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In Manhattan, Rubinstein bought the Fifth Avenue mansion of the late banker, Jules Bache, gave immense parties and hobnobbed with celebrities in Manhattan's restaurants and nightclubs (at least one club—El Morocco—had better sense than a lot of politicians and businessmen: it banished him "for eternity"). He conducted his business for a while from an elaborate suite of offices on Wall Street, with sliding walls and unnumbered beautiful secretaries. He also believed in numerology and developed an undisguised admiration for Napoleon; he loved to dress up as the Corsican at masquerades, kept a one-foot statuette of Napoleon on his desk.
Rembrandts & Doorkeys. During World War II, Rubinstein achieved his greatest public notoriety with his efforts to escape the draft. He was able to get his Selective Service classification changed 15 times, and each time he reverted to 1-A; with the help of influential friends, he got away. He finally met defeat, in the form of a two-year sentence and a $50,000 fine for draft evasion. While he was in Lewisburg Penitentiary his wife divorced him for, among other misdemeanors, knocking her unconscious and ripping off her clothes (last week in California, Laurette described Serge as "very kind").
After his release from prison, Serge went back to Manhattan and resumed his wicked ways. At a recent White Russian New Year's ball at the Ambassador Hotel, Serge turned up with seven girls. It was his habit to distribute house keys to his inamoratas (so that he would not have to trouble himself to walk downstairs when he summoned one late at night). Rubinstein would change the front-door lock whenever he got a new platoon of girls.
"Shall We Dance?" As police began to sift the names that crammed three thick ledgers in Rubinstein's study, a glamorous procession of Serge's women friends minced into headquarters. Betty Reed, a platinum blonde soprano, was prostrated, but rallied to give hours of information to detectives. "He wanted desperately to be accepted," said Dorothea McCarthy, a redhead. "I once saw him send a bottle of champagne to a man. He said he had once done something to the man that was unforgivable, and he wanted to try to apologize." The man was unimpressed by Serge's peace offering, Dorothea reported, and sent the champagne back with a message that he preferred seltzer. "All Serge said was, 'Shall we dance?' "
On the night of his death Rubinstein turned up at Nino's La Rue, a sleek supper club where he habitually dined, with a new girl friend, Estelle Gardner, a bosomy, cosmetics salesgirl. The two sipped martinis and pink champagne for a while, dined and danced, and left about 12:30 for a nightcap at Serge's mansion. In Rubinstein's third-floor suite. Estelle waited while he made several attempts to get Patricia Wray, another friend, on the telephone.
After about an hour, Serge said he was tired and showed Estelle to the door. He was not too tired, however, to call Pat again at 2:30 a.m. and ask her to come over. But she was really too tired, and hung up. Sometime during the next three hours Serge received another caller—his murderer.