Paris - When It Sizzles

The boy and the girl meet and...
...and they dance, and they dance...
And they dance, and they dance...
Mr Benson?
Now then. The mysterious stranger.
Who is he...?

There's someone at the door.
What does he do?
What suffering, what torment

caused the sadness
that lurks behind his eyes?

And why,
while we're asking questions,

didn't I listen to my father
and learn a useful trade?

It's a telegram.
Well, aren't you going to open it?
No, I'm not going to open it.
The reason I won't open it

is I'm fully aware what it says.
The reason for that is because
in the last 19 and a fraction weeks

I have received 134 telegrams
from Mr Alexander Meyerheim,

all saying exactly the same thing.
When will the script be finished?

When will the script be finished?
How can I write
with him badgering me this way?

Day and night, wires, messages,
telephone calls.

How was it today? Did you work well?
When will it be finished?

Talk about men in trench coats!
He spies on me constantly.

His people are everywhere.
For all I know, you might be one.

Mr Benson!
I'm sorry. Some days I just feel like
whatshisname in Les Misérables.

- Jean Valjean.
- I guess so.

Only last night... Last night
I swore to him on the telephone

that I had 138 pages in front of me.
I said, "Alex,
any man who takes your money

and tells you he's got 138 pages
in front of him and doesn't

is nothing but a liar and a thief!"