiser half of his brain tells him that such an act would probably fall under the 'diffusing the anticipation' category which the Pepsi execs were so adamant on avoiding. So he waits in silence for the opening hymn.
Heaven's Spring starts up on the organ, a song he hand-selected; topical, and a personal favorite. He embraces it completely, letting the chords swell inside his chest, and drive out his demons. Giving thanks to Him, and flashing the sign of the cross, he emerges to the stage. The cheering completely drowns the music, which is fine because he can revert to the memorized version playing in his head, but even that is muted when he is distracted by the sheer extravagance of his ovation. The only lyric he can think of is 'thank you' and even that isn't genuine, but a place holder for 'alright, quiet down'. "Thank you... thank you... thank you." For all the audience knows, he's mouthing it rather than yelling. Eventually, finally, it all dies down.
"The Lord be with you."
"And also with you," they croon in chorus.
"I like to think every day is a special day. An opportunity given to us by the Lord above, to improve something: ourselves, our neighborhood, the world. But maybe some of you have heard it through the grapevine that today is a little more special than usual for our church. With great gratefulness, I would like to confirm those rumors. We have been approached with a great offer - an opportunity - to share the fellowship with the many, to spread the word, and the grace, of God. And I can't wait to share all about it with y'all for this half-hour y'all took out of your day. And as always, I thank y'all for that," he says as an aside. "It ain't always easy! We all know that, but y'all are really, really great." Self-congratulatory claps patter around the arena, but it isn't nearly as voracious as the support he receives.
