It was so obvious, in fact, that I never even considered the possibility that they hadn't been screwing."Īngie was upset at the time, unsure if David was serious about Mick - and, if he was, how she could ever compete with him. While it was not a case of coitus interrupts, Angie "felt absolutely dead certain that they'd been screwing.
Angie returned a few minutes later with coffee and orange juice on a tray. "Oh, hello," said Bowie, clearly taken by surprise. "Someone," she told Angie, "is in your bed."Īngie went upstairs to her bedroom, slowly pushed the door open, and there they were: Mick Jagger and David Bowie, naked in bed together, sleeping. The Bowies' maid, who had arrived about an hour earlier, approached the lady of the house with a peculiar look on her face. Angie had been out of town for a few days when she returned home one morning and went straight to the kitchen to make some tea. "David," said British TV producer Kevin Kahn, "is a born proselytizer."īy October 1973, the Bowies were living on Oakley Street, just a stroll from Cheyne Walk. Neither superstar complained when one enterprising photographer snapped the two men in a moment of repose, Bowie tenderly cradling Mick's head in his lap. "We all did."īowie and Jagger were soon spotted everywhere together without their wives: sitting ringside at the Muhammad Ali-Ken Norton bout, hanging out at the London disco Tramp, yelling and stomping their approval at a Diana Ross concert, or just cuddling up together on a hotel room coach. "He thought Mick was a financial genius," Angie said. Not only was he in awe of Mick's ability to electrify audiences year after year, but he respected the veteran rocker's songwriting talent and business savvy. Bowie, who called Jagger Mike - never Mick - thought differently.
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