My (TV) Fling With Bill O'Reilly

Bill O’Reilly recently broke up with me. We only saw each other twice, but I’d thought maybe we had a connection.

I guess not. The other day, I got an e-mail from my agent saying that the executive producer of The O’Reilly Factor expressed no interest in having me on the show again after my two appearances.

Bill and I met the usual way: I caught his eye (my agent told his producers that I was a television commentator and former public radio host with a playful, progressive personality and a big, perky set of opinions), and he wanted to meet me (his producers booked me on the show).

I invested way too soon, as I always do when I find out a guy might be into me. I hadn’t heard good things about Bill O’Reilly—public radio colleagues warned me that he was pompous, aggressive, Usain Bolt-like quick to label, and, in particular, homophobic. But, to be fair and balanced, I had never watched his show regularly. So I started to … which meant I was watching Fox News regularly. And I actually found O’Reilly to be the fairest of the Great American troika of O’Reilly, Glenn Beck, and Sean Hannity. Which is like saying that Moe was the most intellectual of the Three Stooges or that Randy Jones was the straightest Village Person.

I perused his book, A Bold Fresh Piece of Humanity [2](popularly called Bold Fresh, like a Factor shibboleth). That way, when we became the Sam and Diane of Fox News, I’d be ready with references to his childhood that I could drop as bons mots: “So you’re calling me ‘Salie’ now, O’Reilly? What am I—a running back for your Marist College football team? What would Sister Mary Lurana think of that?” And we’d laugh and laugh.

I boned up on the No Spin Zone. I eagerly studied the way he interacted with “Kelly” (the smart and beautiful Megyn Kelly) and “Hoover” (President Hoover’s great-granddaughter, Margaret). I identified his lovable quirks: He talks about segments on his show in the third person—as if their very puissance renders them sentient, like “ ‘Talking Points’ believes that the President is overreaching …” Sigh. God, that Bill is super smart: By presenting his segments this way, they have a “this just in” feel, as if he’s a neutral reporter of information. He reports; I decide to swoon: I have a history of falling for men who talk about themselves in the third person.

Having set my DVR to record his show nightly, I knew that he had recurring segments bursting with jocularity and titles teeming with wordplay: There is Glenn Beck on “At Your Beck and Call.” Glenn uses disconnect as a noun a lot and plays with Barbie dolls to make his points! There’s “Miller Time” with Dennis Miller. Dennis gets eight minutes via satellite to do things like make gay jokes about Barney Frank! It was only a matter of time before The Factor featured a segment called—of course!—“Gotta Have Faith.” I will use gay Barbies to make trenchant arguments for marriage equality!

Clearly he was recognizing in me something that not every man sees—that I could be intellectually nimble. I wasn’t just a knee-jerk Northeastern elitist lib; I was, deep down, a Southern girl from public school who could play in a big philosophical sandbox. Bill and I, we wouldn’t sit it out. We’d dance.

I knew my friends would think we were an odd couple, but I had visions of people saying, “You know, I would never have seen you two together, but somehow it just works. You make him a little pro-choicy, and he brings out a whole teabagging side of you we’ve never seen before.”

Tragically, our families never got along during our too-brief fling. And by “families,” I mean the people who loved Bill hated me. And the people who love me don’t watch Fox News.

As on any first date, I was nervous the first time I appeared on the show. On most first dates, I find wine to be very helpful, but that was not offered in the Fox green room. What I was offered, however, was advice from Geraldo Rivera. He looked very dapper in a blazer with jeans—kind of like a Fox News sartorial mullet: business on top, party down below.

Geraldo: Are you a comedian?

Me: Um, I guess that’s one of the things I’ve been called. I try to be funny … but I also try to say things.

Geraldo: Comedians should never try to say things.

And then they whizzed me on. Bill pronounced my last name correctly: He had me from “Hello, Faith Salie.” We discussed Sarah Palin’s pre-resignation speech (I tried not to use my fancy elitist words, but I did compare her syntax to an Escher painting) and Michael Jackson. On the latter, when Bill announced that Jackson should not be considered a black icon, I tried to stick the landing by pointing out that as the co-creator of “We Are the World,” MJ brought us the magical combination of a Dan Akroyd and Kenny Rogers duet, and what isn’t iconic about that?

Like any good first date, the time flew by. There were never any awkward silences in our four minutes together.

I got lots of hate mail after my first appearance. Like, LOTS. It ranged from a gentleman who told me that he couldn’t believe the troops were fighting for people like me and that I should be sent to the Middle East and stoned, to a nice lady who promised to pray that evil would befall me. There was the one about me being “a kunt on O’Riely.” Those kinds of [sic] e-mails. The worst, however, was the one that said I had a fat ass. The cameras shot me from the bust up; but, still, that one sent me reeling.

A friend of mine who managed to find Fox on the dial e-mailed me that I made Bill look like a tranquilized lion. That’s good, right? I was most happy that I made Bill chuckle. That was my goal. That was how I was going to score a second date.

And I did. I was booked again. But this time he brought in another woman (I know! Already!)—a hot blonde named Juliet. The producers said they wanted to try a new segment with the two of us ladies talking with Bill. Sure, I was a little hurt that I wasn’t enough for him, but I was willing to experiment to keep our relationship fresh. Juliet was sexy and sweet and husky-voiced and tan and taller and thinner than I was, but I was enthusiastic and game.

I’m not sure where it went wrong. I didn’t have much time to say anything now that she was dividing his attention, but I did make a joke about Heather Mills (formerly Lady Heather McCartney) needing more protein … and then when O’Reilly declared that Obama had placed an 11-year-old girl as a plant in his town hall audience, I informed him that I had spoken to the White House Press Office that afternoon and that, in fact, Bill was wrong.

And after that second date … nothing. I sat by my e-mail all day waiting for it to ring with a booking request, but nothing.

Was it something I said? That whole “I talked to the White House Press Office today … ” thing? Was it something I didn’t say? Like, “Keith Olbermann can suck it!” Should I have worn my Celtic cross necklace, like Laura Ingraham does when she’s on Bill’s show? Does he think I’m a pinhead now and not a patriot? Do I really have a fat ass? I was racked with self-doubt … and a touch of body dysmorphic disorder.

I’ll never know why Bill O’Reilly dumped me. But I’m moving on now, little by little. I canceled my Factor season pass, I put Bold Fresh in the hallway reading-recycling bin of my building, and I stopped saving a certain Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress for the next time Bill would see me.

Bill O’Reilly is a smart man. That’s why he has the No. 1 cable news show on television. He could see that we weren’t meant to be. He cut me loose before I got in too deep.

I, on the other hand, did my girl thing. But you know what? I’m not sorry I did. I danced, goddammit, just like the song says. Even if dancing is pointless in the No Spin Zone.