Toscaninis of the Telephone

Vanities

Maestros of communication

IT was screenwriter George Axelrod who dubbed Hollywood agent Leland Hayward the Toscanini of the Telephone. Phoning is the undocumented art form of the "don't write, call" century. With a flick of the dial, latter-day Toscaninis can procure last-minute restaurant reservations, tickets to sold-out events, money for pet projects. They purr, cajole, rasp, charm—and they always get their way. Here are seven people who give great phone:

Diane Von Furstenberg vamps and romances. Her sexy adenoidal purr makes her sound as if she's speaking from her boudoir. As she may well be. "I have a tie line between my office, my home in New York, and my home in Connecticut," the Belgian-born designer explains, "so they can call my office, I can be reached at my farm, and they don't know I'm there." Wherever she is, "I always am on the phone when I do my makeup in the morning—that's when I call Europe, because of the time difference. I am always on the phone when I'm in the bathroom. I refuse to be on the phone in the car. I did have [one] when I was playing very tycoon, but I thought that was too tacky. "

Helen Gurley Brown coddles and coos. She rarely makes business calls from home. ' ' When I ' m home I don't feel as competent or powerful or engaging, or even successful," says the editor of Cosmopolitan, who estimates she spends about a third of her day on the horn. "I've got this personal relationship with every secretary in town, I think. You know, I was a secretary myself for ninety-five years." That sort of throwaway comment is Brown's gambit— she couldn't care less if she sounds "pretty self-deprecatory, if it will get me anywhere. Frequently I will say. This is a pest call, but do you have any house seats for Hurlyburly'V The real secret is to figure out how it is sounding to the person on the other end. . .they're leaning back, you're leaning forward. I do a lot of little laughs like the one I just did." Not that she pussyfoots around. "I'm never chatty, but I'm friendly, oh am I friendly: it's 11:30 and you're calling for a 1 P.M. reservation, so you say, 'People just came into town and they want to go to lunch, and no place in the world will do but the Russian Tea Room.' "

Howard Kaminsky uses shticks and stones. The Random House hotshot is a sit-down comedian who figures his gravelly, slightly hoarse voice comes out as "a cross between Warren Beatty and Soupy Sales. " . > His trick: "I always try to remember the last decent joke that I've been told." Which was? "What do you call a Polack in a $300 hat?. . .The pope!" In some ways, Kaminsky prefers the telephone to face-to-face contact. "The phone is a great instrument for immediate intimacy," he says. "You can reach people in a way you can't normally. Besides, it's really nice not having to look at somebody. That's why television phones will never work, except for the heavy breathers—then they can flash 'em!"

Lewis Lapham ruminates and resonates. "There is always an element of seduction," says the editor of Harper's in the lazy Waspy tones that make him sound as if he were in the booklined library of a tweedy university. "I don't give the impression that I'm waiting to take another call. It's a classic one-on-one as far as I'm concerned." Which may be why a woman editor sighs, "He's like phone sex."

Philip Johnson chirps and scratches. "It'sthegiftofgab!" cries the architect, who claims to sell his designs "more by words and personality than by drawing. Whether it's in person or on the telephone makes very little difference." How much gabbing does he do a day ? "1 must spend, added up, an hour and a half, but that's a lot of time. I try to make my secretary make my calls, but I find myself picking up the phone—just as John Kennedy used to do. ' '

Roy Cohn buzzes and whirs like a Mercedes-Benz engine. "It's my whole life," says the legal eagle. "I don't think I've been in a courtroom three times in five years. Any very successful lawyer has the telephone as his courtroom. Ninety percent of our business is done on the telephone. I can call my number—I can be on a boat off Capri—and they can switch me around anywhere in the world. The telephone is much more important than five thousand lawbooks. ' '

Steve Rubell squawks and squeaks like a duck on helium, but no one can touch him for infectious energy. "I have phones everywhere," admits the patron of Morgans hotel. "I have one in the bathroom—I guess everyone does—and by both my beds. I have one phone that I just use when I want to call out, and one if Ian [ Schrager, his partner] and I want to speak to each other. ' ' During his "at least five hours" of daily conversations, Rubell seems to learn everything about anything in his particular slice of the demimonde—and he admits to getting at least a hundred what's-going-on calls per week. Rubell used three-way calling through his office to check in with friends he couldn't see while he was in jail; now he uses the phone to avoid face-to-face contact: "I try to do everything on the phone so as not to have to have the meetings.. .and run around town. ' ' This can have its drawbacks. "I have a mark on my shoulder from the phone," he admits. "And I had a rash on the right side of my face, so I went to the doctor and he knew right away. It was the phone. ' '

Cyndi Stivers