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Power brokers prowl the long brown-on- hunter-green bar in search of their next big deal, and they look deadly serious about it. At the Met, the suits are grey, the hair greyer and the trophy wives expensive. The only place in town if this is your game.
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The W’s polar opposite, Oliver’s is a Belle Epoque charmer, a place where tuxedoed waiters prance about the room and deliver your martini with warmth and grace. Grande dames, shoppers and tourists alike compete for the café tables beneath twinkling chandeliers.
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In a city not known for cool, the W stands out like a neon, er… black and gray light. Dot-com millionaires under 35 gel their hair and slink into one of the velour couches, buying cosmopolitans for all the starlets in sight. All you need is cash.
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