Was it unusual for two fellas to be around one another? Be close with their emotions? It did not matter if we were sitting or standing, somehow we would collide.

It leaked into the improvised skits in our movies, and rare outings together.

Everything was not perfect and sunny around and within our other relationships, however. Stan's internal conflicts emptied his house. Stanley called me over after his private second or third split with Big Lois, we called her, his first "official" wife. Stanley sat against the armrest of a chaise, slightly reclined as I laid my upper body against his chest and lap with my legs crossed looking forward listening to him.

His right arm laid on top of the seat, holding his cigarette as his left arm hung over the back of the armrest, holding mine. He told me his mind was like Coney Island.

"Bright, fun, exciting, you know. People will ride with you, play ring toss, whatever... Then they want ta' take you from the amusement park. It's a struggle to leave an' you might, but you find yer' self there again." Stan surmised.

In between the pouring of his thoughts, Stan would feed me my cigarette as he smoked his. The edge of my fingers rested on top of his as a inhaled and closed my eyes breathing in the smoke and his aroma.

Stan was a perfectionist. It was ironic that someone that wanted everything to be a certain way would mess up his relationships so vividly and knowingly. I would meet with him, other writers and directors for skits, gags and other things. It was when we were alone with writing the situation for a joke or theme of the movie when we would disagree.

I hated the way my hair was, it got sweaty and looked unkept. I told him I thought my character would care to look more dapper, but he disagreed heavily. I just didnt want to look like a big, fat slob.

It came to a head one day at his home office. He was a bit tense over another situation and it leaked into our conversation. Stan is a very sensitive man, if something bothers him he used to find something bad in a new conversation. He brought up my hair again and I snapped at him.

He was sitting with his back turned away from me as if I wasn't there, another tactic of his, trying to pretend the person doesn't exist if he is upset with them or ashamed of himself. It usually did not bother me, however the way he smoked, his back facing me and the tapping of his cigarette into his ash tray on his writing desk just made me boil over.

The last thing I remember him saying, before storming out of his office and slamming the door was, "See you at lunch-" and before he could say my name I was halfway out his house.

You really think after almost 30 years we never had a disagreement? We'd never yell, argue or whatnot, nonetheless, sometimes I needed to leave Stan's Island too. I had golf and getting deeper into debt with my gambling. Great hobbies. Stan dove into work, but also had "quiet" hobbies for a loud mind, I called it. He'd garden, fished, really loved fishing.

However, the line between us would start to come firm and reel us closer together. I have a lifetime ticket to Stan's Island.

After one of my rounds of golf, I found myself on the phone, surrendering my pride to reach out to Stanley. Sitting close to the phone, and twisting my club, the smile on my face gave away my poker hand as I spoke to him.

"So... Ah... Lunch then..." I said.

"Yes Babe... How's about lunch on the golf course? My treat." Stan replied.

What I did not know, the lunch on the green would be in a different continent.

I knew that I would go anywhere with him, if need be, but to another continent? Over the Ocean? My wife at the time was having alcohol problems, I figured that a different scenery, none less part of the world would help out. Unfortunately it didnt. I soon needed a vacation from the vacation.

So did Stan.

Stan wanted to formally introduce me to his family, visit his mother's grave and have some private time out of the turmoil he mixed up with his wife back in the states. Some fan recognized us, our names, one thing led to another and it lead us serving the community, stage shows, etc. Just like one of our movies, we always seemed to find trouble!

We did get some private time in between publicity shots, touring English attractions. I felt bad that I had a better time with this man then I did with my wife. I loved her, I made vows with her and had a need to take care of her. However, she wasn't letting me take care of her. I knew this was one of the last ditch efforts to show her better things besides the drink.

Within our last few days in Britain, my wife and I got into such a bad argument, I had to wait in Stan's room while they prepared another room for me to stay in. I used up my betting money to keep the hotel staff quiet about the spousal quarrel they might or might not have seen and to basically keep numb about our stay. Stan paced back and forth in front of me, smoking, with another hand in his pocket. I watched him feeling like a child that was nervous about what was going to happen next. I cleared my throat trying to break the silence, which slightly made him jump. He then walked heavily to the window, laying his forearm on the wall for his forehead to rest.

"Why didn't you stick her in a damn treatment center or the like?!" He barked.

"Stan, I thought it would be good for her to-" I tried to explain.

"She drank more than 100 dollars while we were sight seeing, Babe! We did not come here to babysit your wives drunken demons!" He then threw down his cigarette, walked hurryingly toward me, sat down beside me with both hands in his pockets and leaned forward.

Starting to swallow tears, I truly had a great time with him and Myrtle, till all of that happened. All I could do was sit there, half slumped, slowly turning my lowered eyes and head towards what I was expecting to be a reddened face, angry bull. What I saw was the red face, but with it watery eyes, filling with tears and a quiet cry coming from him.

My posture straightened, with a slightly open lips trying to say something past being surprised. Stan darted a look at me then turned away.

"St-"

"I was supposed to,... visit my mother... My family. Familiar loving faces... I ruined a good marriage with a good woman. We are trying but, well it's really her that is trying. I never knew how to be committed, just feel. All I feel is... Babe, I dont know what I feel. So, I thought that the fog, a homemade meal, would be a shot in the arm for me."

Stan's sobbing cut me. Feeling very much responsible, my head lowered, I lightly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I should leave ahead of you, on the next boat, with Myrtle. I'm honored to have accompanied you... But you need to do whatever it takes to make you feel more sure of things, and I need to... Settle things with my wife..."

Stan turned to me like a guard dog who smelt a intruder. His hands falling right below my shoulders, then starting to grip firmly. I wanted to fall into his constriction, melt and blend with him. I then realized I was becoming lost within Stan's venom. My physical body, reluctantly took over, staggering away, as half of it wanted to give myself to whatever emotions he was going to deploy onto me, and every part of my heart, my emotions, my very soul, I dare say, already felt the affects coursing through.

I said something of the like "I will leave you to your thoughts" as I found my way out of the room, blurred, dizzy and on rubber knees, making it just in time to my new room.

The next day, Stan and I did the interviews and stage shows, then at night I would skip dinner going straight to my room. Looking back, it's laughable, but at the time I was a confused and a nonconfrontational youngster to these emotions. I was excited and scared admittedly.

Stan had room service send me candy, cigars, local food and even his favorite flavor of ice cream all within a span of 3 hours!

Finally, after turning away all of the food, I realized I had to talk to him, at least to make sure he was ok and plus I did not want to waste the local delicacies being sent to me. Opening the door the bell boy walked in with a cart full of food. I turned away clearing the room table. I fumbled looking for a tip to give room service but then suddenly heard the room door slam. I jumped and thought how rude the fella was, but realized he must of been sore at me turning things away for the past few hours.

Turning with money in hand I could feel all of my blood and color drop to my feet and toes.

Stan stood there, his chest moving up and down with firm breath, head lowered, glaring at me like a wolf that found his run away hunt.

I always wondered with such bright blue eyes, how they could be so piercing.

To be Cont.