Read Online Only in Naples by Katherine Wilson - Free Book Online

hesitated hopefully at her short skirt, even changed angles to see if any more nude flesh could be witnessed. It then continued up, slowly (what’s the rush?), to her generous cleavage and stopped, finally, on her face. The men, still arguing in the background, were oblivious to the fact that they were not being filmed. The cameraman, apparently, had eyes only for Roberta.
    It was a shame, though, that no one had told her that she was being filmed in close-up. She was clearly bored to tears, following none of the conversation. Instead, Roberta was examining her split ends.
    The cameraman, instead of moving on when he found her entirely unengaged, lingered on her. The audience could hear the men in the background arguing about the attributes of this or that goalkeeper, but could see only Roberta and her self-grooming. A few seconds of this had passed when I distinctly heard a whistle. It was someone from the crew trying to get Roberta’s attention! On air! She looked up, searching for the camera, and started grinning. A vacant, plastic grin. Believe it or not, she was more interesting to watch when she was examining her split ends.
    There is someone sexy, bored, and present like Roberta on nearly every sports program that airs on Italian television. Game and variety shows feature the more energetic
veline,
scantily clad young models who dance and prance. They are more than
presente;
in one game show, a sexy
velina
appears at regular intervals and performs a lap dance with one of the contestants. Everyone else on the show looks on as if it’s a natural occurrence—no raised eyebrows or laughing there.
    A high point of a
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire
–inspired show is the moment of the
scossa,
or the electric shock dance. A
velina
wearing a bikini a few sizes too small stands on a dance floor under a spotlight and jiggles her stuff. The challenge, the actress’s fundamental conflict and the driving force of her artistic journey, as it were, is to keep the top of her bikini on as she jiggles without holding it up with her hands. Interestingly, when she fails at this and her boobs pop out, the camera does not move to something else. If she can’t keep her stuff covered, the director apparently feels, that’s her problem.
    There is often a man in an animal suit (and remember, this is not a kids’ program) who does a silly Smurf-like voice and spends a good bit of time trying to get his paws on the
velina
. He is very large and red and runs around the studio shouting something unintelligible (as always, everyone except the
velina
is talking at the same time). The host of the game show seems to find this hilarious. It’s a marriage of Disney and porn: I mean, what else could you want from TV?
    Former prime minister Silvio Berlusconi, as the world knows, takes great pride in his country’s
veline.
News of his
bunga bunga
parties shocked the world. But they didn’t shock many people in Naples. The fact that the prime minister invited
veline
(some not quite eighteen) to his villa in Sardegna, the fact that before extending his invitation he perused their photo shoots—these were simply measures that powerful men take to ensure that they have…stimulating dinner partners.
    No, what shocked many Neapolitans was the jiggling. A boundary was crossed when they learned that Berlusconi sat, pants down, on an armchair as the
veline
jiggled their bare breasts in his face. It was choreographed by his chiefs of staff to ensure that one
velina
from every racial group
bunga bunga
–ed by and jiggled. In his face.
    This wasn’t a TV show, it was national news. And he was the head of the nation’s government. Even for the forgiving Neapolitans, that was a bit much.
    In 1998, Italians were fascinated by the Monica Lewinsky scandal. They would ask me what I thought of my country’s
brutta figura.
Specifically, they asked me,
“Per chi sei?”
Who are you for? I interpreted this to mean, are you behind the Democrats supporting Clinton