It was the start of Stan's downhill journey. Ruth and Stan separated immediantely after. He was on and off seeing a Russian scam artist at the time, named Vera Ivanova "Illeana" Shuvalova. Mr. Laurel soon made her Mrs. Laurel, with the loud disapproval of a stalking Ruth. Over the time of his marriage to her, Ruth called the fire department, local authorities and caused general trouble to a already troubled relationship.
Stan and Babe reunited for Blockheads after finalizing things with Hal out of court. He was half drunk, on edge and difficult on the set. Friends tried to smooth things over by having a small birthday. The two men were cordial with one another, eating cake and trying to find words, however the event soon turned loud and rowdy.
Babe looked back at Stan surrounding himself with toxic people, shook his head and left. Seeing Oliver walk away only fueled Stan's desire to drown himself in drink, be willfully blind to everything around him. His friends did their best to watch over the man, but his wife poured the liquor down both their throats.
Stan woke up riding in the passengers seat of a driving car. He could hear his wife crying angrily behind him in Russian. The car came to a stop, with Illeana racing out of the car, emotional, drunk and stumbling into their home.
Hal Roach Jr., the driver, looked down at the drunken half awake comedian. He shook Stan's shoulder, lightly. Stan sat up to attention, groaning and cursing. His head automatically falls into his hand as the other reaches for Jr's upper back.
"Babe... Thank you. I'm glad it was you."
"Mr. Laurel, I'm-"
"I'm sorry that things became jumpy and-Oh... hey, Little Hal..." Stan said getting slightly more sober. He quickly retracted his hand, unbuckling his seat belt.
"Mr. Laurel, I know you and my father aren't as close as you used to be, however, I hope we can be friends. I'm starting to make moves in the industry also and I have always admired you and can see why... Well, many folks like being around you. Maybe cool it a bit on the drinking, but I see goodness and kindness within you."
Stan looks at the young Roach with his words passing by his ears.
"You're a nice young man. Keep away from creeps and spooks like me, Jr. I have more luggage than a train station. Lesson from a old cooked bird, be careful on who your associates are, and do not put your feelings before the cart."
"We can't be friends? Talk, go to eat sometime? I dont wish to get so personal, however I feel you can use some different company than what is in your household."
Mr. Laurel paused, the air still between them. A uncomfortable awkwardness washed over him, looking at the eager young man. "Good evening, Hal." Stan said hurrying out of the passenger seat almost breaking the car door.
"Mr. Laurel-"
Stan rushed into the house, going past his passed out drunk wife to his home office. He crashed into his chair, picked up the phone and dialed Oliver's number. A woman's voice picked up the phone, unknown to Stan.
"Is this Mr. Hardy's residence?"
"Yes, it is. Who is calling?"
"Well, I don't... Tell him Stan called. I wished to reach out and touch base."
"Alright... I will tell him you called. He seemed kind of irritated. By the way, I'm Virginia Lucille, from the studio? Babe and-what-ok, oh... Ok... Hello? Stan?"
"Yes, Virginia? Lucille, ah-"
"Just, Lucille-Look, I have to go. Babe gives his regards and happy birthday, Stan."
"Alright, Lucille... Thank you."
Stan slammed down the phone. He shot out of his chair, looked at the desk, pulled the phone out of the wall, throwing it to the ground.
"Stan was lost between his desires for drinking and wanting you to have a stable life. He felt he was a poison to everyone, including himself." Buster says looking to the side with a hold of his empty cup.
"The year and months with that... Witch... Being nice, was a reckoning for him." Keaton said with a chuckle.
"Stan literally crawled back to Ruth, not really out of love, but almost in apology. He thought she could whip him into shape, tell him what he needed to do as a man, etcetera, etcetera. The problem was he still had bottled up emotions for you. He tried to be a straightforward married man. Even though he wanted to see you, he put up a guard. Stan thought his closeness to you was unnatural, sinful and part of the reason why his life was turned sideways. The man realized that he always had those feelings before meeting you and obviously wasn't the only one.
Ruth and Stan were like married friends. She helped him resolve and confront his feelings.
Ruth confessed our sins of what we did that night, feeling partly responsible for Stan's drunkenness. She was always jealous of you, and I was too, still kind of am. But we both knew and know that without you, Stan is only half alive."
"Ruth called, telling me she'd spilled the beans to Stan. If it wasn't her, I would of. I wanted to. So I was not very much surprised to see him stagger is way to a hotel where i was staying for a publicity shoot." Reminisces Buster.
Late 1940, at a Hollywood, California hotel.
Buster stands in front of a mirror, the figure facing back at him his own judge and jury. Gilt of hurting someone he desired by his need and jealousy for them to be together. His spine and foot steps weighted from the flowing sludge in his veins knowing what was wrong, nonetheless felt right within the moment. Of course it back fired. In public Stan wouldn't even wave at him and deliver cold side eye views. He lost not only someone he loved dearly, but most importantly his friendship and love.
The door knocked on Busters hotel room door. Thinking it was a director or some media assistant, Keaton dragged his feet like a fellow within a imprisoned chain gang. Head low, breath cooled, Buster opened the door looking down at the floor.
"Yes-I... Stan...?"
Keaton's veins glittered in shock, happiness and promise, then turned to dismay and worry as he looked over the sad state of the man before him. Slightly disheveled, strong with the smell of spirits not originally from his body, but flowing throughout, Stan held himself in the door frame, arms stretched, hair undone and glazed eyes looked up at his betrayer.
"Ruth... Ruth told told me, Buster..."
"Stan-come in..."
"Really... You hungry, tart!" Stan snapped.
"No, no-Stan..." Buster said, then poked his head out of the room spied down both ways of the hall. "Stan, just come in! I do not want people to see you like this! Or more people..." Said Keaton as he put a arm around the staggering man, gently dragged him into the room.
Stan pushes his arm off, breathes out heavily and continued to look up at Buster. Stan nodded his head with a slight smirk and rushed in. Buster quickly closed the door behind himself, hearing Stan crash to the floor. Keaton falls to Stan's side helping him to the edge of the bed.
"Is this what you wanted...? To take me in this sorry state. Unsure about what I should and should not feel?!" Stan asked in a low bitter tone.
"Stan... I...-" Buster started as he was untying Stan's shoes, looking down.
"Was it fun? You did have a smile looking at Babe with... With tears in his eyes!" Stan cried out.
Buster paused looking up at Stan who fell into his open hands weeping loudly. Buster took Stan's upper arms into his palms trying to sit the tearful man more steady.
"Stan, I was jealous and did not think! We both were. Ruth and I did not know it would affect you so terribly because you dammed well went to everyone! We thought Babe was another fling! But alas... You have real feelings for the man... Deep feelings... I thought you would... selfishly... run back to me... Remember the fun we had and how we fit... It was my feelings-what I felt and remembered about how my emotions were for you... Not considering... Oh God, Stan! Stan, I'm... I'm sorry! I'm so, sorry! You truly love him!"
Stan snaps out of Buster's arms, walking to the other side of the room. Keaton hurried to his feet looking at the man in the distance, within the same room.
"Don't... You do not DARE say how I feel! You don't know how I feel! I shouldn't feel this way! It's illegal! It's a sin! Everything within religion, family, society says that it is wrong! I have ALWAYS been wrong! Looking for the right woman to... Then Babe... Dear lord, why! WHY DID YOU FILL MY HEAD AND HEART WITH THESE EMOTIONS!"
"STAN! You're not the first or last one!" Buster yelled with tearful eyes. "It is just who you are!"
Keaton walked hurryingly over the paused Stan, putting his arms around Mr. Laurel from behind, resting his head on his back, looking out the window.
"It is how I 'am. Men and women are just a certain way. What is wrong with the way we feel and companionship? It is no ones business. I wouldn't want to share you anyway and never did."
Stan drops his head like a stone thrown in a deep lake. "That is exactly what Ruth said. And that she would love me in anyway I came in."
"The first thing you said wasn't about you, It was about how sad and torn up Babe looked that night. If that isn't pure, sweet emotion from heaven, then what is?"
"It's twisted... I should-" Stan started in reply to Buster.
"No!" Keaton interrupted. He then sharply turned Stan to him, slightly shaking Mr. Laurel, looking deep into his eyes with his widened eyes. "You, love him, dammit! You-Love-Him!"
"Stop! Quiet!" Stan shouted.
"It's not comedy is it? Two men going through life together, raising a girl? Always ending up together? Fiction sometimes comes from desires of the heart... Stan...!"
Stan stood in Buster's vice grip breathing quietly and fast. His words stabbing his emotions, in his head and heart.
"Stan..." Buster cried, his face falling into Stan's chest, wetting his shirt with tears.
1955 Disney Land, early evening.
"So that is why you came with him like that. I honestly thought you two went on a alcoholic binge." Oliver recounts nodding his head. "Yes, my emotions were like a flat road. I was married... Newly married to the most wonderful woman I have ever met, yet... I guess it is like how you said Stan felt, I just wanted to be apart of what society needed me to be. All of my clubs, association's, lewd jokes made about people in the lifestyle or who they privately are... I wanted to live free without backlash because of... My feelings... I lived freely as a I pleased within a society on the surface, yet chained by my... My emotions, mind and heart. And to know that Stan... Stan... He still doesn't tell me much... We simply live for everyday we have."
Oliver Hardy's residence, evening, late 1940.
Lucille looked over her groom whom was slightly leaned forward, back turned from the room, sat on a ottoman. She laced her fingers together, shaking her head lightly in worry and concern.
"Oliver, it is for the best. He called and sounded alright. You can always call him back, but you said-"
"No!" Oliver firmly stated. "No... No more playing with me as if I'm a spinning top! Sometimes... Sometimes I wonder... If he even cared about me!" Babe said tearfully. His face dripped with tears.
Lucille rushed over to his side, scooted the chair next to him closer and sat in it, rubbed his shoulders, patted his cheeks and laid her head on top of his.
"Oh, Babe... I can only say, maybe he is just a confused man? He doesn't know what he wants, or is too afraid to confront what he wants and needs."
The doorbell rung, cutting the emotions of the room to shock. They weren't expecting anyone. Lucille patted Babe, looked down at him, nodded her head and went over to the door. Oliver wiped his tears and followed behind, got in front of her and answered the door.
Opening the door he saw a puppy-eyed Buster Keaton holding up a mostly sober Stan Laurel. Stan, with a arm around Buster, helping him stand. His eyes and head to the side, embarrassed, sorry and desperate. Babe shook his head and slammed the door close, muttered 'no' to himself, while he adjusted his clothes and walked away from the door spiritedly. Lucille looked back at Babe with her fingers at the bottom of her lip. Both Mr. and Mrs. Hardy turned their heads back to the knocking of the door. Oliver stomped to it, stopping behind his wife.
"We are unavailable for visitors or solicitation! Take it down the road!" Babe said with a nod.
He started to walk away when another knock and Buster's voice came from the other side.
"I will be out here all night. You know it isn't right for you two to ever be apart. It wasn't Stan's fault, Oliver, it was mine! He didn't know I would be there. I was stalking you two." Buster confessed.
Babe blinked a few times, then turned back to the door slightly. Lucille looked at her husband and sighed vocally.
"I will make some tea and other refreshments." She said with a slightly sarcastic tone, her fingers lightly on the door knob. She then walked past him and said, "It is your choice."
The door knocked some more, Buster's pleading swimming throughout Oliver's heart and emotions as he swallowed searching for a decision.