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In the three years that followed, the new Rubinstein poured wondrous cascades of music into all the concert halls of Europe. Sol Hurok brought him to America in 1937, and at 50, Rubinstein became a new idol. Everywhere, audiences clamored fqr him, and the critics threw superlatives at his fingers. During World War II, he moved his family to Hollywood, bought a rambling 15-room mansion next door to Ingrid Bergman and soon became movieland's great bon vivant. He chummed around with the Basil Rathbones and the Ronald Colmans, gave lavish garden parties, darted in and out of the gossip columns and society pages like a butterfly. There were self-deprecating chortles ("My profile looks like a fish") and gag-filled larks (the papers ran a picture of him playing an accordion in a combo with Greer Garson on maracas, Danny Kaye on bass and Cesar Romero on fiddle). He dubbed the piano score for a film (I've Always Loved You) and collected $85,000 for the three days' work. His RCA Victor records sold so well that he called his place "The House That Victor Built."
Tireless Rounds. There was chamber music with some of the "local talent" like Heifetz and Piatigorsky. Once, the story goes, Albert Einstein began to play a violin and piano sonata with Rubinstein. Einstein missed a cue in one passage and came in four beats late. They started again, and again Einstein flubbed. They began once more, and the great scientist again missed the cue. Finally, the exasperated Rubinstein cried, "For God's sake, Professor, can't you even count up to four?"
All the while, he continued his tireless round of concertizing. To this day, Rubinstein boasts proudly that he has never canceled a performance. Touring Israel in 1952 he smashed his right hand in a bureau drawer, incapacitating his fourth finger. He played the concert anyway, sticking to his difficult program (which included a piano version of Stravinsky's Petrushka), refingering the pieces as he went along. Everywhere he went, he sold out the house, eventually commanded $6,000 a performance.
Fine Bindings. He gave up his California home and, although he kept an apartment in Manhattan, Rubinstein has always considered Paris his home base. He maintains a house there, on the Rue Foch, next door to Debussy's old home, as well as a summer place on the Costa del Sol. Still, he rarely gets a chance to stay in one place for long. He has never stopped living well, and indeed, next to his music, he loves traveling best. "If I were not a pianist," he says, "I would be a travel agent." He could also be a professional connoisseur. He owns a fine collection of paintings and 2,000 rare books ("I could cry over a book with a fine binding"). His ties come from Turnbull's in London, his handmade shirts from Barclay's in Paris, his suits from Caraceni in Rome, his hats from Gélot of Paris, his eau de cologne from Penhaligon of London. He eats well at Drouant's in Paris, Taverna Flavia in Rome, La Cote Basque in Manhattan and Scott's in London (the coffee shop in Chicago's Pick-Congress Hotel, he says dreamily, makes the best waffles).