Bachelor in Paradise

When she sighs and her baby-blue

eyes embrace your face

Lies, all lies

What the lady wants

Is your closet space.

Bachelor in Paradise,

be careful

Bachelor in Paradise,

beware.

Lights down low

Frankie's records

And cocktails on the floor

You should know

It's the garden of

Eden seen once more.

Adam, come on,

be smart

Just take your fig leaf

and depart

And leave one bachelor

less in Paradise.

These days,

as you may have noticed,

many a motion picture

opens, with a scene

which rightly belongs

somewhere in the middle of the story.

But this time we have a novel.

This picture opens

where the story begins.

Somewhere in the

south of France.

Pardonnez-moi, madame.

Chapter seven:

The French women.

The mature French woman

has elevated the physical act of kissing

to artistic level unattained by

any other society.

Kissing an experienced

French woman

provides the average male with

a sensation that compares favourably with...

with a...

Pardon?

Pardonnez-moi, Mr. Niles.

A transatlantic call

for you, from your publisher?

I'll take it up

right there.

Halo?

Oh, Austin?

I thought I never get you on the phone.

I had you paged the all over France.

Do you realise I've been

up all night trying to get you?

And all I could get from the operators

is that you... you're out...

or your line is engaged,

whatever that is...

It's noon over here, and I haven't

even had any breakfast, yet.

Dear lad, how are you?

Oh, hard at work.

I'm up to chapter seven,

on How the French Live.

How's it coming?

Ah, fine. I'm two weeks ahead on the research

and four months behind on a writing.

I'm afraid you'll

have to interrupt it, Adam.

And fly back here

on the next jet.

What? Why?

Because of the demands

of the United States Government.

Very large

domestic organization.

Oh yes. I used to get my mail from them.

Is anything wrong?

Wrong! You are in deep

and serious difficulties, Adam.

If to be euphemistic about it.

I'll see you in Washington

tomorrow afternoon.

Tomorrow? But I'm in

the middle of the book. I just can't...

You are in the middle

of a tornado, Adam.

And it's lively

destroy you completely.

Now climb on that

next jet out of Paris,

and don't speak to a soul.

Mind you, no publicity.

Yes, but Austin,

it's not that...

In fact, if anybody ask you,

deny that you are A. J. Niles.

Use an alias.

Your mother's maiden name.

Or was Niles

Your mother's maiden name?

Your innuendo is offensive!

What innuendo? Uncle Sam has

been calling you on for days!

AEROPORT DE PARIS

TREASURY DEPARTMEN BUREAU OF ENGRAVING AND PRINTING

629,470 dollars?

That's according

to our present calculations.

It may be more.

But it can't be more.

I didn't earn that much.

Even a government can't

take over a hundred percent.

Dear lad, they subpoenaed me,

I had to give them the figures.

Mr. Niles, you've been out of the

country for fourteen years,

you wrote dozen books

which rose to total off

1 million, 214 thousands,

704 dollars, 63 cents.

But what about my expenses?

- We have no record of any expenses.

I sent them all to my

business manager, every month!

I've explained all that

to this gentleman, Adam.

But matter of fact you are

responsible for the actions

of your business

manager, Mr. Niles.

Well doesn't anyone have

any idea where he run of to?

Vanish like a puff of smoke.

I just can't believe that

Herman Wappinger is dishonest.

That man wears piping in his vest.

In all the years, Mr. Niles,

Mr. Wappinger has been

handling your affairs,

he never once had filed

an income tax return for you.

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