CHAPTER VII: Valby Hallen
On a mission to find my mission.
When I got to the hotel at the edge of Tivoli Gardens, I was surprised that the check-in desk didn´t have a room under my name, but they had instructions to take me up to his. He didn´t answer the door, so they let me in, explaining the door would lock behind me. It was a palatial suite, a living room with three couches and a balcony, a large bedroom looking down on the lake of Tivoli Gardens, and a sumptuous bathroom. I assumed that when we got back from the show, Victor or someone would give me a key to my own room.
It´s 1987, nine years before cell phones, remember. If you didn´t know where someone was, and you had an agreement to meet, you just turned on your trusting muscle and knew that at some point one of three things would happen: you would find them, they would find you, or a message would get delivered. In those days, a message was often received telepathically, though we didn´t seem to realize it. (Do you remember that feeling of suddenly knowing where your friend was, and knowing where you should go, or if you should wait? Nobody I knew ever talked about how we got it right so much of the time, but looking back, I´m sure we were using some ESP.)
It was late afternoon and I hadn´t eaten since leaving Amsterdam that morning, so I went down to the hotel cafe to grab a snack while I waited for someone I recognized from the tour to say the bus was leaving for Valby Hallen. I spotted Bob´s acupuncturist sitting alone at a table and asked if I could join him. When he heard that I was there to do movement work with Bob, he immediately lit up and said,
“You know, you can get on the payroll, like me. Your time is valuable, right? You have special skills, you should be paid well!”
As he nodded enthusiastically, I remember a sudden sensation of nausea, and the urge to vomit.