Mick Jagger was always a very cool guy. But he always had the "Mick" thing going. The edge was always there. Except one time.
He and Linda Ronstadt and I had been watching "Saturday Night Live" one night on one of the two little Sony portable TV's we had. The one we were watching was in the living room and the other one was upstairs in my bedroom.
We'd been eating popcorn and for some reason it didn't agree with me so I decided to call it a night and go upstairs and lie down. About twenty minutes after I lay down, there was a knock at the door. I open and it's Mick.
"Adam, the TV downstairs just broke. Could we use yours?"
Totally joking, I looked at him like a cold fish and said, "Can't you see I'm sick?"
He blanched. Mick knew I was from Glasgow, Scotland, a city famous for its' inhabitants violent and unpredictable behavior. Judging by his reaction, he was probably wondering if I had a straight razor in my back pocket. Just for a moment, the Prince of Darkness was gone and there was just an ordinary, suddenly quite insecure guy standing there. I burst out laughing.
"Mick! Mick! I'm joking!"It took him a second or two to recover. Then suddenly the Mick "mask" back on and Mr. Sympathy for the Devil was with us again. I liked him even more after that.