The Broken Canvas

by Tai Barnett

  The Broken Canvas

  Tai Barnett

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  The Broken Canvas

  About The Author

  About The Book

  Dedication

  Copyright Information ©

  Acknowledgement

  The Winner Is…

  Please Explain

  Vernon’s Southern Spread

  Not His Type?

  That Old Feeling

  Happy Morning, Love

  Cummins Plantation

  The Practical Voodoo Sanctuary

  Natasha Bishop

  Love Is a Fickle Thing

  How I Met Andrew

  Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby!

  Gone Shopping

  Rico’s Pulled Pork Tacos

  Hello, Charles Russell Banister

  Blind Date

  Best Friend or Complete Stranger?

  It’s Not That Serious… Is It?

  Miss Julia

  Pull up Another Chair

  Visions of Love

  Secret Meetings

  Flat Tire

  Tubby’s Plot

  The Remnants of Winter

  It’s a Wrap

  The Taming of the Banister

  Elsa and the Dutchman’s

  The Runner

  Look the Other Away, Tubby!

  Grow Some Balls, Brody!

  “Well? What are you gonna do then? Grow some balls man! Of all the time, you’re choosing not to be the ‘take what you want’ kinda man, you choose now! Follow her to the islands and make her know exactly what you’re feeling about her!”

  The Islands

  What the Hell Are You Doing Here?

  Well, Slap My Head and Call Me Silly

  Sent from up Above

  Happy New Year

  No Answer

  Fancy Seeing You Here

  I Am Never Gonna Fall in Love Again

  Sick Days

  Goodbye

  The Broken Canvas

  About The Author

  Tai Barnett has several years in the business retail industry and three years of voluntary counseling in primary educational settings. She holds a bachelor’s degree in psychology from the University of the West Indies, Mona, and is completing a Master of Arts degree at the Florida Institute of Technology. She completed a Paranormal Science-Fiction Series, and a compilation of West Indian short stories and poems. Several of her poems have been published in Blue: An Anthology of West Indian Poetry & Prose, 2015.

  When Tai is not busy writing or researching, she enjoys spending time with her daughter and family, as well as cooking, and delving into controversial and metaphysical non-fiction books, articles, and magazines. Her passion is unquestionably writing and bringing her imagination to life. Helping the less fortunate and leaving a legacy of honor, empathy, humility, and respect are also dear to her heart.

  As the Executive Secretary of a non-profit organization in South Florida, she believes that fostering education, health, and service to others and being heart centered is the way forward for the world.

  About The Book

  Natasha Bishop has come a long way from painting pictures of landscapes in her Caribbean homeland to being a successful Hollywood Screen writer. Fame and popularity however do not fit the mold of the life that Natasha yearns for and though she finds solace and sincerity with her swooning younger boyfriend Andrew Kingston, she finds herself hopelessly drawn to Brody Banister, the ruggedly handsome playboy Scottish actor who starts igniting new feelings of raw passion for the Screen writer.

  Tormented by her thoughts of infidelity toward Andrew, while harboring a deep and surfacing secret from Brody, Natasha finds herself navigating through the contours of her life, each time racked by new challenges. She soon finds out that the greatest challenge of all is yet to emerge, and with its imminent manifestation will test the mettle of Natasha like nothing else she has ever experienced.

  Dedication

  Isabelle: My daughter and inspiration to live and love again.

  My mother, Karlene: You are an angel on earth and a tower of strength. The day is soon approaching when you can finally enjoy life!

  My family: When all that was left was love and each other. Dad, Alexia, and Stephen (Next…The Ballad of Thunderdash & Chickpea!)

  The broken man or woman: Whatever your story may be, may you find bliss within and be open to the infinite promises of true love and be reminded: “The world is but a canvas for our imagination.” – Henry David Thoreau.

  Copyright Information ©

  Tai Barnett (2019)

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

  Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

  Publisher’s cataloguing in publishing data

  Barnett, Tai

  The Broken Canvas: Good Woman Gone Bad

  ISBN 9781645364184 (ePub e-book)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019934634

  The main category of the book — Fiction / Romance / Contemporary

  www.austinmacauley.com/us

  First Published (2019)

  Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

  40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

  New York, NY 10005

  USA

  mail-usa@austinmacauley.com

  +1 (646) 5125767

  Acknowledgement

  I would like to acknowledge all the people that have devoted their time and energy into making this book a possibility: the technical team, graphics team, and everyone at my publishing house.

  To: Pet, Bebba, Mario, Fallon, relatives, and close friends.

  When you provided opinions, criticisms, and much-needed advice, not to mention when you were asked to read chapters upon chapters. Thank God for fervent family and friends!

  To BJ: A million and special thanks for your continued guidance and contribution.

  I acknowledge my existence as a spiritual being that is exploring the wonderment of creation.

  The Winner Is…

  This is the part that I dread the most, pretending like I think I belong on the Red Carpet. Tirelessly writing the script for that ‘established shot’, and even the exasperating junket—that I can deal with. Fanatical paparazzi, long makeovers, overly privileged, and onerous movie stars, have usually left much to be desired and a bad taste in my mouth.

  What’s more, walking the legendary VIP welcome mat for the second time around had always been, in my opinion, a lackluster display of name-brand gowns and exaggerated model poses.

  What I would much rather be doing, is watch the awards show from my own private home screen theatre. I could imagine it now, relaxing in my sweats and glasses, cuddling with my tenacious nine-year-old daughter Rose, busy-bodied toddler Charles, and my garrulous and rowdy housekeeper Vernon while stuffing our faces with sugary and buttery treats.

  “Natasha! Is it true that you and Andrew Kingston are dating?” exclaimed the short and stocky paparazzo.

  He was leading the high-strung shutterbugs as always. Heading the reporter and paparazzi mob with a venomous Cheshire cat grin printed across his pudgy multi-c
olored face. He was far more meticulous than the others, waiting patiently for the perfect angle and moment to completely obliterate any thriving dignity that was left of our very public lives. I knew him well because he was literally everywhere, even in my own back yard just a few months ago.

  I ignored Tubby’s question. Yeah, I called him Tubby in my head and among family. It was quite the perfect title for such an execrable and devilish man. And his daring arrogance and loaded scandalous questions didn’t help to discourage me from not quickly labelling his barrel sized gut and attitude either. Criticizing someone is something that I hated and tried my best to never ever do. But Tubby made it way too easy.

  Lights were flashing ubiquitously from everywhere as I turned to my right (the side they claimed was my most photogenic) giving the camera ever so superbly my very best yet painfully wheedling plastic smile. I was never good at pretending or lying, but I wanted to give the more tolerable group an even bigger paycheck and pretended not to hear Tubby’s questions.

  “How did you manage to lose the baby weight and who are you wearing, Natasha?” A female one shouted from the sea of gossip conspirators.

  “A lot of working out with my personal trainer, that’s for sure! It’s a Bella gente design from the incomparable Milo Milano.”

  I was sure acting the part now! Naming Red Carpet designers…how silly was this?

  “Rumor has it that Brody Banister is the father of your son, Charles. Do you have any comments to make on that Natasha?” shouted Tubby. His platitudinous remarks and deep Southern accent were frustrating me more and more. Yet, I was so in love with the South that I moved back to Atlanta almost eleven years ago.

  “Does Andrew know who the father is? And do you plan on telling Brody that Charles is his son tonight?” Tubby continued throwing lethal daggers at me, enhancing the other paparazzi ogres’ thoughts no doubt. I couldn’t believe the little wretch was so brazened to even mention Brody and Andrew’s name together.

  Tubby was pushing all my buttons now. After all the work that my publicist Frank, my Personal Assistant, cousin Lauren and family have done to keep this quiet, that Tubby old bastard is bent on destroying it all in one night.

  I looked at his knee-high black Bobby socks, body-hugging khaki shorts, sandy blonde hair that was pulled to the back into a ponytail and cringed. This is the instant when I knew I wasn’t as cherubic and ‘Victorian’ like people believed me to be. And in my unforeseen moment of indignation I couldn’t help but wishing that something terrible would happen to Tubby, like him suddenly bursting into a lethal explosion of flames or being a tasty meal to his very svelte and hatchet-faced cameraman who just conveniently happens to be a Zombie.

  But I snapped out of my ever-so-permeating reverie and fantasies, sighed a second time and endeavored to ignore Tubby’s insinuations.

  “And here he is now, ladies and gentlemen…Brody Banister. The hunky Scottish actor has just made his official entrance on the Red Carpet with who seems to be his lovely mother,” exclaimed Tubby, with microphone in one hand and sinisterly repositioning his assistant’s camera himself into Brody’s direction with the other.

  “Are you going to finally tell him that he is the father of your son, Natasha? Are you going to introduce Charles to his grandmother tonight?” Tubby shouted as his fellow fitful comrades placed their flashing lights toward Brody and his mother, who were now both getting out of the line of celebrity limousines.

  Suddenly, I felt like a gigantic rock hit across my chest or Thor used his mystical Mjolnir to hit me because holy shit! I just realized, Brody was here. How could I have completely disregarded him coming here tonight? He is up for nominations, after all.

  I repositioned the two feet trail of my champagne Ruched Mermaid dress and started walking briskly towards the entrance. Although, in my hurry to not let Brody see me, I glanced in the corner of my eye, him gently escorting his mother with one hand outside of the limo. His amatory smile and the subtle grimace ushering of his mother supplemented with his debonair confidence served as a reminder to the crowd that they needed to keep their distance.

  Rushing inside, I quickly looked over my shoulder to see if I was out of Tubby’s sight. He was moving his head from side to side and trying to get a glimpse of me behind the crowd. Yet, I stealthily had made it inside unseen somehow. Because tonight, I refused to have a very potentially embarrassing public confrontation in front of these ‘relentless marauders’ and worst of all, Tubby.

  ***

  Admittedly at first, Brody Banister was my dream guy: a rugged, tall, evenly chiseled, tanned Scottish actor and at the top of his game as an action hero. I grew-up watching all his films and had somehow deduced in my mind that he was the supreme model of my ‘ideal man’ and possible future husband.

  Though, when you’re young, inexperienced and exist in world of imagination and fantasy such as I, the truth is somehow embellished or completely overlooked. And then, the mind starts believing these unusual, thoughts. Though, that impression would soon be broken after meeting the man in person.

  As it would turn out, having worked together with Brody on a film a few years ago, my unrealistic ideals about him had evolved and was unexpectedly given a reality check when I realized he was quite arrogant and enjoyed the thrill of freaking out everyone on set with his sinister games and shenanigans.

  Even worst, as I would come to learn and as the saying goes, ‘all that glitters is not gold’. Brody was known throughout Hollywood to be irrepressible, a heavy drinker, party freak and lest I forget, devoted playboy. He could never keep a girlfriend for more than a few weeks.

  Boy was I disappointed, and my fantasy shattered. I quickly figured out that lurking beneath the surface of Brody’s noble, honorable and macho persona was a shrewder side to him. Still, I did also learn after truly seeing him as Brody Banister ‘the man’ and not Brody Banister ‘the actor and celebrity’, that genuine regard for someone can sometimes possibly tame even the wildest of the bunch. But after what happened between him and me while visiting Europe almost three years ago, I wasn’t ready to face him now.

  ***

  After the awards ceremony, I decided to make a quick show of face at the Oscar’s after party. I had received my first Oscar for best Original Screen Play. The rest of my colleagues and I took home three more wins for Retrograde; my first sci-fi thriller. It was turning out to be the night that finally marked my career, putting me on that A-list.

  Later that evening after the main events, you know, all the speeches, poking fun at each other, dancing, the excessive eating and drinking, it was time to mingle. But this was when I strategically positioned myself at the back of the sea of stars, producing and directing gurus, and just about everyone who was anyone in Hollywood.

  Meanwhile, I was drinking heavily and obviously hiding from Brody. Heck, I was drinking because I was hiding from Brody and was about to have my sixth glass of very expensive champagne.

  It’s amazing to me how outgoing I was becoming when a few years ago I was arguably reclusive and socially incompetent. But I was here because of the nominations and because the cast insisted. I also came because Vernon and Lauren made me swear that I did something other than working and staying home.

  Otherwise, I was content at home with family and there was no way on earth that I was ready to see Brody.

  Trying to relax and to remain unseen—stilettoes tossed on the floor just beneath my table—I quickly glanced around the room, praying for the night to end soon. Still, my eyes remained fixated on Brody’s table that was about 35 tables ahead of mine. As I sat there while gingerly taking a sip of my wine and wondering what the hell was, I doing there, I saw Andrew walking towards my table. He was dapperly dressed in a custom-made tailored suit and looking as usually debonair and classy.

  Standing tall and with one hand in his pants pocket he looked at me and smiled.

  “There you are! Hiding at the back table as usual?” Andrew said in a refine British accent.

&nbs
p; “Congratulations on your win…though not at all a surprise!” He said as he walked closer and smiled while leaning towards my face.

  His moist lips pressed against my cheeks and the sharp fragrant from his cologne stroked my nose.

  Andrew Kingston was every young girl’s dream and my younger boyfriend. Who knew that this modest girl had cougar potential waiting to be unleashed? But Andrew was no boy and was definitely an old soul. He was charming, respectful and gentlemanly. He was six feet two inches of unequivocal scintillating eye candy. Although he was ten years younger than me, we surprisingly had quite a lot in common.

  “Well, I hope Mildred and Stan will keep Brody and his mother distracted in their next script and thank you! As always, you’re a sweetheart.”

  I finished my glass of wine and placed it unto the table while Andrew sat directly across from me.

  Feeling the effects of the champagne, I took my dark green tote from my lap and threw it onto the table alongside the bag of gifts that all of us had received and my new trophy. I pulled out my hair from the immaculate up do and sighed.

  “So…why are you sitting here all alone? No directors, publicist, Lauren or family members to accompany you tonight? That’s a first,” he said. He leaned back into his chair and folded his arms as he stared at me with a grin on his face.

  Andrew thoroughly enjoyed my drunken states. I was completely vulnerable and terribly honest.

  I poured myself another glass of wine from the full bottle of champagne, which I requested from the waiter along with the directions of leaving my table unattended. I took a full guzzle down and relaxed into my chair looking at my darling and enjoying the warmth of the sparkling wine running down my throat.

  “No. Lauren and Michael had that wedding remember? I told you already…”

  “Oh, the friend’s union. Yes, I remember now.”

  “You’re handsome tonight. Very sophisticated and manly looking.”

  For some reason, I felt a jolt of volcanizing heat running through my body as I looked at him. Maybe it was my very low tolerance for alcohol, but I was getting turned on.