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Next time Bowie was in town, though, maybe five months later, I got a call at home from his bodyguard, a huge black guy named Stuey. In the limo ride to the Rainbow, Sable said, “If you touch David, I will kill you.” I didn’t think she was kidding. Bowie said, “Well, darling, bring her in.” That night I lost my virginity and had my first threesome. They were already at the point where they had separate rooms. At that point, you could say, I was viewed as a groupie. And then there’s Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, and all those kids who were fucking partying at 15. It was still the Spiders from Mars tour, and, literally, the night that he became a star.
The next morning, there was banging on the door and it was fucking [Bowie’s wife] Angie. People on the scene knew that I had been with Bowie and that brought out the paparazzi. But he had the spotlight shined on Lee Childers [Bowie’s publicist], Sable, and I, sitting in the audience.
As Mattix remembers it, “He said to me, ‘Lori, we were both children back then.’ I felt like telling him, ‘At least one of us was.’” Sable Starr lived to fuck rock stars. My mother owned a concession at the movie star restaurant Chasen’s. I probably took a Quaalude or something and wound up with a bloody nose. But then Mick started fighting with Mc Cartney or Lennon over who would sing on a particular song. He took me to one of the bondage-themed bedrooms that the studio had. It was a period in which everything seemed possible.
She was so glamorous, totally one-of-a-kind, wearing scarves for shirts and going topless without hesitation. On weekend nights, while she worked, I snuck out of the house to hang with Queenie and Sable at the clubs on Sunset Strip. I met him when he was doing the Spiders from Mars tour. I said that I would like to go but that I wanted to bring my friend Sable. I figured that she would sleep with him while I got to hang out and have fun. Bowie excused himself and left us in this big living room with white shag carpeting and floor-to-ceiling windows. We were getting stoned when, all of a sudden, the bedroom door opens and there is Bowie in this fucking beautiful red and orange and yellow kimono. My older sister was fucking lowriders and surfers; my dad was deceased; I was with rock stars. Mick said, “Let’s go fuck and get high.” We did blow all night and talked and hung out until the morning. There was no AIDS and the potential consequences seemed to be light. Look at the Kylie and Kendall Jenners, the Gigi Hadids.
It was all glorified in the pages of a glossy magazine called , flicked at the Sunset Strip doings without so much as a wagged finger. I hung out with Sable and Queenie and went to the clubs and waited for him. And after Jimmy Page and David Bowie, what was I going to do with a North Hollywood boy? Of course there were other guys -- and amazing situations.