Chapter 8

Learning the Ways of a Woman

"Behind every successful man

is a woman trying to set his

hair on fire while he sleeps."

~ Maya Angelou, 1890

Let it not be said that I am a stranger to the ways of a woman. I've had my fair share of burning romances and illicit trysts alike. I know how to woo a woman and woo her well. From long-term relationships to one-night stands, I've run the gamut of the dating game. I am well versed in the ways of the heart. It is only through experience that a man can learn to comprehend the ways of a woman. Only when you've had as much experience as myself, can a man truly achieve the pinnacle of understanding of a woman's mind and heart. Having reached that pinnacle of wisdom, I have learned that all women are crazy and there's just no making sense of them. But, more on that later.

I've already shared a bit of the story of my high school sweetheart, Kate Andjim. There's nothing quite like young love. I met Kate in the school yard and we engaged in the dance that hormonal adolescents do to convey their emotions. I would attempt to flip up her skirt and she would reciprocate with a swift kick to my shins. As time went by we moved on to more mature forms of courting. I would get one of my buddies to knock her books from her hands. Then I would swoop in as a gallant gentleman and help her pick them up. Our fingertips would accidentally brush together and sparks would fly. Before long we were going steady. We were green and naive, but we had dreams. We used to talk of running off together one day, getting married, starting a family, buying a house with a white picket fence—the whole kit and caboodle. Yes, it seemed that we were meant to be.

Of course, as I've already mentioned, that was not what would come to pass. We had been together for about three years on the night of our Junior Prom, when my brother, Johnny, rode in on his motorcycle and dashed all our hopes and dreams. Gone was the house. Gone was the white picket fence. Gone were the little babies with her eyes and my smile. It sounds like a sad story, but weep not for me, dear reader. I assure you, it was for the best. If Johnny had not deflowered my woman and stolen our love, I would not have gone on to be the man I am today. And while Johnny and Kate did not end up together—in fact I don't believe they ever saw one another again after that night—she landed on her feet just the same.

I ran into sweet Kate at our twenty-year high school reunion. She's doing just fine. She got herself the house with the white picket fence after all. She is married with children. It would seem she ended up with the life we dreamed up together. Her husband, interestingly enough, is also a news broadcaster. Although, he works in television rather than radio. She showed me photographs of their children. They've got her eyes and his smile. She, herself, is a homemaker much like my own mother. It seems they make a picture perfect family. I asked about her strategy for making sandwiches, but she just gave me a bemused look and said she had to go. Kate Andjim, wherever you are now, I'm glad you were able to make do without Bill McNeal in your life. I'm sure it's been difficult at times. I hope you think of me often and dream of what might have been.

Then, of course, there were the college girls. One of the benefits of joining a fraternity is that sorority girls flock to you like Baba Booey fans to unsuspecting live TV reporters. There were a number of young ladies who caught my eye back in those days. Sigma Nu would throw a rager pretty much every Saturday night and the local sorority girls would wander in and out of our house as well as in and out of our hearts. I captured the affections of so many young ladies in those days that they began to blur together in my mind. There are a handful, however, who stood out. I learned a little bit about women from each of them.

There was a young woman named Rose who was as lovely as the flower for which she was named. She belonged to Kappa Alpha Theta, one of our sister sororities. We had a brief fling during my sophomore year. She was a sweet girl. She could be a little simple minded at times, but she had a sweet voice and a kind heart. From Rose I learned that all women are crazy, but if you pick a dumb one, they're much easier to manage.

Then there was Blanche. She was a firecracker of a woman. She belonged to Chi Omega and she would show up whenever we threw a toga party. She was a fun-loving gal who just wanted to dance the night away and drink gimlets like nobody's business. Once she was a few drinks in, it wasn't unusual for her to drag me up the stairs. Boy, was that woman wild in the bedroom! She showed me moves that I had never seen before, many of which—all these years later—I still have never seen repeated. Her enthusiasm and flexibility were both unmatched. I learned a lot from young Blanche. In addition to the maneuvers she taught me in the throes of passion, she also taught me that the crazier the woman, the more adventurous her intimate relations will be. You know how the old saying goes: a lady in the streets, a clinically insane fox in the sheets.

Dorothy was another sorority girl who sticks out in my mind. She belonged to Delta Delta Delta. I'll tell you, those Delta girls were something else. She was a fierce woman. She was never afraid to stand up for herself. She was resistant to the charms of most men, but she seemed to have a soft spot in her heart for me. Dorothy was a sensible lady, always ready with a witty comeback or snarky comment. Some found her abrasive. I found her endearing. Many of my fraternity brothers declared her unattractive, but I thought she was a handsome woman. She and I shared a few rolls in the hay and, let me tell you, she was a no-nonsense lover. I'd say the most important lesson I learned from dear Dorothy was that the more a woman looks and acts like a man, the easier it is for her to hide her craziness.

Then there was Sophia. What a doll that woman was. She was also a Delta and many people thought she looked old enough to be Dorothy's mother. In actuality, she was a year younger than Dorothy. Sophia was a small, slight woman, but boy was she ever a spitfire. If someone so much as looked at her the wrong way, she would haul off and hit them with her purse, which was always close at hand. I very much enjoyed my time spent alone with Sophia. The only problem with her was that she would often tell long, meandering stories—usually about a pussycat named Sicily or something like that. Anyhow, she had some lessons to teach me. From Sophia I learned that when a sweet voice delivers the words of a sharp tongue, it's easy to ignore how insane a woman is.

Of course, these were just girls. We were all young and inexperienced, blindly feeling our way through the trenches of love. Mistakes were made, lessons were learned. But eventually, we must all grow up and learn what it means to be in an adult relationship. I went through what I think of now as a transition period. I graduated college and, thus, graduated from relations with college girls. I hadn't yet experienced mature romance. In order to make the leap from here to there, I became a card-carrying member of the hot tub generation. I won't get too deep into the sorted details of what went on in those Jacuzzis, but rest assured, I learned some adult lessons in those days. But, alas, once a man reaches a certain age, he can no longer be lured in by the steamy connections made at key parties and hot tub orgies. At some point he wants a serious relationship—someone with whom he can find a more meaningful connection. Once I reached that milestone, I began to search more seriously for a woman who could truly understand me—a woman who knew what made Bill McNeal tick.

I found that special someone in a lady named Linda. Linda was a wonderful woman. She stole my heart the moment we met. It was a true meet-cute moment just like in the movies. I was at a party and, as usual, I had attracted a group of admirers who wanted to talk to me about radio. Linda was standing nearby and had thought I said righty-o. Apparently she'd always had a thing for British guys. I, of course, played along since I am skilled in the art of improvisation. From that serendipitous moment on, we were inseparable. It was like something out of a fairy tale. We would stay up until all hours of the night talking about life, love, the pros and cons of various combustible liquids. We'd take long walks through the park on the weekend and she would shout obscenities at the local homeless population. Sometimes, we'd take a drive out to the countryside. We would find a spot with a nice view to park the car, get out, and watch the sunset. Then she'd hop back in the car and take off without me. She was a playful little kitten.

We grew closer as time went by. At one point I even asked her to move in with me. I've since learned that some women don't know how to handle such a big step in a relationship. Linda handled it by pretending she didn't know who I was and reporting me to the police as a stalker. Rest assured, I didn't press the issue of moving in together again. Once her restraining order was lifted, I did ask if I could at least have her home address. She didn't report me to the authorities that time, but she did shrug off my request. Apparently she had some minor tax issues to sort out and she didn't want to put me in a position of having to lie to the IRS on her behalf. It was quite thoughtful of her, actually.

As is often true in relationships, the closer we got to one another, the more our true personalities came to the surface. When a romance is fresh and new, it's natural to try to put your best face forward. Women, in particular, are skilled at this dance. But when they get their claws in you and feel comfortable in your presence, the mask will tend to slip and reveal the insanity underneath. For example, at a certain point she told me I wasn't allowed to talk to other human beings. Of course, I told her that was absurd. I work with human beings, I see human beings on the streets, my family and friends are human beings. Surely she couldn't be suggesting I was never allowed to speak a word to them ever again. She assured me she was quite serious and even went so far as to suggest she would set fire to any other person I dared to give the time of day. I pointed out that I state the time of day at least four times an hour on the air. At that point she seemed to start speaking in tongues, so I decided it was best to just agree with her.

Of course there were little things that got under my skin. That will happen in any relationship. For example, she took forever in the bathroom when we were trying to go on a date. At a certain point I decided I had to draw the line. We were getting ready to go to the theater and she had been in the bathroom for three hours. Women, right? Always primping and preening. I tried to tell her through the locked door that she looked beautiful just the way she was and that it would be dark in the theater anyway. She wouldn't listen to reason. She wouldn't even respond. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore. I told her that if she didn't come out immediately I would break the door down. She, of course, gave me the silent treatment. What else was I supposed to do? I broke down the door, only to find out that she had squeezed out the window and gone down the fire escape. I wouldn't hear from her again for three days when she called me from jail asking for a bail out.

There were other little things that irked me, of course. I was always expected to pay when we went out for a meal. It's not that I mind. Paying the bill is the gentlemanly thing to do. Besides, I knew she was still trying to resolve her tax complications. The real issue was when I would get stuck paying the bill for the silverware she tried to steal. She would usually follow that up by stuffing the dinner plates in her purse and trying to shove the entire tablecloth down my pants. Inevitably, we'd get thrown out of the restaurant while Linda screamed that the waiter had tried to poison her. Then she'd set a trashcan on fire and accuse me of doing it. It was a real problem. But every problem had a solution. Eventually we settled into a pattern of ordering in or picking up some take out. Problem solved!

Well, as I'm sure you've already guessed, Linda and I didn't work out in the long run. After all, my reputation as a perpetual bachelor precedes me. When it finally came down to it with Linda, I had to admit that we just weren't as compatible as I had thought. I liked to spend a Saturday night watching a good movie or reading a book. She liked to spend her Saturday nights turning herself in to the police for crimes she didn't commit. My idea of romance was long walks on the beach and staring into each other's eyes. Her idea of romance was flagging down a police car and telling them I was from Neptune.

The last straw came when I woke up in the middle of the night and caught her trying to light my hair on fire. The matches were in her hand and my head reeked of lighter fluid. That was it. Two weeks later she broke up with me and walked out of my life forever. Linda, wherever you are, if you're reading this, please know that I will always treasure our time together. Also, if you happen to be reading this, could you please return my father's ashes and the key to my safe-deposit box? I'd really appreciate it.

And, so, I reentered the life of bachelorhood. I have not yet found that perfect woman who will finally convince me to settle down. She may be out there yet, but if she is, she will have to understand that, in a way, I am already a taken man. As a world famous news anchor, I will always be married to the microphone.