"Wait for me," Memphis squealed.

She walked briskly through the Milwaukee airport headed to catch a plane to the WWE's next destination Savannah, Georgia. Her partner in crime, Phil Brooks, better known as CM Punk had returned to wreak havoc at the RAW announce table in lieu of the wrestling ring. He was a pure genius when it came to both and Memphis was just happy to have the man who had become a good friend in such a short amount of time back by her side. He'd been out for a few weeks due to a nagging hip injury that was being rested for the upcoming new year and of course Wrestlemania. But he was once again traveling with the company and Memphis couldn't have been more thrilled. She had truly missed his dry, sarcastic and off the wall sense of humor. She had missed his companionship. He was a great guy and she didn't know what she would do without him. The man she affectionately called Punk was her only ally.

"Catch me if you can!" he bellowed.

She rolled her eyes. They were at a very busy airport in a big city and he was being a complete idiot running around playing with their luggage cart. She complained to his face but couldn't admit how lonely it had been without him. He had missed a lot. He had missed her sudden overnight rise to fame that had taken everyone by surprise. He had also missed a series of pathetic and juvenile pranks that had been played on her. Though she couldn't prove it, she had a sneaking suspicion who was behind it all. One night her rental car had been moved making her think it had been stolen. Another night when she had been refereeing matches, the guys had switched spots in order to trip her up and make her look like an asshole on national television. Memphis had taken it all in stride.

"Punk, would you stop it?" she finally caught up to him.

"What? Just trying to have a little fun, besides, you should be ashamed of yourself making an injured man carry your bags."

"Shut up, I did not make you."

"Don't deny it," he loudly and dramatically admonished her, rubbing his hip for extra emphasis. "Ever since you got famous and went all Hollywood on me, I've been nothing but your errand boy, your little bitch. It hurts, Memphis, it really hurts. Right here in the heart."

Her cheeks reddened as two older ladies who had no idea who they were and what he was talking about huffed and shot her an evil stare as if she really were mistreating her friend.

"I am gonna kill you," she muttered under her breath.

"Oh the threats," he got louder. "You're impossible these days."

"Punk…"

He turned to the little old ladies.

"You should hear what I caught her doing when we left the hotel today. Go ahead, tell them, Memphis. Admit it."

Memphis frowned as she tried to remember what he could be talking about

"What? Are you talking about when I was Googling myself?"

"For the love of God!" the two women exchanged horrified glances before stalking off.

Memphis put her hands on her hips. It had all been a set up, a stupid joke. The women obviously had no idea what Google was and Phil had just made it look like she had been engaging in an activity far more sinister and naughty.

"You are awful," she shook her head. "Absolutely impossibly awful."

"Admit it, that was a good one," he grinned, quite satisfied with himself.

"You got me, definitely well played. Not as ruthless as the pranks of your counterparts so that is a bit of a relief…"

"My ribs are actually funny and they're harmless. Those guys are going too far. Speaking of the idiots, have you figured out who it is yet?"

She shook her head.

"I have a good idea but then again since everyone pretty much hates me backstage, the lineup of prospects is quite endless."

"Well, I haven't heard anything in the locker room."

"Of course not. They all know you and I hang out. Hell, they probably see you as the enemy now."

"You think I give a rat's ass? Look, I don't have a problem with anyone in that locker room. The WWE is like one big happy slightly, okay really dysfunctional family. Everybody has a place. But what they're doing to you is seriously messed up and I don't like it. I want no part of it. I don't know who is doing it and if I did, I would say something to them because now it's starting to get out of control. Ribs and pranks are funny. Harassment? Not so much. I don't know what they want from you."

"I do. They want me to give up, give in. They want me to cry. They want me to break. Punk, they want me to quit but I'm not. I won't. I refuse to give them the satisfaction."

"Maybe you should say something to Vince. How much longer are you going to go through this?"

She shrugged.

"Until they grow up and realize that I am above their stupidity and immaturity and that I'm not going anywhere. Don't get me wrong, it sucks. It really sucks but what can you do? Crying to Vince won't get me any respect, it'll only make things worse."

"Well, I've got your back. Don't let them get you down, Dollface."

"Did I give you permission to call me that?"

"No but you like it."

Memphis surpressed a grin.

"How presumptious of you, Punk. And just how do you know I like it?"

"Because I'm cute and witty and adorable and charming. Kind of like Elmo."

She shot him a weird look.

"Elmo? Really, Punk?"

"What? Come on, I needed an analogy. I was desperate. I can't be funny 24 7, you know. It's a tough job."

"But somebody has to do it. Come on, Slow Poke. We have to get to our gate."

"So I saw you being interviewed before we left the arena."

"What?"

"That dude from WWE Magazine."

She rolled her eyes.

"I would hardly call that an interview. They are doing this bit for the upcoming issue, a little Q and A with different people in the company asking the question of the month which happened to be, What Was The One Thing You Splurged On With Your First Big WWE Paycheck?"

"What did you say?"

Memphis grinned as she lifted her brand new designer handbag.

"This is an actual Fendi, Punk. Do you hear me? Fendi!"

"Preach on, Sister."

"This is the first real designer bag I've ever owned, not counting the dozens of knockoffs I scored from the old guy in the wheelchair when I hit up Chinatown. Hell no, I actually marched my happy ass in Saks 5th Avenue and put down 3000 big ones for this gorgeous cream colored all purpose purse with the cute little Peek A Boo top handle. What do you think? Do you love it? You have to love it. I know you do."

"I love it so much that I would turn a cartwheel right here in the middle of General Mitchell International if I weren't in excruciating pain and oh yeah…if I weren't a dude. Memphis, you're killing me. You've got to find a girlfriend. If I hear about your dumb pocket book one more time and God forbid if you ask me to go shopping with you…"

"What?"

"You'll leave me with no choice but to surrender my man card…and my balls. I will literally have to detach them."

"Well, at least you'll look dapper doing it. I'm serious. I wasn't digging the long hair or the shaved do with the King Kong chest hair…so not cute. But this…the clean cut, it works for you. Totally GQ."

"More like BS," he frowned.

"You know you love me," she teased as they entered the final security line.

The lines were heavy and when the two finally made it to the screening check point, they removed their shoes and put their carry on items through the machine. Memphis went first and tried not to chuckle at Punk who was making faces at her as she was groped by a 60 year old TSA agent. When she was cleared, it was his turn. Then they went to retrieve their bags and laptops.

"Excuse me, ma'am, can you step out of line?" the agent asked Memphis.

"Um, is there a problem?"

"Please step out of line."

She sighed, cursing out loud as Phil followed her over to a more private corner.

"What seems to be the problem?" she asked. "Is this just a routine search?"

"I'm afraid not. Are you aware of the federal regulations regarding which and how much liquid, aerosol, and gels can be allowed on carryons?"

"Yes sir. I fly all the time as part of my job. There must be some sort of mistake. All my lotions and perfumes, shampoos and stuff are on the checked baggage that went under the plane."

"Then there shouldn't be a problem," he asked as he opened her prized Fendi bag with gloved hands.

An armed guard had joined the three of them. The bag opened and the foulest stench began to fill the air, causing them to all gag.

"What the fuck?" Punk wretched.

Memphis disgusted but curious leaned over and gagged as she peered into her purse.

"Miss, is this some sort of joke?" the officer, not amused demanded.

"Oh my God," she stumbled back into Phil. "I…I think I'm gonna be sick."

The TSA agent, red faced, cleared his throat.

"Is there a reason…feces is in your bag?"

"Oh my God…"

"Ma'am…"

She turned to Phil.

"Those ignorant, disgusting fucking bastards."

Phil, at a loss for words, ran a hand through his short hair.

"I can't believe that. That…is crazy. That is gross. Memphis, man, I'm sorry…that, geez, I don't even know what to say. I mean, at least it looks like dog crap, not that that makes it better."

"No Punk, I guess it doesn't," she whispered tersely through pursed lips.

She bit her lip, closing her eyes totally stunned and repulsed.

"Ma'am, you are going to have to come with us," the officer spoke. "It is not in accordance with federal aviation laws to transport feces…human or animal on an airplane. I know these purses are generally used to carry small dogs…"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she got mad. "Do you think I did this? Do you even think I knew about this? Do you honestly think I would knowingly carry around a dog, much less dog shit, especially in a three thouand dollar bag?"

"Calm down, Memphis. It's okay," Phil tried to comfort her by putting a hand on her shoulder.

"No, Punk, this is anything but okay!"

"Miss, you still have to come with us for questioning."

"Why?"

"It is TSA procedure."

"Great," she moaned. "Just great!"

"Come on, I'll go with you," Phil offered.

"I just can't believe this," she then turned to airport security. "I did not do this. You have to believe me. Listen, I work for the WWE but I am also a licensed attorney in the state of New York. My record is completely clean. I had no idea about this…God, I am just as horrified as you are but this is a prank."

"A prank?"

"Yes and not a very good one. It's not funny, it is revolting and it's sick and…"

"Do you have any idea who may have done this?" they questioned as they escorted her to the security office.

Memphis grimmaced, feeling her anger simmer at an all time high. People were starting to look and she knew she had to control herself and not make too much of a public scene. She was a sort of celebrity now and even the slightest incident had the ability to land on the Internet dirt sheets. But for Memphis, it was more than that. Not only had she been publicly humiliated, once again her personal belongings had been tampered with, her expensive bag and all its contents had been ruined by dog poop, not to mention both she and Phil were going to miss their flight subsequetly making them late for work. As if that wasn't bad enough, federal agents were detaining her for interrogation. She had put up with the pranks and the harrassment with dignity and the attitude of taking a higher road but now it had been taken to a whole new level. Would it ever stop? How far were they willing to go? When would enough be enough?

"I am going to kill Randy Orton!"