Vaughan gave him a whack on the shoulder as he walked by, forcing him to stop moving and open his eyes. The two men exchanged brief grunts of recognition, then Vaughan wandered off and left me to introduce myself.
"Hi, I'm Annalisa."
The man nodded and gave me a thumbs up. "Hey, contest girl. Welcome to Chicago. I'm Big Tim." He didn't seem that big to me. We shook hands and headed for the baggage area.
"Are you a roadie, Tim?"
"I'm a driver. Actually, I'm your driver, if you're riding on the band bus. And also, call me Big Tim so everyone knows who you're talking about."
I laughed. "You got a Tiny Tim, too?"
"Nah, but we got a Bigger Tim. You gotta use the full name because nobody knows who you're talking about when you just say Tim."
I was having fun now. Big Tim was 100 percent rock and roll, a classic. Tattoos on one arm, long unkempt hair, and dark sunglasses. I was definitely with the band.
Okay, maybe I wasn't with the band yet, but I was with someone who was with the band. That ought to count for something. While I waited for my bag to arrive, Big Tim plugged his headphones back in and bobbed his head to the beat.
When we got to his car, it didn't surprise me to see Vaughan sitting in the back seat. We drove into town while the car's impressive sound system pounded us with music. I had a million questions I wanted to ask, but it was hard to speak with the volume cranked. So I sat and watched the road go by.
In the silence between songs, I worked in a question. "Are we going to meet the band now?"
Big Tim turned down the volume. "I'm supposed to take you to see Mr. Bartholomew. He's the manager."
"Right. Jason Bartholomew. This contest was his idea, right?"
Big Tim shook his head. "Not likely. He hates this contest."
"He does? Then whose idea was it?"
"Beats me. Whoever it was must have been out of his fucking mind."
I understood completely. Lots of people seemed to be out of their fucking minds. Like the people who chose me as the contest winner. And the people who hated that I was the contest winner. And perhaps even Big Tim. Maybe they all were-I was about to find out.
I started by asking about the band manager's mind. "Why does Mr. Bartholomew hate this contest? Is he upset about having a girl on the bus?"
"Hey, we get lots of girls on the bus. But they usually only stay until they've gotten a piece of ass, then they're gone. That's why we don't think you'll survive a week. We even got a pool going on you."