Peyton and the Party People

If there was one bain of Peyton’s profession, it was the industry party.  The scene was so very tired. Egomaniacal basketball players, pathological agents, the token “hot” rappers of the moment, pretentious PR girls tryng to get ahead, naive unassuming girlfriends, and of course, the groupies that keep the whole sports industry afloat. If Peyton wasn’t being hit on by some rookie hooper who didn’t know better, or pushed up on by some slimy agent, she was being glared at by girlfriends and groupies alike who wanted to know exactly “Who this bitch thought she was” that she could mix and mingle in crowds of these so-called superstars unaffected.

The latter scenario was currently playing itself out in the ladies room at the 40/40 Club.  Apparently, some peon’s “babymama” wasn’t thrilled about the “short bitch in the black dress”  who was “all up on” her man.  As the girl, who Peyton figured out was named Charmaine, went on her restroom tyrade, Peyton was in one of the bathroom stalls using the facilities.  She’d actually been finished for a few minutes, but she was so fascinated by what these girls had to say, that she couldn’t help but eavesdrop just a tad as Charmaine talked about wanting to “slap the taste out of her mouth.”  Peyton tried her best to hold back laughter, and thought to herself how lucky these girls were that she’d gotten in a game of raquetball earlier that day. Had she not released her well-documented agression, Charmaine might have found herself a victim of Peyton’s fiery temper.

“I just can’t stand these groupie bitches!” Charmaine said to her girlfriend. “I mean, like she didn’t see me come in with him and she just gonna be all up in his face.”

“Girl, you know that comes with the territory. You’ve gotta get used to it. All kinds of hoes are going to be all up in his face,” advised the girlfriend.  “I wonder who she is though? She didn’t look like a video girl.”

Charmaine smacked her lips. “I don’t give a fuck who she is. If I go back out there and see her with Tyrell again, there’s gonna be some problems.”

By now Peyton had had her fill. She stood up, straightened her pinstriped pencil dress and strutted out of the stall. “Well apparently, that won’t be necessary since she is right here,” Peyton quipped as she walked up to the mirror. She slowly sat down her clutch and reached for her MAC for a reapplication.  She smirked as she looked at the girls in the mirror. “Doesn’t this whole situation remind you of something that would happen in college?” Peyton paused. “Unless of course, you’ve never been to college.”

Charmaine and friend were speechless as they watched Peyton meticulously apply her MAC Lip Glass.

“Well, I know back in college, I was good for smacking the taste out of the mouths of bitches who talked shit about me behind my back. These days, though I’m more the type to slap the shit out of bitches in bathrooms, and then have said bitches removed from this party. Because when you’re a senior level NBA executive, you can do that. I’d then have them banned from all NBA parties and what a shame that would be. Because if I did that, then that just might make room for one of the six video hoes who have conspicuously slid their numbers to a certain basketball player via his agent to take the place of a certain girlfriend.”

Peyton carefully blotted her lips as the two girls glared at her. She couldn’t tell if they were more angry or embarassed and nor did she care. Little did they know that the exchange had been her source of entertainment for the evening. As much as she hated these parties, she loved putting stupid people in their places. She placed her make up back in her clutch and strutted towards the door. “It was nice chatting with you girls,” Peyton said. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

Want to know Peyton’s back story? Meet Peyton here.