Bella Fortuna (45 page)

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Rosanna Chiofalo

Y
ou have no doubt heard of me. If not by my Christian name, then most certainly by the names that the media has labeled me with:
La Sposa Pazza, Carissima, Donna Fortunata,
and
Dolci Labbra
. Of them all, my favorite is
Carissima,
Dearest One.

You would have to be a fool not to realize why
Carissima
is my favorite. Who would not want to be known as Dearest One, especially if you are a famous movie star as I am? My fans’ respect and adoration mean everything to me. And whenever one of them calls out,
“Carissima,”
I feel his or her love.

As for the other names, I do not care for them. Although everyone believes I have it all—fame, fortune, beauty—I am far from
la donna fortunata,
or lucky lady.

Si, si.
I can hear your outrage right now. “What? You do not consider yourself lucky? You are a legend! A gorgeous Italian silver-screen star and one of the richest women in the world. Many would kill to have your life!”

È vero
. I do have all this and more. But as for what really matters—family, friends, love—I have nothing.

The last name I especially detest.
Dolci Labbra,
or Sweet Lips, reminds me of a pornographic film. With their full, pouty shape, my lips have been voted perfect time and time again. Of course I am flattered to have received this praise, but I do not want to be known as Sweet Lips. And I am not the only one who has interpreted this name in such a way. I have had crude men make remarks that refer to the female reproductive organ. It infuriates me that I am associated with this name. And even though
Playboy
magazine begged me many times to pose in the nude, I never did. I am a
real
actress, not one of these bimbos who have no talent nowadays and become famous because of their looks, most of which are plastic, or because of a disgusting sex tape they have intentionally created.

As for
La Sposa Pazza,
who would want to be known as The Crazy Bride, especially when I have never walked down the aisle?
La Sposa Pazza
was the name of my first film—and the film that made me a star. In fact, all of my nicknames—
Dolci Labbra, Donna Fortunata, Carissima
—were names of my films.

In
La Sposa Pazza,
I play a woman in her early twenties who has no trouble finding men who want to marry her. But each time my character is moments away from exchanging her wedding vows, she runs away. In the movie, my character, Rosa Bianca, who has been cursed with a name that means “white rose” in Italian, becomes engaged three times. But she loves romance and dating and knows once she gets married, she will no longer have the glamorous life of a bachelorette.

Again, the irony that my own life would mirror the movie I am most known for has not escaped me or the paparazzi. For like Rosa Bianca, I have become engaged several times—five, to be exact— but have never gotten married. But unlike Rosa Bianca, I never even made it to my wedding, I am relieved to say. At least I had enough good sense to realize that my doubts about each of my fiancés were enough to break off the engagements well before I made it to the altar.

The subsequent movies all have a wedding theme. In
Carissima,
I play a poor Italian woman who is turned into a movie star after she meets a famous American movie director. But on the morning of her wedding, after she has put on her gown and is ready to leave for the church, my character receives word that her fiancé has been killed in a car accident. After this movie’s release, my fans and the paparazzi would chant,
“Carissima, Carissima!”
whenever I appeared in public.

Audiences arrived at movie theaters in the hundreds on the opening night of
Donna Fortunata
to see if my character would finally find luck in love and get married. My character is a school-teacher from Capri who meets a Greek shipping tycoon. The tycoon spoils my character and buys her lavish jewelry and furs and takes her to the most expensive restaurants. He proposes in a tiny boat in Capri’s famed Blue Grotto. Audiences watched nervously during the wedding ceremony scene on the beautiful Greek island of Santorini. Once my character said “I do,” the audience broke out in raucous applause and whistles. The movie ends with a closeup of me kissing my on-screen groom.

After
Donna Fortunata,
all the media wanted to know was when I would be getting married. At this point, I had already broken off my two previous engagements, and the media wasted no time in christening me with the nickname
La Sposa Pazza
. The ugly rumors began surfacing as to why my previous two engagements had not worked out, and of course, the blame always lay completely with me.

By the time
Dolci Labbra
was released, I was engaged to my third fiancé. The movie is a departure from my previous wedding-themed films, and as a result, it did not do as well at the box office. But I am convinced it was that abominable title! Instead of featuring an innocent single woman who is getting married,
Dolci Labbra
is about a widow who seduces rich men with her expert kisses and lovemaking but then kills them. Apart from the title, I had been happy to play a different character from those of my last movies. Though the film did not make the box office sales of my earlier pictures, it sealed my reputation as “the Bombshell of the Mediterranean.” Ah, I forgot to add this nickname to the others!

There are many shots in this movie of my back. I had not understood during the filming why the director kept asking me to turn around. I had sworn they were giving me dresses smaller than my size eight, and sure enough when I checked, the garment labels were missing. It was not until I had watched the premiere that I finally understood. The director had been shooting my derrière, which looked even curvier in the tight dresses they were giving me. Though critics had panned the movie’s plot, everyone commented on my derrière. And from that moment on, the paparazzi took photos of my derrière, once even while I sunbathed nude on what I thought was a highly secured estate in Lake Como.

It has been fifteen years since I was in a movie. And as I said earlier, I was engaged to be married five times, but never did make it to the altar. At least Rosa Bianca had the thrill of walking down the aisle each of the times she was engaged. I have spent the past ten years as a recluse, which has also added to the belief that I truly am “The Crazy Bride.” (Although after my fifth engagement was broken, the media began labeling me with the title
“celibe per sempre,”
or “single forever.”) Now, after a decade, my hibernation is over. I am coming out of hiding to travel to America.
Chissà?
Who knows? Maybe people do not care about me anymore. But they say Francesca Donata is a legend—and legends never die.

As for my name preference, I ask to be called “Signorina Donata.” Of course, I do not expect the media to be so formal with me. I simply desire that they call me “Francesca Donata.” But it is too late for that. The nicknames the media has dubbed me with are part of my legend and what has contributed to my fame. Only family and close friends call me “Francesca.”

“Signorina”
is the Italian title given to a young woman who is not married. It is the equivalent of “Miss,” while
“signora”
is the title given to a married woman or a widow and is the equivalent to “Mrs.” Since I have never married, I am technically a
“signorina.”
But most people think of a young woman as a
“signorina”
and an old woman as
“signora.”

I know it is ridiculous that I insist everyone call me
“signorina”
rather than
“signora”
even though I am in my fifties. However absurd my request is, I do not care. After all, why should I be called something I am not? Again, I am an unmarried woman, and as such, that makes me a
“signorina.”