Michael Lorber in front of Night, 2005, an oil painting by Peter Mandradjieff

Michael Lorber answers the door to his East Side apartment wearing a dress shirt and tie, a jacket with a pocket square, jeans and elegant brown velvet slippers. Very GQ, very Cary Grant. It follows that Lorber’s home, a 2,000-square-foot converted one-bedroom, is very wellappointed. Miró, Picasso and Kandinsky originals adorn walls painted a handsome shade of gray-blue. A Jeff Koons sculpture of blue balloon dogs gleams from a glass table in the living room. There are orchids in the living and dining rooms, and five flat-screen televisions scattered throughout. Cashmere shawls, many of them monogrammed, have been folded and placed on Barcelona and Eames chairs.

“I’m a collector of collections,” says Lorber, 31, whose foyer bookshelves are filled with first editions of classics like The Great Gatsby, Catcher in the Rye, and The Old Man and the Sea, and whose study contains boxes from Cartier, Rolex, IWC and Patek Philippe watches. Lorber also collects maps and old documents: Among other rarities, he has a letter from John Quincy Adams and a linen handkerchief that was printed with the Declaration of Independence on the 75th anniversary of its signing. There are simpler pleasures here, too, like the large bowl of clementines that Lorber keeps on his Saarinen marble dining room table.

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