Slammed Doors Are All Part of a Night’s Work

ON a recent Saturday night, a lean young man with foppish hair was in the back seat of a black S.U.V., being driven from his Murray Hill apartment to STK Midtown, a steroidal steakhouse that brings the raucousness of the meatpacking district to Times Square. After a big greeting at the door and several rounds of complimentary drinks, the man, in a blue custom-made suit, continued down to West 16th Street.