In 2005, Cheyenne Albo was a 19-year-old aspiring country singer. At eighteen, she had been signed to an artist development deal and her dreams were finally starting to take off. Just one thing stood in the way – her boyfriend. While he was supportive, his tattoos and professional wrestling profession didn't mesh well with Cheyenne's down-to-earth Southern girl image. Glory Road Records gave her an ultimatum – "cut him loose, or we cut you loose." Phil and Cheyenne said their goodbyes and moved on.
Or so they thought.
Four years and not a single word spoken between the two did quite a bit to help them move on. Cheyenne has been romantically linked to several guys since then, most famously a young actor named Gregory Lane, but in reality she hasn't had anything serious since Phil. Meanwhile, Phil (stage name being CM Punk) has dated a couple fellow wrestlers but isn't attached to anyone currently. Both of their careers have blossomed amazingly well – he's WWE Champion, and she's working on her second studio album – so it makes sense that of all places that they could run into each other, it was the 2009 Kids Choice Awards. He was nominated for Choice Athlete and her for Choice Female Singer. Is four years just too long, or could they make up for lost love?
Four Years Ago
June 2005
Nashville, TN
Another blazingly hot Tennessee day had bestowed itself upon the residents of Nashville, and Cheyenne Albo was definitely feeling it. The air conditioner in her Ford Taurus had long since broke, and she was on the verge of melting. All four windows were open as she blazed down the highway, but that did little but blow her straight blonde hair in her face and annoy her. She took the appropriate exit and spent the rest of the drive thinking about the cool air that circulated through the studio she was headed towards.
Punctuality was a foreign concept among Albo's, so naturally she arrived to Blackbird Studio ten minutes late. Thankfully, the studio had a pretty relaxed atmosphere, so she doubted that anyone would even notice. She killed the ignition and unbuckled her seat belt before taking her guitar case from the passenger seat and walking to the lobby. Cheyenne opened the door with a smile to the receptionist, who gestured her towards Studio A where the producer was. Cheyenne walked in and was greeted with a hug from her producer Michael Fitz, who was arguably the most talented, driven country music producer today.
"How are you, Cheyenne?" Michael asked after he let her go and sat back down in his seat in front of the switchboard. She set her guitar on the table in the corner and shrugged.
"Not bad. Ready to work, you know?" she replied and zipped open the black Road Runner gig bag, which hid a shiny black Epiphone acoustic. Beneath the guitar was a stack of paper with scribbled, crossed out and revised song lyrics, complete with sloppily written Post It notes stuck all over them.
"That's what I like to hear, my dear. We'll finish tracking Thirteen Blocks and do the vocals before we start anything else. My intern, Lanny, added the banjo that you wanted, so we should be ready to go." Cheyenne sat down, Indian-style, in the chair next to his and they started to finish up the music. When they were both satisfied, she went into the sound booth and slipped on headphones to enter what she considered absolute bliss – singing her songs. Michael counted to four and the new music played in her ears. It sounds perfect, she thought to herself quickly before beginning to sing.
Stumbled off the porch step
Sat down in the car
Only thirteen blocks across this town
To get to where you are
And that don't offer me much time
To make up my mind
So I best be driving slow
On my way to letting go
As she finished up, she saw Michael and Lanny clapping from the outside, signaling that her first take was perfect. She exited the booth, where Michael blended the vocals and the track and they listened to the finished product.
"Absolutely perfect. Exactly what I had in mind," she said with a bright smile. She couldn't wait to show it to her executive producer, whose decision it was to decide whether she was finally ready for a record deal or needed more time on the developmental program.
"It'll be a hit," Lanny replied from the computer, where he was burning it onto some discs. One would be sent to Glory Road Records to show the executives Cheyenne's most recent work, and the other was Cheyenne's to take home and listen to or give away.
"Let's take a break," Michael stated and stood. He took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and left the studio, presumably to go outside. Cheyenne went into the hallway and took out her phone. She held in the 1 key, which was her speed dial for Phil.
"Hey babe!" he greeted after the third ring. It was 10:15, so he probably woke up about twenty minutes ago.
"Hey yourself! What's up?"
"Not a heck of a lot. I was going to head to the gym pretty soon, you know, fine tune these guns of mine." Cheyenne could practically imagine flexing his biceps as he spoke, and it made her miss him.
"What guns? You're flabbier than an old woman's arms. Who's been telling you lies?" The nineteen-year-old laughed to herself, knowing this would damage his ego.
"You better watch yourself, little girl. I'd be pleased to fling you around a wrestling ring, you know, knock some sense into you." He paused for a second. "Are you at the recording studio right now?"
"That I am, belting my heart out until the cows come home. We just finished a new song, and it's going to be sent to the executives at the label and maybe they'll finally sign me." Phil Brooks knew all about his girlfriend's anxiousness to be signed. As she said to him, you could only hone your craft for so long before it can't be honed anymore. It annoyed him that they were blind to her obvious talent.
"I bet it's amazing. Have you had any gigs lately?"
"Eh, here and there. I'm getting into the Bluebird Cafe in a month though, which is like Nashville's songwriters haven. That's when the label will probably take me seriously." Cheyenne sighed and then audibly groaned. "I'm so tired of waiting! I've been waiting for a whole year and ain't nothing happened yet. I obviously have the drive, I can write my own songs, and I'm familiar with playing live, but I feel like they keep waiting for something to happen that ain't gonna happen."
"You just have to be patient. They're just afraid because you're young." Story of our lives, Phil thought to himself bitterly. Pretty much everyone the couple knew thought it was weird that a 28-year-old and a 19-year-old were together, but all that really mattered to each other was that they were in love. Age is but a number, they always said.
However, the Albo's disagreed. Cheyenne's father claimed that she was too young to be serious with anyone, especially an almost 30-year-old up-and-coming wrestler. Her mother was afraid that he would try to use her inexperience and naivety to manipulate her. Of course, they were both wrong, but that didn't stop them from having their opinions.
"Yeah, well, whatever. So, how is CM Punk doing in the wrestling world? Still Ring of Honor World Champion?"
"Hell yeah I am! Also, I got an interesting phone call the other day," he teased, knowing it would drive her crazy.
"Well don't dangle it in front of me, you ass! Who was it? What did they want from you?"
"Get your panties out of a twist, Chey. It was Vince McMahon, from the WWE. He really wants to sign me." He paused and tried to think of how to explain it so that she would catch on. It wasn't that she was dumb, far from it; but as supportive as she was, Cheyenne didn't really follow wrestling and probably wouldn't understand. "He offered me a contract and I would be a big-time wrestler, on TV."
"Well you better hope for your sake that you said yes!" she shrieked in his ear, thrilled beyond belief. In her eyes, CM Punk was the best wrestler on the planet and no one deserved to be in the big leagues as much as him. The receptionist leaned over the counter to see where all the noise was coming from, but Cheyenne hardly noticed. "Did you say yes?"
"No, I passed on the best offer I'll ever get because something better might come along," he replied sarcastically. "Of course I said yes! I start training in September. I'm moving to Louisville to be part of their Ohio Valley Wrestling promotion."
"Louisville? As in Kentucky? We'll live three hours away! We'll be able to visit each other all the time! This is the best news I've ever heard, ever! We have to celebrate soon." Cheyenne was jumping in place as an attempt to calm down, but it wasn't working. She would be closer to her boyfriend who she barely ever saw, and quite frankly she was happy about it.
"I'm so glad you're happy, I really am. I'm pretty fucking happy too," Phil expressed. You could practically hear his smile, if at all possible. It was infectious and Cheyenne was smiling too. A moment of comfortable silence fell on the conversation, each lost in their own thoughts. Cheyenne's reverie was broken when she heard Michael return inside. He came down the hallway and motioned for her to finish her phone call. Lanny opened the door to Studio A and inside Michael went.
"I'm so glad. I'm so excited that I'm shaking, Phil. I gotta get back into the studio, but I'll call you later. I love you so much and you deserve this more than you'll ever know."
"Yeah, I should head out too. Colt keeps calling me because we're going to the gym and he gets a stick up his ass whenever I don't return his calls. Call me around five your time, or later, if you can. Love you." They said goodbye and Cheyenne hung up before sliding the phone back into the pocket of her jeans. The grin was still on her face when she returned to the studio.
"Someone's happy. Good news?" Michael predicted. The blonde just nodded.
"Very good news."
"From your label?" He guessed further, hopeful.
"Oh, no! Not from the label. But good news nonetheless." Silence drifted through the room and she clapped her hands together. "Anyway, we oughta get to work on I Heart Question Mark if we wanna get it on that promo CD."
Phil answered the call coming from the other line as soon as his girlfriend hung up.
"Gee, I'm so touched that you finally decided to answer my fucking phone call." Colt doesn't sound very pleased, Phil noted to himself with just a touch of glee. "Who the fuck were you gabbing with for fifteen minutes? The President?"
"I was talking to my girlfriend, you dumbass. I had to tell her the good news."
"Oh of course, why would you want to talk to me when you could talk to your total babe of a girl? I'm still not sure how the hell you convinced her to even look at you. Must've been luck. How is she anyway?" Colt and Cheyenne had met once, and while they were hardly best friends, they had a mutual like for each other.
"She's great. She's really excited about me moving...she says Nashville is only three hours from Louisville." Phil mulled the prospect of living closer to her over in his mind. The couple hadn't seen each other for two months, when Phil came down to Tennessee to visit. Since then, they'd been corresponding by phone. The idea of being able to see each other virtually any time they were free sounded pretty darn good.
"Well good. The Perfect Couple receives their light at the end of the tunnel once again. Anyway, are we going to the gym? I have abs to work on."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll meet you there in 15 minutes." Phil exited his tiny apartment in the heart of Chicago to meet Colt at the gym down the block.
Two Months Later
August 2005
Nashville, TN
It was finally, finally here. Glory Road Records scheduled a meeting with Cheyenne to discuss a record deal. They heard her newest songs and saw her perform at the Bluebird and loved it all. From the way it sounded on the phone, it seemed as though they were ready to sign her for real.
Cheyenne Albo was waiting in a conference room, nerves playing at her. Within just a few minutes, she would be a signed country recording artist and she could hardly believe it. The door opened and in stepped three suited men, who all shook her hand before sitting down.
"Cheyenne Albo. I know it must seem like it's been years, but in a few short months you really proved that you're ready for the world of country music. We were apprehensive because of your age, but we're sure that you're ready for a record deal now." The suit in the middle shuffled some papers around and turned them to her face her. "However, we must negotiate the contract.
"It states that you have a three album deal, each no longer than three years apart. Your target fan base will be adolescents aged 13 to 22, predominantly female. Are you following?"
"Absolutely," she breathed.
"Good. Now, because of that small detail, we must clear up one issue. We have reason to believe that you are currently dating professional wrestler Phillip Brooks, alias CM Punk." Cheyenne's eyes widened in surprise.
"Yes, I am...but how..."
"He hardly fits the image that you will be trying to project. This is show business, after all...Quite frankly, him being linked to you will detrimental to your career. He needs to go." He said this without any emotion whatsoever, as if this was a simple request that wouldn't affect anything. The three stared at her, awaiting a response.
"That's ridiculous. Phil won't hurt my career. How can you possibly ask me to break up with him?" Were they even aloud to do this to her? Would Phil actually drag her down? And since when did she have an image? Why couldn't she just be Cheyenne Albo, singer-songwriter-guitar player extraordinaire?
"He promotes violence and his body art will send the wrong message to parents of the girls you're trying to sell to. Surely you can see where we're coming from." Sure she could; any rational person could see their reasoning. That didn't mean she had to like it.
"I...I have to think about it. This isn't a split second decision. May I be excused for a few minutes?" The suits nodded and she was aloud to use the hallway to call him. It reminded her so much of when she called him that morning two months ago. However, that day they were celebrating good news; today would be anything but.
She pressed that familiar 1 key and the dial tone began. He answered rather quickly.
"Are you signed yet? Are you country music's hippest, grooviest new thing?" Phil babbled. She smiled weakly and tried to stop from crying.
"...No, not quite. We gotta talk."
"Oh...well that doesn't exactly sound promising. What's wrong, babe?"
"They..." she tried, but her voice got stuck in her throat. The tears were brimming in her eyes. "They think you'll be 'detrimental to my career' because of your tattoos and because you're a wrestler. Apparently you don't fit with my 'image' very well. They said we have to break up or the deal's not happening. What I would really like to know is how they know we're even together."
"That's fucked up!" he yelled. "Are you serious? They won't sign you unless we break up? I can't believe this. What are you going to do?" The line was quiet for several moments.
"I love you," she sobbed uncontrollably. "I love you so much, and if you hate me it will literally kill me inside. But how am I supposed to say no to this? They get me, they get what I want to do, and nothing like this will ever happen to me again."
"...So you're going to break up with me. For fuck's sake, Cheyenne, you're not even going to think about it? You're just gonna cut me off and move on?" He didn't want to sound so harsh, but this was sort of a harsh situation.
"They're in there right now! I have to decide now or it's over! I wish there was some other way, but there's not. This is it, and I made up my mind. Just please tell me that we can still be friends. I need to know that we're okay."
This seemed like something out of a bad drama movie. The heroine was basically leaving the hero in the dust for something bigger and better, and damn if it didn't hurt him inside.
"I can't tell you that, because I won't lie, I'm really pissed off right now. I just didn't think you'd be this selfish just to get your stupid fucking record deal." With that, he hung up, officially ending what they ever had together. As much as Cheyenne wanted to break down and cry, she had to pull herself together. This was her decision and she had to stick with it. She placed her cell phone into the pocket of her pants and returned to the room. All three suits looked at her with curiosity as she sat down, grabbed a pen, and signed the contract right then and there.
(A/N: Hola! So this is a little different from anything I've written previously. I hope you enjoyed! P.S. I don't own anything, including the song 'Thirteen Blocks' which was written by Taylor Swift and Scooter Carusoe.
-Annie)
