Tim Lehman and Snapshot. (Photo by Shao-Yu Liu.)

Snapshot, a two-and-a-half year old Maltese, sat perched quietly on a purple pedestal like a small, fuzzy royal. The Transom was in the cutting room of the Sharon Dorram at Sally Hershberger Salon on the Upper East Side last week, where Snapshot spends his days and where his owner, Tim Lehman, works as a stylist.

The salon, with its plush pink curtains, crystal chandeliers and vases of orchids—the place is a favorite of elite clients like Christie Brinkley and Linda Evangelista —is hardly your average doggie day care. But then Snapshot is not your average Maltese. Snapshot—registered name: ‘Champion Ta-Jon’s Pawsitively Pawparazzi’—is set to make his debut at the 137th Annual Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, which starts Monday at Madison Square Garden.

“Basically the entire year, in the back of our minds, is always Westminster,” explained Mr. Lehman. “It’s the Kentucky Derby of dog shows.”

Westminster is a steep challenge, especially for a rookie like Snapshot. However, Mr. Lehman hopes that a life spent mingling with the city’s elite will give the well-coiffed canine a jump on the competition.

“When I was younger, I loved working with hair—that’s why I showed the dogs with the long hair,” explained Mr. Lehman, who has been showing dogs at Westminster since he was 13. “And when I got older, it made more sense to go to people. But I’ve always loved the hair.”

Although he’s had many dogs over the years, his first love was the Maltese breed, whose silky, flowing white locks are a hair aficionado’s dream (if the average grooming-averse dog owner’s nightmare). “I always liked the process of that; I found it more challenging and rewarding,” said Mr. Lehman of the intensive maintenance involved in showing a dog like Snapshot.

Certainly Snapshot’s grooming ritual is at least as demanding as those of the socialites who grace Mr. Lehman’s chair. Sitting in the salon, Snapshot’s hair was pinned back with colorful wrappers to keep it from breaking, rather resembling an old lady getting a perm. His wrappers get changed every day, he is brushed daily to prevent tangles and he receives a bath once a week using human hair products.

“It’s really hair instead of fur,” explained Mr. Lehman, who does all of Snapshot’s grooming himself. “He loves [being groomed]. He’s in heaven. He’s like the clients,” he added. “It’s good for his self esteem.”

Boosts to Snapshot’s self-esteem are not in short supply at Sharon Dorram. Over the course of the morning, numerous customers came up to Mr. Lehman and Snapshot, wishing the pair luck at the big show, scratching Snapshot under the chin and succumbing to high-pitched baby-talk.

“He’s so pretty—his eyes, this perfect little nose!” cooed salon publicist Jennifer Goldstein-Ruff.

“It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say he’s a mascot for the salon,” explained Mr. Lehman with more than a hint of pride. “Everybody really loves him; it kind of softens everybody. It’s a great conversation piece for the salon.”

And being the unofficial mascot of one of the city’s finest salons has its perks, not the least of which are some pretty prestigious pals.

“He only lets Candice Bergen hold him,” explained Ms. Goldstein-Ruff.

At a contest like Westminster, anything can happen, and despite Snapshot’s A-list fan club, Mr. Lehman doesn’t dare to get his hopes up. He’s just focused on making sure that Snapshot looks his best for the big day. But even if Snapshot fails to come away a winner, at least he has something to fall back on.

“[Losing] wouldn’t be the end of the world,” acknowledged Mr. Lehman. “We do have a day job.”

A reporter in action.

Peter Brant II, if you do recall, is the nattily dressed eldest son of big-time art collector Peter Brant and his supermodel wife, Stephanie Seymour. He once referred to himself as "fabulous and conceited." He is completing his senior year of high school, will attend Hunter next year, and summers in Venice.

He's also gainfully employed. WWD reports that, starting in November, Mr. Brant II and his pocket square will be occupying an office at Interview, the magazine his father owns.

He says that he's lined up friends Daphne Guinness, Ralph Lauren and John Galliano for the first chats, and that in lieu of actual training in journalism, he talked to Charlie Rose for 45 minutes in Vienna.

The Observer got a chance to sample the tete-a-tete style of the teenaged scribe before the Alexander Wang show Saturday evening. He was seated with his younger brother, Harry, sandwiched between photographer Terry Richardson and his new boss, Interview editor Fabien Baron. When supermodel Linda Evangelista walked by en route to her seat in the airplane hanger space, Our Man in Greenwich jumped at the chance to do some muckraking. Here is what transpired.

Scene: Alexander Wang S/S 2012 runway show. Pier 94. Manhattan. A breezy September Saturday. Four enormous rectangular mirrors rest length-wise in the center of the room, flanked on all sides by bleachers packed to the brim. One of the most anticipated shows of the year is about to begin.

BRANT, in a white tuxedo ensemble, is twirling a golden pen between his fingers. EVANGELISTA, in black leather, approaches.

BRANT: Oh hey!

EVANGELISTA: How are you!

BRANT: Oh my god you look fantastic.

EVANGELISTA: And this too, wow!

BRANT: So. Are you going to Alex's after party?

EVANGELISTA: Um...

BRANT: Or, oh, are you going to Carine's party?

EVANGELISTA: Yes!

(BRANT, with a twinkle in his eye, smiles and rubs two fingers over his quarter-sized ring)

BRANT: I'll text you, OK? Love!

(EVANGELISTA walks toward her seat as BRANT, smiling, returns to his, the flash of his gold pen catching the lights overhead, his eyes staring directly at the mirror in front of him).

Why and how did this happen? Even up to the late 90's, models had a key socio-stylistic role to play, forming the bedrock of the Moomba-ish wave of fin-de-siècle nightlife. No New York event was complete without a gaggle of gangly, food-phobic funsters from Ford, or any agency. Now they are about as au courant as a Gaultier cone bra: A model arriving at a party is now the P.R. equivalent of two A-listers leaving prematurely. The quixotic New York public-relations community has given them the thumbs-down. "Models at our events? I prefer them as staff. I mean, darling, can you hold a tray?" said Scott Currie, senior vice president at Susan Magrino Public Relations. "Being pretty is fine, but you better be useful." Quelle horreur !

I, for one, am distraught about this situation. Having always entertained a delusional identification with whoever was the model of the moment, I feel lost. Warning: For those of you who, like myself, think models are fascinating and consider the return of Linda Evangelista in this month's Vogue to be an event of Biblical proportions (see: Lazarus, John 11:1-44), my findings may be upsetting. You may wish to pour yourself a pink gin before continuing. Here–glug!–are the most common reasons why models may have run out of runway.

Models are tightwads. Obscenely pro-model though I am, I have to admit this is true. Though they make more money than ever (average rates are $3,000 per day for a photo shoot with limited usage) and are frequently the highest-paid person on a shoot or runway, the little darlings are always cadging merchandise, ciggies, tampons and cab fare home. Despite having shoveled–albeit indirectly–endless amounts of cash to various models, I have never been the recipient of so much as a Clark bar from a fashion model–never mind a dinner or a cocktail or a mink chubbie. A hairdresser of my acquaintance expressed it eloquently: "Mary, those girls have used up their tab with me!"

Models are boring because they don't do drugs anymore. The girls have gone all 12-steppy and demure. Even Kate ("I don't do class-A") Moss has cooled her jets. She is engaged to Dazed and Confused magazine editorial director Jefferson Hack and is planning to settle down and have kids. The fashion insiders I spoke to all reminisced fondly about Gia-ish girls goosing uptight clients on shoots, "borrowing" clothes, falling off runways and doing bumps in the john. For decades, it was the wacky, cracky models who provided entertainment on otherwise boring shoots–and now Shields and Yarnell have left the building.

Models are ubiquitous: i.e., there are too many of them. They used to come along in ones and twos–Cheryl, Brooke, Paulina–but now they are imported by the boatload. The insane proliferation of fashion labels and media has vastly increased the demand for girls: At any given time, the bloated fashion industry now needs hundreds of chicks upon which to feed. Suddenly there are millions of first-, second- and third-stringers lugging portfolios through the streets of Manhattan, and–familiarity having bred contempt–the spectacle is about as frisson -inducing as watching a gaggle of exhausted Aer Lingus stewardesses hauling their wheelies through passport control in their green Dacron uniforms. No offense!!

Models are stupid–but it's not their fault. "The bookers used to invest more time in their charges," said public-relations guru Paul Wilmot. "A new girl with promise might even stay at Eileen Ford's house. Now the bookers don't do anything except compete and try and steal each others' girls." Models also used to pick up a layer of fluffy social sophistication from hanging out with a core group of savoir-faire -dispensing fashion editors and designers: e.g., Andre Leon Talley, Carlyne Cerf, Candy Pratts Price or Karl Lagerfeld. Now there are so many models that this Pygmalion-ish process is beyond the scope of even the unstoppable Mr. Talley. Additionally, this pool of fashion divas and sages has suffered the same process of proliferation and dilution. After a shoot or runway show, models go home, crack open a diet coke and watch Friends , but so do the editors (and so do I).

Unfortunately for models, dumb isn't hip any more. Serena Bass–who, Fire Department permitting, will reopen her newly spiffed-up bar (Serena, at 222 West 23rd Street) in mid-September–has noticed the shift. "Models, schmodels–today everyone likes literary people!" said Ms. Bass. "Our biggest night is poetry-reading on Sunday. Being gorgeous is not enough; there are so many fab-looking people in New York. People want someone who tells jokes and reads the papers. Wit is a hit."

Models are common. Jean Shrimpton–arguably the face of the 20th century–graduated from the Lucie Clayton School of Modeling, as did the just-as-gorgeous Celia Hammond. A stint at modeling school sounds really naff, but it gave unformed chicks an air of dignity and superiority which made them fascinating and marvelous. (Linda also went to modeling school … in Ontario!) Before she was unleashed on the public, Jean Shrimpton had already learned life's most important lessons, like how to walk with a book on her head and how to get out of a car without Sharon Stone-ing passersby. With her mod hauteur , the Shrimp–as she was affectionately known–not only changed the way a generation of women looked, she also snagged the grooviest blokes in London, including Terence Stamp and David Bailey. Why? Because she was an original beauty with snotty poise ! (P.S.: Planning a vacation in Cornwall, U.K.? Why not stay at the Shrimp's guest house, called the Abbey? Call 017-36-366906.)

Models can't model. These days, if you want to hire a model who can really pose, you have three choices: 1) If you can afford $30,000 per day, hire Erin O'Connor (Ford), one of today's few innately languid chicks. 2) Bring oodles of vintage fashion photography to the shoot, hold the pictures up one by one and say, "Do this!" (For this purpose, I highly recommend The Rudi Gernreich Book by William Claxton, Peggy Moffitt and Marylou Luther. Alibris.com has copies for an average price of $140.) 3) Hire the archly fascinating Linda Evangelista, the Wayne Gretzky of modeling. The Great One, judging by the pics in the September Vogue , has lost none of her je ne sais quoi : She controls every finger-crook and lip-quiver as if her life depended on it–which it sort of does.

There are, however, apart from the whopping daily rate (probably more than Erin's), a couple of itsy-bitsy stumbling blocks to hiring Lindy-poo: At the moment, she is embroiled in a legal drama that has left her temporarily agent-less. It's a long story, but it is relevant, so here goes. It all started a couple of years back, when celebs, because of their deeper marketing penetration, bumped models off of magazine covers. In a last-ditch effort to reclaim this valuable real estate for their girls (covers = lucrative cosmetics contracts), modeling agencies started looking around to see which of the old-guard supermodels still had heat and, of course, teeth. In May 2000, Wilhelmina hired Didier Fernandez, the guy who nurtured, among others, Claudia, Amber, Shalom and Naomi, to lure Linda, Amber and Nadja (also fab in the new Vogue ) to Wilhelmina. It all went nasty when Mr. Fernandez apparently tried to score jobs for Linda on the sly, including a whopping Estée Lauder contract.

A lawsuit filed on Aug. 2 charges that Linda and Didier used code names, untraceable cell phones and "shredded" documents in order to cut Wilhelmina out of compensation. How glam ! I hate to say it, but this scandale will only add to Linda's mystique.

Models aren't sexy. As fashion became groovier and more esoteric, sexiness became less of a priority. Big mistake! Early 90's photos of Cindy Crawford and Naomi Campbell filling out curvaceous Alaia knits and brimming over Versace bustiers show an industry where sex was part of the equation. Women could relate. Then models got bonier (Kristen McMenamy) and longer (Stella Tennant, Carolina Ribeiro, Shalom Harlow) and weirder (Kirsten Owen and Kristen McMenamy again). They look fantastic in the clothes, but their appeal is hardly universal.

Sexy girls like Heidi Klum are relegated to the Sports Illustrated -Victoria's Secret arena. Lanky, big-boobed Gisele is the only model currently straddling both high-cheese and high-fashion. Last year, jolly, Mick-bonking Sophie Dahl exploded onto the scene, and the return to the high-fashion landscape of the busty coquette seemed assured. Then she lost weight. Waa! Waa!

Models are spiritual. Annoyingly so. Shoots were always a great time to learn dirty jokes: Boozy, hedonistic photographers of the Bailey-ish genre took great delight in belching and embarrassing the girls with off-color humor. Now the photographers are more circumspect, and the girls–egged on by New Age hair-and-makeup people–share their thoughts about the Dalai Lama, ingesting colloidal silver and the benefits of rune-casting.

Models are ordinaire . Where did all the exotic girls go? Gisele's passport might be Brazilian, but she could easily be from Pittsburgh. What happened to international fabulousness? Avedon's insect-like Dovima; Keane-painting-faced, cockney Twiggy; pantherish, snarly Iman; Sanskritty Y.S.L. muse Mounia; impossibly slitty-eyed Sayoko; loony Donyale Luna; rangy, regal Verushka–compare these otherworldly creatures to Maggie Rizer, and the Tommy Hilfiger fave looks like a dental hygienist. No offense! Alek Wek, from the Sudan, is single-handedly filling the token exotique niche. Give that girl a break!

Models can't speak English. Conversation with 16-year-old models can be pretty inane at the best of times, but now that every single model is from Eastern Europe or Brazil, the between-shots chitty-chat is agony.

Models are not interested in fashion. Fashion people love Linda because Linda loves fashion. In the September Vogue , she tells reporter Jonathan Van Meter how she tarted up her school uniform with fringed cowboy boots and that, at age 12, she tearily exhorted her mother to "buy me more outfits. It's very important to me."

For so many of today's lovelies, modeling is not about seeing the inside of Coco Chanel's historic cabine , it's about making money–and then more money. Explains Paul Wilmot, "Models are not looking to make a career in fashion. Most aspire to be in film or music."

Models hang out with Bubba. Models used to pair up with groovy rock stars or, at the very least, poverty-stricken-but-hip photo assistants. Now they–like stewardesses–are chasing rich and powerful geezers. Melania and Donald … bonjour ! And now Bill Clinton. The July 31 National Enquirer carried a story about Bill's alleged dalliance with an ID model. The as-yet-unidentified blonde apparently reciprocated Bill's advances at a charity event in the early summer, repairing to the Peninsular Hotel for a possible post-show shag. Expect more of this high-profile geezer-chasing as the social currency of models continues to plummet.

Conclusion: The mystique is gone. Now modeling is just another insanely overpaid job.

But who cares if celebs are on all the covers? Certainly not the models, since covers pay crummy rates. The mystique may be gone, but from the models' point of view, it's all good . No more pressure to be as perfect as Christy, as fabulously insane as Janice Dickinson or Naomi, or as dodgy as Amy Wesson. Now all they have to do is show up and, like Liberace, laugh all the way to the bank.

Let's ready ourselves for Fashion Week with a cleansing and clarifying thought from Diana Vreeland: "Where there is a neck, there is fashion. Where there is no neck, there is no fashion."

"We just finished putting down another coat of paint," said Ms. Pettersen, pointing at the mosaic-patterned floor in the foyer.

From the entrance, the 17,500-square-foot house looked virtually empty, save several enormous Renaissance paintings and crystal chandeliers, but in fact it's the home of two wealthy bachelors: Michael Gleissner, a 32-year-old German private-equity investor and dot-com millionaire, and George San Pietro, an L.A.-based real-estate developer and ex-husband of Wheel of Fortune hostess Vanna White. The two men bought the neo-Georgian mansion for $9.75 million last March. Brokers said there were five interested buyers for the townhouse, which had been on the market since 1998, but the two gentlemen won out by agreeing to sign an iron-clad, non-refundable contract.

"We developed the house in a partnership," said Mr. Gleissner. "I think of the house as a co-op with two units and a lot of common areas." The owners share the first two floors of the house and the basement level, which now has a movie theater, a steam room, a "Japanese meditation room," a gym, a professional kitchen and a courtyard. Mr. San Pietro, who has two children, got the third floor, and Mr. Gleissner got the top two floors.

Mr. Gleissner, a soft-spoken guy about 5-foot-7, with dyed gray hair that looks a little bleached-blond, freckles and dark brown eyes, said he considered six other properties before going in with Mr. San Pietro on the house. He recently also purchased a 4,000-square-foot loft on Warren Street, and he owns a home in L.A. and a penthouse apartment at the Portofino Tower in Miami–but he spends much of his time traveling, especially to Shanghai, where he's setting up an Internet company.

The party had been the idea of Mr. Gleissner's friend Michael Capponi, who owns a popular nightclub in Miami called 320. Mr. San Pietro was not at the party. He was very involved with the house's renovation and decoration, but he spends most of his time in Los Angeles. And Mr. Gleissner, who spent most of the night on the roof–a major selling point–was practically incognito. His name was not even on the invitation. "I'm a low-profile person," he said.

"People thought it was my party," said Ms. Pettersen.

So why let a nightclub owner throw a party in his new house? "He specializes in how to have great parties," said Mr. Gleissner." I'm new in the city; I don't know so many people. They did a great job–I had a blast!"

Mr. Gleissner and two partners got $31 million in stock (which they cashed for $360 million one year later) from Amazon.com when they sold the German online bookseller Telebuch.de in 1998. But there was a catch. "I had to stay on with Amazon.com as a part of the acquisition for one year," he said. "I left the company in 1999, largely because I did not like Seattle." He is currently the president of Cleverventures Learning Fund, a venture-capital fund with offices in New York, L.A. and Miami that primarily invests in learning-technology companies. "I always wanted to be in New York," said Mr. Gleissner on July 5. His favorite relative, a great uncle, used to own an apartment in Carnegie Hill.

Ms. Pettersen hired a crew to pick up after the "blast." Fortunately, Mr. San Pietro's art collection, which includes an Andy Warhol silk-screen of John Wayne, survived intact. But it was nothing compared to the house's condition when the two men bought it. It had been the Egyptian Mission to the U.N. since 1958, and the Egyptians "had horribly destroyed the existing contextual design," said Michael Gadaleta, a partner at M.G. New York Architects who was hired to do the renovation, which took almost a year. "They had chopped up the rooms into little suites, placing bathrooms in parlors and dining rooms …. The ceilings were destroyed, woodwork was painted over," said Mr. Gadaleta. "I don't know what they were thinking! We had a lot of history we wanted to preserve."

But Mr. Gadaleta's first concern was the "deterioration" of the roof. With the permission of the Landmarks Commission, he immediately erected an "emergency scaffolding" on the sidewalk to repair the townhouse's roof and façade. Then, room by room, he restored the windows, uncovered moldings on the ceiling and chipped away as many as 30 layers of paint on ornate fireplaces. "We did test strips, and things started coming back as Brazilian mahogany," said Mr. Gadaleta. "We scraped paint in there for six months. We had to, at a point, stop scraping or we would still be doing it."

Mr. Gadaleta set up a shop in the basement to replicate some moldings that had been irreversibly damaged or lost, using the ground-floor library, a 40-by-20-foot room with 14-foot-high ceilings, as a benchmark of the house's original quality. "For some reason, the room was spared the paintbrush," he said. He also had to remove metal bars from the windows of a room on the fourth floor, which had been used as a "jail room." All that's left to do is installing some sprinkler heads and "following up on some paperwork" with the Department of Buildings, he said.

The real housewarming party, according to Mr. Gleissner, was thrown in honor of his birthday on April 8, with 250 of his closest friends and a 70's cover band. He noted the irony of a German throwing a party on the second night of Passover in the former Egyptian Mission. "My Jewish friends declined," he said, adding, "I don't interact much with the neighbors."

Now, Mr. Gleissner said, he's considering renting out the first two floors, with their enormous dining room, for private parties and corporate events–but he has some reservations. "So far, I've had both good and terrible experiences renting out property. It largely depends on getting an idea of the hassle involved and finding the right person in charge of that," he said. "I'm not a 24-hour-party kind of person," he insisted. "I don't want to just rent it out and make it a party space."

A member of Community Board 8 said there had not yet been any complaints from the neighbors–which include art dealer Richard Feigen, Seagram heir Matthew Bronfman and oil heiress Barbara Rockefeller–about Mr. Gleissner's parties. And neighbor Bob Guccione 's secretary said his only complaint about the new guys on the block was that he hasn't been invited to a party yet.

UPPER EAST SIDE

MILKMAN MAKES MILLIONS ON EMPIRE CONDO Marc Goldman, the former chief executive of Farmland Dairies–who sold the New Jersey-based dairy farm to Parmalat for $135 million in 1999–just made another lucrative deal. In May, Mr. Goldman sold his 4,757-square-foot apartment at the Empire, a condo building at 188 East 78th Street, for $9.34 million. He bought the place for $6.12 million in March of this year. Mr. Goldman, reached at his home in Teaneck, N.J., confirmed the deal and the fact that he did not use a broker.

Brokers were astounded that Mr. Goldman was able to get more than $9 million for the 29th-floor apartment, which was originally two separate units. "It was ludicrous, totally ridiculous," said one broker familiar with the deal. "Everybody thought [the buyers] were morons."

"Two thousand dollars a foot for that building is a lot of money," said another.

But the buyers–Nathan Thorne, a banker at Merrill Lynch, and his family–may have been willing to pay top dollar because they were specifically looking for a place with a lot of square feet, but all on one floor; plus the building has a full-time doorman, a concierge and a health club.

CHELSEA

THE COMEBACK OF LINDA EVANGELISTA: A $2.4 MILLION PENTHOUSE Is Linda Evangelista really coming out of retirement? Rumors have spread that the 36-year-old–who made her reputation as a moody supermodel when she remarked that she wouldn't get out of bed for less than $10,000–will grace the cover of the September Vogue . (She hasn't been a cover girl in three years.) And in May she bought a Chelsea penthouse with a 2,700-square-foot terrace for $2.4 million.

Ms. Evangelista has been living out of the country for years. She and her boyfriend, 30-year-old Manchester United goalie Fabien Barthez, were sharing a condo in Cheshire, England, and a villa in southern France. But the British tabloids have said that the relationship has been on the rocks for some time–some scandal sheets are even sniffing that Ms. Evangelista has put on weight–and the couple themselves admitted that things became strained after the model suffered a miscarriage last year. Paparazzo Santiago Baez shot pictures of the couple coming out of Balthazar in Soho together in late May, around the same time Ms. Evangelista bought the condo.

And the 4,000-square-foot penthouse, at 525 West 22nd Street, is perched above one of the most bustling blocks of Chelsea's gallery district, including the DIA Center for the Arts, a Comme des Garçons store and the new restaurant Open. The D'Amelio-Terras gallery occupies the ground floor of the old red-brick manufacturing building. The apartment, in a building that became condos in 1997, had been on the market for almost a year, starting in June 2000 at an asking price of $3.75 million. (The sellers bought it for $1.6 million in 1997.) Two weeks later, the owners dropped the price to $3.25 million; said one broker familiar with the apartment, "It needed a lot of work." It finally was reduced again to $2.8 million, and closed at $2.4 million.

One thing is certain: Ms. Evangelista will not be very incognito in her new neighborhood.

CARNEGIE HILL

1140 Fifth Avenue

Two-bed, one-and-a-half-bath, 1,400-square-foot co-op.

Asking: $962,500. Selling: $995,500.

Charges: $1,318; 43 percent tax deductible.

Time on the market: two months.

DESIGNER SHOWOFF Some people have all the luck. Take the interior decorator who bought this apartment: He'd bought a one-bedroom apartment on 66th Street for just over $400,000 a few months ago, but quickly decided that it just wouldn't do–he needed more space. So he turned around and sold that place for about $500,000 and quickly found this two-bedroom apartment in a swanky Fifth Avenue co-op near 95th Street. Sure, it was already spoken for, but that didn't stop someone so successful at changing his mind in this real-estate market. Naturally the earlier deal fell through, and that very day this fellow had his own deal. According to Richard Steinberg of Ashforth Warburg Realty, the interior designer's broker, the apartment is in pristine condition, making it a clean palette for the designer to redo. "It's a 60-day renovation, and he'll move in in the fall," said Mr. Steinberg.

UPPER WEST SIDE

44 West 77th Street

Four-bedroom, three-bath, 2,350-square-foot co-op.

Asking: $3.6 million. Selling: $2.7 million.

Charges: $2,500; 50 percent tax deductible.

Time on the market: seven months.

YOUR PRICE IS GETTING LOWER … LOWER When a couple put this apartment on the market, they must have thought it was last year–when apartments, including those that are large but in need of hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of renovations, sold as soon as they came on the market, at whatever the price. But it wasn't. The couple was feeling bold enough to price this four-bedroom apartment, with park views and an oak-paneled dining room, at $3.1 million earlier this year. (They had previously been asking as much as $3.9 million.) By this spring, however, they'd accepted an offer of $2.8 million, said their broker, Karesse Grenier of the Corcoran Group. That same day the market dropped 500 points, and Ms. Grenier negotiated the price down $100,000 more because of the resulting "psychological blip in their comfort level." Now we're talking 2001!

GRAMERCY PARK

32 Gramercy Park South

Two-bed, two-bath, 1,450-square-foot co-op.

Asking: $899,000. Selling: $925,000.

Charges: $1,850; 54 percent tax deductible.

Time on the market: one month.

DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE? A couple left the suburbs for the superb downtown views they found in this building, on Gramercy Park South and Third Avenue. The building is not one of the gothic or colonial Gramercy Park mainstays. It's an 18-story red-brick number, built in 1956, with a full-time doorman, a concierge and large picture windows–especially from this high-floor apartment. Still, when they made their first bid, the couple discovered that even at a not-prime Gramercy address and in a supposedly sagging market, they had serious competitors; only by bidding $25,000 more than the asking price did they secure the apartment. And "it was a pretty little apartment," said Liz Dworkin, vice president and broker at the downtown brokerage firm Eychner Associates, who represented the sellers. Which brings us back to the views: From inside this apartment, the views of the surrounding buildings are a big part of the appeal.

The owner of a house on a quiet street near the southern border of the West Village wanted $12.9 million for the place. Now, there's no way to respectably sell anything in the neighborhood, even by employing what seemed to be the 2000 formula: doubling the going prices of a year or two ago.

"Greed has taken over," said one broker.

The $12.9 million, three-bedroom house is at 12 St. Lukes Place. The asking price is just $300,000 less than the most expensive Upper East Side house sold by a major brokerage company during the past six months. It's also $7 million more than the most expensive house that firm has sold in the West Village this year–and that was for the building a few doors down at 8 St. Lukes Place.

"It's beautifully renovated," said one broker of 12 St. Lukes Place, which the current owner bought for $2.9 million in 1995. "But still, that's quite a jump."

"This house will break records," said another broker.

The West Village's uptown prices are catching up with the influx of former uptown residents– New York Times Op-Ed page editor Howell Raines, designer Diane von Furstenberg, models Amber Valetta and Shalom Harlow, actor Wesley Snipes, artist Julian Schnabel, publisher Jonathan Newhouse, musician David Byrne, actress Gwyneth Paltrow and Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter are all West Village homeowners. Fifth Avenue socialite Nancy Richardson has been shopping for a new home in the area for months (though she's said to be narrowing in on a loft).

Since 12 St. Lukes Place hit the market, Gene Pressman, the former co-chairman of Barneys New York, put his townhouse at 237 West 12th Street on the market for $4.3 million. Mr. Pressman bought the 2,200-square-foot townhouse for less than half that price about a year ago and has completely restored the place, which is only 19 feet wide and 30 feet deep but has three bedrooms, three fireplaces and a planted roof garden.

"The house has no charm," said one broker familiar with Mr. Pressman's building. "When he bought it for $1.9 million we were laughing. Everyone was laughing. But these new numbers are just absurd."

But they said the same thing about the house Linda Evangelista sold in February. The four-story building at 66 Bank Street–which has four fireplaces and a landscaped garden with a willow tree–sold for $5.19 million; Ms. Evangelista paid $2.1 million in 1995.

"We were shocked when we saw the price on this house, even more so when it sold," said a broker.

Another townhouse at 97 Barrow Street, with less than 3,000 square feet, recently sold for $3.3 million; the seller paid $1.6 million two years ago.

On the other hand, a five-story townhouse at 243 West 11th Street came on the market for $5.2 million in early July. In the first few weeks that the building has been listed, the asking price has already been reduced to $4.95 million. There have been no serious offers.

AMAGANSETT

SHE'LL LIVE ON THE SECOND FLOOR (AND THE FIRST): SUZANNE VEGA'S BEACH HOUSE In an interview with Salon last year, singer Suzanne Vega told a reporter, "If I were not to live in New York I would live on the beach. And dress in black, and stride around in my boots by the water."

Now she's making moody footprints in Amagansett. On May 19, Ms. Vega bought a house at 19 Devon Landing Drive, a cul-de-sac off Abrahams Landing Road. The house, which cost the folk singer $525,000, is one of only six on the street and is on less than an acre of land.

One source described the sale as "one of those quiet deals," and said that no brokers were involved.

Ms. Vega, who turned 41 in July, is a New York City native. She studied dance at the High School of the Performing Arts and got her B.A. from Barnard College. Although she started playing Greenwich Village coffee houses when she was 16, she wasn't well known until 1987, when the song "Luka"–a catchy tune about child abuse–became a pop favorite. In 1990, another ubiquitous radio tune, "Tom's Diner," came out. Ms. Vega continues to record, but has not lately seen the critical success (or ceaseless airplay) that met her first two albums.

Ms. Vega is currently on tour in Italy and was not available to comment.

HARLEM

252 West 137th Street

Four-story, 4,250-square-foot townhouse.

Asking: $560,000. Selling: $535,000.

Time on the market: Four months.

TIME TO STRIP THE MANTELS This 1891 townhouse comes with tons of original details, including a Juliet seat at the top of the stairs, sliding pocket doors and six carved fireplaces, and it is located on an entirely residential block with no vacant lots. The new owner, J. Daniel Stricker, executive director of the Community Research Initiative on Aids, will convert the home from five separate apartments to just two, leaving him and his partner over 3,000 square feet of space for themselves. "That's more than twice the size of both our old apartments combined," he said. Mr. Stricker, who just put his 640-square-foot co-op in Hell's Kitchen on the market, bought his new home on July 5 and moved in on July 7. "I just started stripping my first mantel ," he reported. Willie Kathryn Suggs, of Willie Kathryn Suggs Licensed Real Estate Brokers, was the exclusive broker on the deal.

UPPER EAST SIDE

470 Park Avenue

Four-bed, five-and-a-half bath, 4,500-square-foot co-op.

Asking: $8 million. Selling: $6.85 million.

Charges: $6,100; 50 percent tax deductible.

Time on the market: 15 months.

HOW TO AVOID HOUSEGUESTS Sure, a large apartment like this one sounds nice: three floors, four bedrooms, a 2,100-square-foot terrace. But with space come houseguests. When a couple bought this co-op 10 years ago, visitors were part of the agenda. "They like to entertain and they had a large family and grandchildren that used to visit," said their broker, Norma Hirsh of Douglas Elliman. But a little over a year ago, the sellers decided they had enough of playing host and hostess. They gave up this duplex with floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, a landscaped terrace and a large curved staircase, and will be moving uptown, closer to their children. Now they get to do the visiting.

WEST VILLAGE

42 West 13th Street

Three-bed, two-bath, 1,600-square-foot co-op.

Asking: $849,000. Selling: $825,000.

Charges: $1,054; 50 percent tax deductible.

Time on the market: One month.

GET TO KNOW THE FOLKS NEXT DOOR No one knows for sure how many there are, but everyone agrees that the number of New Yorkers colluding to reduce the total number of apartments in the city is significant. "It's happening more and more," said Christopher P. Wilson, director of sales for downtown at Stribling Associates, of people taking over their neighbors' apartments instead of moving. "But no one can say exactly how much it happens, because 90 percent of the time there is no broker involved." So it would seem that Scott Saunders, a vice president at Bellmarc Realty and the exclusive broker on this deal, got lucky when he sold this three-bedroom apartment (with a fireplace, a view of the rear courtyard and not much light) to the folks next door. Sure, the sellers got almost $25,000 less than they were asking, but they didn't have to worry about the board approving their buyer, and the neighbors paid in cash. The resulting apartment will be double the space of the two-bedroom apartment the neighbors started with; and even if they didn't get around brokers, they did get around the price of a three-bedroom apartment. "Assuming they bought their first apartment at below current market value, and as long as the two layouts lend themselves to combination," said Mr. Saunders, "even if they paid over the market price for the second apartment, they still got a deal." Foiled again!