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(Sutherland
was especially impressed by her makeup skills. He had made a number of
preliminary drawings, but the day he began the actual painting, Madame had a
fall. Left with two black eyes, she disguised them by applying copious rouge
below them and green eyeshadow above. Sutherland was ecstatic, and at once
abandoned all his earlier drawings. “She’s a completely different person. It’s
amazing what really dramatic eye make-up can do!” 47 )
    Vogue ran two long
articles in the months following the New York salon’s opening. They extolled the
facial treatments of “a certain skin-specialist who has a small and smart
establishment on 5th Avenue and gives her personal attention to each and every
patron,” describing at length the wonders of the new salon and its “moving
spirit . . . obviously a continental, and as chic as her charming
individuality and Poiret costumes can make her.” 48 Then they got down to the real business: all the various balms,
lotions, rouges, powders, skin foods, and “beauty grains,” together with their
prices, which were considerable. The smallest box of powder cost $1 (just over
$21 today), while a large pot of cream rouge cost $6.50. In a city where most
handbags were sold with specially fitted sets of cosmetic accessories—a powder
puff, a rouge box, an eyebrow pencil—how could women possibly be persuaded to
spend extra money on Helena Rubinstein’s pricey offerings?
    The answer was that the high price was an essential
part of the treatment. Even if a woman could not afford costly facials and
massages, she could still buy indulgence in the form of the same expensive
cosmetics rich women used, and vicariously join the wealthy. When a woman paid
$6 for a pot of Water Lily Cleansing Cream, “a rejuvenating cream de luxe for
the ultra fastidious woman, containing the youthifying essence of Water Lily
buds,” the mere possession of such a luxury helped her feel both youthified and
richer. 6
    Success, however, created its own problems. Buyers
at stores all over the country clamored for her lines, but if Helena Rubinstein
products became available in every corner drugstore rather than through her
salons, then half the selling value—the half that derived from their
exclusivity—would be lost. If the customer paid top prices, she expected the
personal attention that went with them. As the advertisements put it, “A visit
to [Madame Rubinstein’s] sanctum or an inquiry by letter solves many a little
heartache that may be due to some shortcoming in appearance. . . .”
But Madame could not be everywhere at once, nor could she open a salon in every
city in America. How, then, was her special brand of personal service to be
maintained?
    The solution, she decided, was to set up
mini-salons in leading department stores, staffed by specially trained and
uniformed women and made worthwhile because the condition of being allowed to
stock Helena Rubinstein products was that her whole range had to be carried.
When a suitably substantial order was received, Helena or Manka or both would
travel to the store to train the sales staff—the famous “Rubinstein ladies”—in
the appropriate introduction, promotion, and sales techniques.
    “I did not realise what I was letting myself in
for!” Madame wrote later. “At night we trained the assistants to be beauty
consultants and teachers, giving them a sound knowledge of my preparations and
their use, to be imparted to their assistants, and to customers. For eighteen
out of the twenty-four hours we were either travelling between one city and
another or actively working. We lived out of our suitcases like actresses in a
theatrical touring company.” 49 It was hard
work, but she loved it. What better way to spend one’s life? As she put it, “My
only recreation is work.” 50 Then and always, it
was the literal truth.
    Titus, meanwhile, was left holding the babies. “We
were naturally very glad to hear from you and of your safe arrival.