A sexual predator who owns an apartment complex rents only to single young women so that he can peep at them between times when he's trying to get them into his red satin lair that's tricked out with wet bar, auto-mechanized sexy music, and a giant bed, a' la Rock Hudson in "Pillow Talk." But the joke's on the stalker, funny (creepy), Jack Lemmon, because he accidentally rents to a college student who wants to try out living with her fiancé for a trial run--chastely, of course. So it's high sexual tension three ways. In the end, virginal purity wins out and the young couple go off to be properly married, while the lecher landlord is landed by a previous tenant who thinks she loves him. (Every fun-time playboy deserves a good woman, it seems.) The good woman/previous tenant who had vacated the premises in an indignant huff when she realized he was a drooling Lothario came to the brink of de-spoilage, but all virtue remained intact in the end. And pre-feminism sensibility was given golden tribute as gender roles were merrily reaffirmed, ie the ladies do the women's work and the men the men's. Though Lemon has some funny pratfalls, Paul Lynde and Imogene Coca were this movie's only assets--too bad they didn't get more scene time.