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IT FELT LIKE a furtive liaison from a vintage film noir. After midnight, downtown Manhattan seemed deserted: I barely saw another soul on the streets as I scurried past the wrought-iron fences of Gramercy Park. When I finally located the awning of the Player’s Club, a stately old mansion on the park’s south side, a hulking doorman looked me up and down before shouldering open the portals.
But the moment I stepped inside, my night erupted with music and light. Dapper crowds surged up and down the antique stairs, the men…