This is only my second story that's actually supposed to be longer than a chapter! Gaaah, I'm nervous, never wrote Laurel and Hardy until now!
Betty angrily stands in the kitchen, washing the dishes, taking out her frustrations on the plate she is busily scrubbing.
Stan has done it again. He has done it again. After the umpteenth time she screamed at him not to, he has.
How long had her husband been out now? Around three hours. The time heads onward to eleven at night. Betty sits alone in her room, sipping her tea, unable to wipe the frown off her face. If Stanley doesn't come through that door in one more minute...
"Hullo, honey," Stan greets happily, smiling at his wife and waving. Instantly, she knows he's as drunk as a skunk.
She gets to her feet and starts right in. "Stanley, this is it. This is the last time, I tell you!"
Stan takes off his hat and sits it on the table, next to Betty's tea, making her nervous for obvious reasons. She picks it up and holds it with both hands. "You were out drinking again, with that friend of yours."
Stan scratches his head. Perpetually confused. He smiles wider, if possible. He hiccups.
Betty shakes her head, defeated. "You're spiffed!" she states bluntly.
Stan is all smiles.
"Look at you!" Betty cried.
Stan clucks his tongue, opening his mouth and trying to speak, to apologize, but he can't get the words to come out.
Betty points to the door. "Get out. I need to think of what I'm going to do with you!"
Stan slowly turns his head to where his wife is pointing a sharp finger, and it suddenly registers what she's suggesting. "Honey, I, I-"
Betty shoves him so hard he almost falls on his face. "Go somewhere else for tonight and just leave me alone."
"But-but-" Stanley tries to say something, but it's way too late. Betty has already dragged him through the house, opened the front door, and kicked him outside onto the steps. He lands on his bottom, staring up at her helplessly.
"Come back tomorrow," Betty explains. "And you better have something figured out." The door slams.
Stan woozily gets to his feet and scratches his head, his eyes wandering around, trying to recognize he was standing outside his own house.
There was only one place be could go, which was to Ollie's.
Having sobered up enough to knock on a door like a relatively normal person, Stanley does just this.
No answer. What does he expect at one in the morning?
As this fact slowly dawns on him, Stanley makes his way to the side of the house where he knows Oliver sleeps. Just like him and Betty, the couple can't stand sleeping on the same level, let alone in the same room.
He puts his hands on his hips and points at the three windows, trying to remember which one was Ollie's. After a good ten minutes of staring and pointing, Stan realizes it's the last window on the right. Or the left? Which is which? He holds his hands out in front of himself and makes an L with both, to see which one made a proper L and a backward L.
Now that this is discovered, and in fact it is the right window, Stanley picks up a rock and attempts throwing it at the window. He misses by a landslide. Shrugging it off, he picks up another one and tries again. A little closer, if you squint. He smiles proudly. He's getting better.
Alas, fourteen rocks later, a tired and striped pyjama clad Ollie opens up his window and glares down at his best friend. "What do you want? Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Stan waves.
Ollie shakes his head. "What do you want?"
Stan waves his fingers next to his ear, like he's telling a secret. He whispers," Betty-"
"How am I supposed to hear you when you're way down there?" Ollie gestures to the front of his and Clara's humble abode. "Get in!"
"And that's my story, an I'm stuck in it," Stan finishes.
Ollie shakes his head, muttering, "Mm, mm, mm!"
Stanley and Oliver are sitting in the basement where they hope Ollie's wife, who's even worse than Stan's, won't be able to hear them.
The two have been trying to find a way to save Stan's marriage, but the only four ideas that they have come up with involve making someone jealous, eating cake, money, and something else neither can quite recall.
"Well, I wouldn't let my wife tell me what to do. You should follow my pattern of life. A king should be in charge of his own castle," Ollie says.
"But if I didn't let her tell me, how would I know what she wants me to do?" Stan replies.
"OLIVEEEEEEEEEEER!" comes Clara's high-pitched, terrifyingly shrill voice. Both Stanley and Oliver jump out of their skin.
"Umm, coming, dearest!"
Panicked with tears welling in his eyes, Stan asks, "Where do I go, Ollie? I can't go home! If she finds me, I'll, I'll..." he can't finish his sentence, bursting into tears.
"Oh, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into!"
Well, thinks Stan as he settles into his friend's rather squeaky but comfortable chair, this could be much worse.
When Ollie finally convinces Clara to let Stan stay, it takes at least half an hour.
As Clara, defeated, stomps off to her room, Ollie looks at his friend disapprovingly. "Now see," he says," we're both in trouble. You better get out of here as soon as morning comes." He rubs his hands together. "She's making pancakes for breakfast, and I don't want to miss out on my share."
Stan nods. "Alright. G'night, Ollie."
"Goodnight, Stanley."
He starts to think, and really think, hoping a rare flash of brilliance will occur, but nothing happens. It never happens when he needs it to!
Stan falls into a somewhat peaceful sleep soon after, still worried about how he is going to make it up to Betty, but relieved that Ollie will always be there to help him out of yet another troublesome pickle.