A/N: Wow, overwhelming response to the kick-off chapter! Thanks everyone! Here's the next instalment, updated as requested ;) Enjoy!
--Pride and True--
Chapter II: Prada for Men?
The phone rang wildly awakening her from the last few moments of semi-conscious slumber one gets when one has no desire to get up. She flailed a hand somewhat weakly over her bedside table, fishing for the receiver and whence she had found the tool, lifted the piece to her ear.
"Hello," she mumbled feebly, discontented by the call but she knew better. She knew it was time to get up. There wasn't any use wasting a perfectly good day in the safety of her bed.
"Rory?" came a familiar voice.
"Lane?" she asked.
"I need help! I need your counselling!" Lane pleaded hurriedly in a whisper.
"Rory's counselling service doesn't open 'til after breakfast on weekdays and after brunch on weekends," she fooled.
"Come on Rory!" Lane persisted, "this is serious... band-on-the-rocks possible stuff here".
"What do you mean? I thought you guys were slinking to the top nicely," Rory soothed, unsure of where the conversation was leading.
"I've got a... personal issue to sort out," Lane divulged quietly. Rory had guessed there was 'secret girls business' due to Lane's assumption of her more quiet and highly erratic way of talking.
"What's the scoop?" Rory asked genuinely.
"Alright... I haven't got any other way to say this... I think I've got feelings for Zack," she continued, "and I'm not sure what I should do... I mean... you know how many bands have suffered under the whole inter-band relationship deal".
"I dunno, but maybe you've got to way up your feelings versus the best intentions of the group," Rory advised.
"So I don't say anything then?" Lane asked flatly.
"I didn't say that," Rory answered, "but you can't let this... dominate you. You've got to come to some sort of decision and go with it".
"Yeah I know and I've tried," Lane stressed. Rory could hear the emotion in her voice.
Rory thought for a moment before replying again, "I can't tell you what to do Lane, but I can tell you, whatever happens, it'll turn out okay".
"How do you know?" Lane snapped defensively, "the record here isn't exactly going in my favour... you're well aware of what group members dating each other, has done to even the most famous of bands".
"Then maybe you've got to take a gamble- a risk of sorts. You guys have been friends for a long time... I'm sure it'll have a way of working itself out," Rory answered logically. Lane worked on logic. If it didn't make sense in the logical way of thinking, it didn't make sense to Lane. Rory had learned a way of pushing the right buttons on Lane that eventually got her to see outside the square.
"I'm sorry," Lane responded softly, regretting her defensive remark.
"Don't be," Rory said cheerfully, "it's going to be fine... just go with what you can handle and don't you forget to keep me posted".
"I will," Lane answered somewhat more brightly, "just don't expect anything".
"I'll be expecting the unexpected," Rory chimed, "I'll talk to you soon," she finished and hung up upon being convinced that Lane was more comfortable than she had been, at the beginning of their conversation.
Rory sighed and rose to a sitting position, stretching slightly.
"Good morning- is this yours?" Paris asked seriously, flinging the door open and waving a wallet in her free hand.
"Ah- nooo- I- mine's here," Rory answered, startled by the abruptness of Paris' entry and subsequent early morning interrogation; something she had grown entirely too used to.
"I found it outside, whose is it?" Paris continued.
"I don't know... have you looked inside it?" Rory asked, sliding out of bed all the while.
Paris looked down at the small leather piece, "it's Italian," she said, "a men's Prada".
"A men's Prada?" Rory questioned, rising an eyebrow inquisitively, "I've heard of such golden treasures, but never laid eyes on one, yarrr," she messed about.
"Please," Paris shot sternly, "don't ever be a pirate... besides Pirates don't care for leather riches, only golden ones".
"But they sometimes have leather wrist bands and even leather eye patches... ooo and leather boots!" Rory retorted.
"Can we just focus on the freakin' wallet, please?" Paris barked, dropping the wallet to the ground in her outburst, which sprayed coins across the floor of Rory's room.
The girls stood, starring at each other for a moment.
"I'm sorry," Paris answered shakily, "I'm just on a short fuse and no one- anywhere, has been able to give me a straight answer lately without some sort of shenanigans. What- is my life an Irish pub now?" she screamed, shaking a fist upward.
"Chill!" Rory soothed, "just chill... and help me find the change".
Once again, Rory hit all fours and began to gather what was in immediate view. Paris, who was chanting a mantra quietly to herself, hit the ground as well and began to gather the small change.
Rory picked up the wallet.
She leafed it open and began to examine its contents. Her eyes danced around the array of various banking and credit cards, each with their own splash of varying and distinctive colour. Surprisingly, as she turned the wallet vertically, a large sum of cash was still to be found.
"Look," Rory exhibited the wad of cash to Paris.
"Oh great," Paris whined, "it's not an Irish pub... it's a freakin' Mafioso drug-pub in Jersey".
Rory giggled; Paris sneered.
The pair continued gathering what they could of the change that had sprawled to seemingly every corner of the room. Rory scrutinized the wallet more, flicking through the cards and finding the owner to be:
"Logan Huntzberger," she read aloud off one particular American Express card.
"Anyone you know?" Paris questioned, gathering coins without looking at Rory, "doesn't ring any bells for me".
"Logan," Rory repeated, attempting to rethink where she had heard the name from; and then it hit her like the peak-hour metro.
"Do you know him?" Paris asked again, looking up and noticing Rory's rather awestruck expression.
"Uh," Rory began, looking sideways at her friend, "no- no I don't... I'll take it- the wallet to lost and found on my way to class this morning".
"Okay," Paris agreed and rose to her feet again, "looks like we got all the small stuff"
"Yeah- it does," Rory replied floatily.
"Huntzberger..." Paris said aloud, "actually that name does ring a bell".
"It does?" Rory shot quickly.
"Yeah, I think that's the name of that multimillionaire who owns all those papers," Paris continued, "if that's the case, maybe we should ransom his wallet back to him".
Rory breathed softly, thankful Paris did not know whom she thought of, "I think we'll just be good Samaritans on this one," she eased, rising from the floor and dumping the wallet on the end of her bed.
"I just think we could really take him to the cleaners on this one," Paris persisted, but Rory waved the idea away with the brush of her hand and walked out into the lounge, confronted immediately by a rather large and rather ancient printing press.
"Paris," Rory began gently, "what is a printing press doing in our lounge?"
"OH!" Paris exclaimed, "it used to be Asher's, but he left it to me".
"He must've really loved you," Rory sniped.
"What?" Paris questioned, dusting the old machine quickly.
"Nothing," Rory smiled.
As she turned to resume her morning ritual her eyes locked on the wallet. She bit her lip.
No, there wasn't going to be any visits to young Mr. Huntzberger's room, she thought. She didn't want to have to deal with him early in the morning or at all really, but the small leather pouch beckoned and almost mindlessly she found herself picking up the phone and dialling 'Yale Information'.
"Ummm yes- good morning- is it possible if I could have the room number and dormitory... or wing... of Logan Huntzberger?" she asked timidly.
A/N: mmm don't worry, I'm not going too fast, there's plenty of intrigue to be injected just yet. Sit tight and tell me what you think and I'll deliver, as best I can :) Cheers all!