It was a hot summer day in New York City. Jeff Hardy aimlessly walked down a sidewalk on the West Side. He knew he should be heading to the arena, but he just couldn’t bring himself to go towards the most famous venue in the world: Madison Square Gardens. He knew he should be hailing a cab, but his arm just wouldn’t rise up to hail one.
His fire was gone. His passion for the one thing in this world or the next was gone. He dreamed about being a wrestler ever since he was a kid.
Now at twenty-six years old, he had everything he ever wanted, but after everything was said and done, he didn’t want it anymore. How could that be? How could he not want everything he’s worked so hard to gain?
No doubt, he still loved it. He still loved everything about it, the actual wrestling, the adrenaline rush from the crowds and the fans. His adoring fans, they were his livelihood. If he decided to leave, how could he disappoint them? He just didn’t have the heart to. He couldn’t even think about disappointing his fans, but his fire for the business was gone, gone like a firefly into the light of day.
Gone like the smell of roses in the summer breeze. At first, it’s overwhelmingly strong, but then it ever so slowly diminishes. It had to be clutched roughly to be held onto, but then it slipped through the fingers of the hand holding on to it and disappeared into the wind.
He turned and walked in the opposite direction. How could he lose his desire for wrestling?
When the powers that be broke him and his brother up, he felt lost. He felt like he was missing a part of himself. He had always depended on his older brother for support, guidance and for everything a younger sibling depends on their older sibling for. He now felt alone. Really alone. Sure, he had friends, but nothing could take the place of his best friend, his confidant, his brother. No one could understand how he felt. For years, it was his brother and himself, side by side, wrestling, living their dreams together, just like they always talked about doing. They traveled together, wrestled together, sometimes, they shared a hotel room together with the place was full. Sometimes, they would get a room together just because they felt like talking, goofing off, and hanging out as brothers.
Jeff looked up and blinked. ‘Damn, I miss Matt.’
That’s when he saw it, the most colorful and erratic painting he had ever seen. Wild blues, greens, reds, purples, pinks and yellows in no pattern went from one side of the huge canvas to the other. There was no order or plan it seemed at all, just color. He couldn’t help but stare at it as it sat behind a pane of glass in the art gallery window. In the middle of the gigantic painting was a small pair of abstract eyes inside star shapes. It was actually kind of humorous. It the middle of all that chaos, there was something as peaceful as eyes looking out. He noticed there were no brush strokes. He wondered how the artist did that.
People came out of the shop and Jeff overheard parts of their conversation.
“That artist is strange.” A tall man said.
The woman with him laughed. “Well, of course the artist is strange! She is, after all, an abstract artist, but she is very good.”
“Yes, very good.” The man said as they walked away.
Jeff pursed his lips. ‘Oh what the hell?’ He shrugged and walked inside the shop. There were people everywhere, laughing, drinking champagne out of crystal glasses. They were dressed up to the nines. Jeff almost turned around and left when his eyes caught another canvas he couldn’t help but go look at. He walked over to it and got within inches of the painting and just stared at it. It was pairs of circles all over it in different colors. There were smaller circles in the middle of the larger ones in different colors then the circles around it. Between each pair, there was a bold red line swirling around.
“Are you having a good time staring at my breasts?” A female voice asked from behind him with a giggle and a heavy Russian accent.
He jerked around and looked at the source of the voice: a woman about his height, very thin, with long straight vivid chili red hair up in a strange style, some of it was clipped up, but the rest was hanging loose, and huge brown eyes. She had a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes. She was wearing a bright yellow tank top and a long sarong-type skirt in a floral print and brown sandals. He couldn’t help but glance at her breasts after she just accused him of it, not huge, but not small either. He got back to her face. No makeup at all, not even any foundation. He softly smiled. “Are you the artist?”
She smiled with a nod. “Yes, I am. Letitia Pavlov.” She extended her hand. “And you are?”
Jeff blinked. He guessed she wasn’t a wrestling fan. He shook her hand. “Jeff Hardy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hardy.”
“You too. Your work, well, from what I’ve seen is amazing.”
“Thank you very much.” She smiled. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?” Jeff asked.
She laughed. “I asked you if you were having a good time staring at my breasts?”
He blinked and looked back at the painting. “So that’s what those circles are.”
“Yes. Come, walk with me.” She instructed. “Maybe you will see something else you like, other then my breasts.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. He caught up to her and they walked from one canvas to the other.
“I always like looking at my work with a fellow artist.” She stated.
“How did you know I was an artist?” Jeff asked.
She smiled. “You have that artist vibe.”
Jeff grinned.
“That and well, only an artist would have the nut sac to walk out in public dressed like that.” She said, looking at his clothes, consisting of black and white sneakers, blue and green plaid paints and a red t-shirt with a tribal design on the front in yellow.
Jeff’s grin turned into a smile, the first one he’s had in days.
“Add your hair into it and well, you scream artist.” She said with a smile, looking up at his green and dark purple hair.
He smiled again and looked around the gallery. He saw a painting he had to examine closer, so he walked up to it with Letitia behind him. He looked at it closer. Different colored hand and foot prints on the canvas in no rational order with swirls of color all over it. “This is amazing.”
“Thank you.” A waiter in a tux walked up and she took a filled champagne glass and offered him one.
“No thank you. I have to work tonight.” Jeff said.
She nodded and replaced the glass. “What is it you do besides the artist thing?”
He grinned. “I’m a professional wrestler.”
“You’re kidding?” She smiled.
He shook his head. “No. We have a show here tonight as MSG as a matter of fact.”
“Funny. I would have pegged you for a painter, poet or musician, but not a professional wrestler.”
“Actually, I’m all four.” He shrugged.
She nodded. “How old are you, Mr. Hardy?”
“26 and please call me Jeff.”
She smiled. “Ok, Jeff.”
“And you, Miss?” He asked.
“Yes, Miss.” She answered.
“Ok, Miss Pavlov.”
“Twenty four and you can call me Lettie. Everyone else does.” She smiled. They continued walking around the gallery looking at her paintings.
“Is this your first showing?” He asked.
“No, it’s actually my third.” She said. “Do you see anything you would be interested in acquiring?”
“Maybe.” He said. He caught a glimpse of the clock. Another day to be chastised for being late. “I really should get going. It was very nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.” She said. “Would you like to paint with me tomorrow?”
That question almost shocked him. Would he like to paint with a professional artist? Hell yes, he would. He thought for a second. He was supposed to be going home for two days starting tomorrow. “I would like that very much.” He answered.
“Wonderful.” She smiled. They walked over to the sales desk. She wrote down her address and gave it to him. “Come in the morning.” He nodded and slipped the piece of paper in his back pocket.
“I will see you then.” He smiled and walked out of the gallery. He hailed a cab and went to the arena. When he walked in, management pounced on him for being late. He just nodded and ignored them, as usual. When he got to the locker room and found his bag where he had left it earlier, he put her address in it. He didn’t want to lose it. He was already looking forward to the next day. Nothing was going to mess that up if he had anything to say about it.
He knocked on her huge metal door about mid-morning the next day. She opened it in no time flat with a bright smile.
“Come in.” She instructed. He walked in. “Would you like some coffee?”
He nodded. “Thank you.” She smiled and went to the small counter near the door to get it. He looked at her and around her spacious loft. She was wearing a white men’s undershirt spattered with paint and a pair of jeans equally as paint splattered and she was barefoot. He saw a tattered couch, and a television sitting on a plastic milk crate off in the far corner and a stereo playing classical music was sitting on the floor beside it. That was the extent of her furniture, besides a mattress on the other side sitting on the floor. Although, huge, this place had nothing in it. He did see some of her paintings hanging on the walls and went to look at them.
She walked up and handed him a coffee cup. “I call that one ‘Revenge’.” She said motioning to the black and red swirled painting he was looking at.
He nodded and sipped his coffee. “Nice.”
“Thank you. Lets get started, shall we?” She said.
“Ok.” He said.
She led him over to the emptiest place in the loft where a huge blank canvas was sitting on the floor surrounded by paint cans. “First thing we must do is undress.”
“Excuse me?” He asked as she lifted her shirt.
“You heard me.” She said and pulled it off over her head, making her breasts bounce. “Strip.” She commanded as she tossed the shirt across the room.
His jaw dropped, blatantly looking at her chest. He set his coffee down on the floor and shrugged. ‘Why the hell not?’ He pulled his own tank top over his head and tossed it in the same direction she tossed hers. He pulled out of his sandals and as he was pulling his shorts down, he watched her pull her jeans off. She balled them up and threw them in the same direction. He followed. She was standing there completely nude and she tied her hair back.
She looked at him. “Undies too.”
“Um, ok.” He stammered and pulled his bikini briefs down. He tossed them in the same direction as the rest of their clothes. He instinctively put his hands in front of his maleness to cover it.
Letitia laughed. “Don’t worry about it. After you see one, you’ve seen them all. Besides, sweetling, you’re going to need your hands in just a few minutes.”
He shrugged. “Ok.” He removed his hands.
She looked him over. “I knew you would have a huge sac.”
His face flushed.
She didn’t even notice as she turned around to face the canvas. “Grab any can of paint you want to.”
He nodded and picked up an open can of bright lime green paint. She saw what he had and picked up a can of bright orange paint.
“Now take it and throw it on me.” She said.
“Say what?” Jeff asked.
“You heard me…no, wait, I have a better idea.” Letitia said and set her can of paint down. “First thing we are going to do is cover this canvas with…” She picked up a can of dark purple paint. “This. Come on, help me out here.”
He set his paint can down. “Ok, where are your brushes?”
She laughed. “I never use brushes.” She swung the paint can she held back and tossed the contents on the canvas. It landed in a huge gob right down the middle with splatters around it. She set the can down and squatted down, putting her hands in the glob. “Come on.” Jeff looked at her kind of confused but squatted down beside her and put his hands in the paint pool. “Spread it around. Make sure you cover every little space.” He nodded and they spread the paint all over the canvas, walking all over it squatting and bending on it, using their hands and bare feet to smooth it out. It dripped off the side of the canvas onto the concrete floor. He looked at the forming pools with a frown.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got more paint on the floor then will ever come up.” She said and looked over the now dark purple canvas. “I think we have it all covered, don’t you?”
“I think so.” Jeff said, looking at it.
“Ok, now let’s go wash this paint off.” She said and Jeff followed her into the bathroom. She turned the shower on and grabbed his hand. She almost dragged him into the small stall with her. She poured some turpentine onto his hands and feet and did the same to her own. After they were paint free again, she grabbed two hairdryers.
“Can I ask a question, Lettie?” Jeff asked.
“Sure.” She said as they made their way back to the canvas.
“Why are we doing this naked?”
She smiled and handed him one of the hairdryers. “You’ll see.”
“Ok.” He said. He was still confused, but didn’t want to press.
“Now we dry this paint.” She said and picked up an extension cord. As they were drying the canvas, Jeff kept shooting looks her way. She would see him and smile. After she was satisfied that paint was dry enough, she smiled at him. “Now the fun starts.” She picked up her orange paint, and handed him his can of lime green paint. She walked on the canvas and got in the middle of it. She beckoned him to join him. He grinned and carefully walked on the canvas up to her. She squatted down in front of him and put her paint can down in front of her. She looked up at him as she dipped her hands into the can. She put her paint-covered hands on his ankles. He inhaled a sharp breath as the cold paint touched his skin. She lifted back up to height, spreading the paint up the front of his legs, lower torso and on his chest. She locked eyes with him, and to his surprise, she kissed him. He kissed her back and squatted down. He put his hands into the can of paint he had just set down, making sure to get a good amount of his hands and copied her, but going around her thighs as he lifted up, spreading the paint on her butt and lower back, bringing her into his arms. He kissed her again and she wrapped her arms around his neck, slightly parting her lips to allow for his tongue to dart inside.
She broke the kiss after a few seconds and squatted back down, running her hands down the front of his body as she did. She looked at the paint cans sitting beside them with a slight frown. She lifted back up and walked off the canvas. She got three more cans of paint in different colors, a bright pink, a yellow and an electric blue. She walked back on the canvas and set them down with the other paint cans. She smiled up at him and picked up the blue can again. She walked behind him and set the can down. She put her hands in the paint and ran them up the back of his legs and kissed his shoulder as she squeezed his ass. He inhaled a quick breath as he felt her nails dig into his skin. He turned around and brought her back into his arms for another kiss. He broke it after a few seconds and squatted down. He put his hands in the bright pink paint, and without touching another part of her, he cupped her breasts. She moaned and tossed her hair back as he massaged the paint onto her creamy breasts. He felt the blood pouring to his organ and almost felt embarrassed about it until she bent down, got her hands full of the lime paint and stroked him. He growled and took her mouth again with his.
“Damn, that feels good.” He whispered as she continued to stroke him.
She smiled. “Do you feel that, sweetling?”
He mumbled and bent his head backwards.
“Look at me.” She instructed, still teasing him with her paint covered hands.
He lifted his head back up and looked at her.
She locked her own passion-filled eyes with his. “Do you feel that? The heat? The passion? The desire?” She moved one of her hands to cup his testicle sac. With the other hands still slowly torturing his organ, she gently squeezed his scrotum. He mumbled a yes. She licked his lower lip and let him go. She took his hands and rubbed the remainder of the paint she had in her hands into his. “Now touch yourself.” Without thinking, he grasped his penis with both hands and slowly stroked himself. “Good, sweetling.” She encouraged while watching him. “Go slowly now. We don’t want our fun cut short.” He slowed his pace. She put her hands into the yellow paint and lay down on the canvas. “Watch me.” She commanded. He watched her every move. She opened her legs to him and ran her yellow paint covered hands on her inner thighs. “Do you see me, sweetling?” She asked as her hands went painfully close to her crevice.
“Yes.” He whispered.
“Do you see my heat?” Letitia’s hands continued to move up and down her inner thighs.
“Yes.” His eyes locked on her womanhood and the soft dark hair speckled with paint surrounding it.
“Do you see my passion?”
“Yes.”
“Do you see my desire?”
“Yes.”
“Fill it.” She instructed strongly.
He didn’t need any more encouragement. He moved quickly, laying on top of her and filling her up to the hilt. He started the pace and she quickly adapted to him. She rolled him over and rode him, running her hands all over his chest, face and neck. They knocked over the paint cans nearby and the contents went fell into a huge pool. He rolled her back onto her and her back was in the paint pool, their movement spreading it all around, making swirls and mixing it up into an inconsistent pattern and different colors.
He gently bit down on her bottom lip as he felt his sac tighten.
“Don’t hold back, sweetling.” She purred. “Complete your passion.”
With those words, he shot, furiously pumping in and out of her with loud growls. When he was spent, he rolled off her to his back on the canvas. “Dear God.” He panted.
She smiled and got up. She looked at the canvas and her smile got bigger. “Sweetling, stand up and look at our masterpiece.”
Jeff caught his breath and stood up beside her. His jaw dropped with he saw it. A huge pool of color right in the middle swirled up, different color splatters were everywhere and there were footprints and handprints all over it.
“Wow.”
“Yes.” She agreed. “It’s beautiful, just like what we just did.”
Jeff smiled. “Yes, it is. Can I ask you one question?”
“Yes.” She said and smiled at him.
“How are you going to get that paint out from inside you?”
“Club soda douche.” She said bluntly. “I should go do that now before it dries.” She kissed him. “I’ll be right back.”
He nodded and watched her walk off. Soon he heard the shower running and looked down at himself. He was covered from head to toe in paint. He walked into the bathroom and saw her in the shower. “Mind if I join you?”
“No, not at all.” She said over the roar of the running water. He stepped in there with her and after she cleaned herself out, he brought her into his arms for another kiss. They stood under the running water, washing each other with soap and turpentine. When they were paint free, they stepped out and dried off.
“Come let’s finish our painting.” She smiled and walked out of the bathroom. She put her clothes back on and he did the same. They dried the painting with the hairdryers and stapled it onto the wooden frame. “Now for our signatures.” She smiled and picked up a can of bright purple paint. She dipped her hand into it slightly and pressed down on the corner of the canvas. After she washed her hand off, she handed him a can of red paint. He did the same, getting close beside her handprint. She dried the prints and picked up a tiny brush. She dipped it into the red paint. After she signed her handprint and washed the brush, she handed it to him and he signed his handprint with the purple paint.
“There, sweetling, we’re all done.” She smiled.
He smiled back. “Now what are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know.” She said. “But it was fun painting it.”
He laughed. “Would you like to go get some lunch?”
“Ok.” She nodded. She slipped on a pair of sandals and they went down to a diner on the corner.
While they were eating, he found out some things about her.
“My family and I moved here from Moldova when I was just a teenager.” She said when he asked her where she was from.
“Where exactly is Moldova?”
“It’s between Ukraine and Romania. It’s a very small country.”
“Oh ok. Why did you and your family move here?”
“Political unrest. Two weeks after we moved and got settled, I was doing something at my new school. My father, mother and older sister were walking down the street to the market when a bus hit them. They were killed instantly.”
“Damn. I’m so sorry.” He said. “You were all alone.”
“Yes.” She said. “They wanted to send me back. We had applied for citizenship, but it still hadn’t come through when the accident happened. Fortunately, a very kind social worker fought for me and I was able to get political asylum until I was able to gain citizenship.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what it would be like to be all alone in a strange country so young.
As if reading his thoughts she asked him, “Do you know what it’s like to be all alone?”
He nodded. “Sometimes I feel the same way, but my family is still alive.”
“You can feel lonely surrounded by people. You can feel sad on the happiest day of your life. Sadness and loneliness doesn’t care where you are or what you’re doing.”
“That’s true.” He agreed.
“But sometimes, you must see through it. You must spit in it’s face and say ‘you’re not going to bring me down’ then do something you know in your heart you have to do, but you don’t want to do.”
Jeff looked at her and gulped. It was like she was reading his mind.
She went on. “If you’re truly unhappy, then stare it in the face and do something to kill the unhappiness.”
He looked away, not knowing what to say to that statement.
“Sweetling, I can sense your anxiety.”
He looked back at her. “Am I that transparent?”
“No.” Letitia shook her head. “Only a fellow artist would be able to read the signs, if they looked closely enough. You don’t like wrestling, do you?”
“That’s the problem. I love it, but I can’t seem to bring myself to get back that fire.”
“If there’s no fire for it, then there’s no heat. There’s no desire. There’s no passion. You’re still doing it because you don’t want to hurt anyone, do you?”
He nodded.
“If they really care for you, they will understand. If they love you, they will want to see you happy. You shouldn’t be concerned with anyone else’s happiness. You should be doing what makes you happy.”
He nodded, completely understanding. They stayed there a while longer, chatting. He had to go catch his plane to go home.
She nodded in understanding. They walked outside and he took her hands.
“I will always remember you, Lettie.”
“As I will you.” She squeezed his hands and as she was letting go, he brought her up close to his body and kissed her. She kissed him back and pulled away. “Goodbye, sweetling.” She smiled and walked away. He watched her walk away and turned and walked in the other direction to hail a cab to go to the airport.
The next week, he was sitting on his front porch, thinking about Letitia. He knew he would probably never see her again, but that still didn’t stop his mind from wondering to her. He had been late again to that week’s Raw and been suspended from the house shows. Matt and Amy walked up to see how he was doing. They could tell he wasn’t himself lately.
“How are you doing, Jeff?” Matt asked, sitting down beside him.
Jeff shrugged. “Ok, I guess.”
“Are you going to tell us about that extra day in New York?” Amy asked.
“Nope.” Jeff answered. Just then a delivery truck pulled up.
The driver walked up. “Jeff Hardy?”
“Yes?” Jeff said.
“Delivery for you. Sign here, please.” The driver said handing him the small hand held computer.
Jeff signed it. The driver went to get the package. On a set of hand trucks, he rolled the huge, flat wooden crate to the porch and leaned it up against it. Jeff looked at it stunned.
“What is that?” Matt asked.
Jeff smiled. “I know what it is. Help me open it.”
Matt and Jeff opened the crate and pulled the painting out. Matt looked at it. “This thing is ugly as hell.”
Jeff snorted. “It’s beautiful.”
“There’s a note.” Amy said and carefully pulled it off the canvas. She handed it to him.
He opened it and read it silently.
~ Something to remind you to always keep in mind: Be happy. ~
No signature. Jeff smiled, looked at the painting, glancing down at the signatures in the corner. He looked at Matt and Amy as they looked at the painting. He looked down at the note and back again at the painting. He knew what he had to do and above all else, he was going to be happy. If the fans didn’t support him, they never really cared about him in the first place. Matt and Amy would understand. They loved him. Now it was time for him to care about himself.