What can't be called in can be traded for. Evelyn Carrasco, who works in the home-video department of USA Films, often gets cold calls from movie-industry people on the West Coast looking to barter. "They ask me if I want to trade screening passes so if I'm ever in L.A. I could come to screenings there." Getting friends in on the deal is also part of the challenge. "People know people who know people -- I've seen two Broadway shows for free," says a television editor. "I got to take three buddies to a Knicks game, and we all got loaded in the Wall Street Journal box," says Jason Krumm. He adds that his biggest coup was when Samsung flew him to Seoul first class and then footed the bill for him to stop in L.A. for a vacation. The miles, plus the fact that he bought the tickets on his AmEx card, netted him two free domestic flights on Delta.

When the need for actual cash arises, there are always business gifts to return. Just days after more senior Time Warner employees were watching their stock price soar in the wake of the AOL deal, Ellen Waterman, who works in marketing at one of the company's divisions, was spending her lunch hour at Tiffany's returning an unsightly bamboo-imprinted crystal bowl. "I'm into renting stuff," she confesses. "I buy jewelry, wear it, and then return it."

Four years out of college, she lives in an Upper West Side two-bedroom apartment she and her roommates reconfigured to snugly fit four. "We built two walls," she says. "My entire salary goes to rent, sushi, and Visa. I don't save anything." She makes a beeline for the $175 silver Atlas ring, then hands over her credit slip. "How much is the matching bracelet?" she inquires. "Two hundred and sixty-five dollars," says the sales clerk. "Thanks," she says, with a smile. "That's next."

Harlock and Phillips are sharing a cigarette on their double bed. There's no place else for them to sit, since they made the living room of their St. Marks Place one-bedroom into a makeshift quarters for their two roommates. "I feel like I still live in a dorm," Harlock says, exhaling as one of Tom's acid-jazz CDs plays in the background. "The dresser is a friend of mine's. I found all the chairs on the street on garbage night and reupholstered them. I've had that stereo since I was 16." The sewing machine sits on a desk. The closet boasts an impressive collection of thrift-shop finds, like the Asian silk top with embroidery, beading, and gold sequins she's wearing today. Across the room, a handbag hanging on a wall hook has a distinctive Gucci pattern. "Four dollars," she smiles.

"You're invited, but you're standing there with headsets on, going, 'Sharon Stone is approaching!'"

They're enjoying a mellow Saturday, a stark contrast to the second act of their evening at the City Opera fête two nights before. "The after-party was two doors down from Chez Es Saada at an old school this guy's redone as his home. There were courtyards inside, snow with rose petals, a sunken living room with ceilings ten times higher than these. It's all part of the fantastical New York I imagined when I was younger," says Harlock. "I don't want to say it's like a Great Gatsby party, but I am aware that it's an illusion."

Their third-floor walkup just seems like part of the game. "I don't understand the concept of making a million dollars when you're 25," she continues. "I can't see myself making more than $40,000 -- I can't see any reason to until I have kids. You can still have a great time in New York: I can pay my rent, eat out a few nights a week. It's more romantic."

As Harlock fixes a bowl of Rice Krispies for a late lunch, her musician roommates are rehearsing behind the curtain that separates their tiny kitchen from the living room/second bedroom. "We're putting up a sound wall," says Marnie Stern, 23, apologetically, describing their band's music as "a mix of Cat Power, Built to Spill, and Heatmiser, in my dream world." During the day, she works as an assistant at an advertising agency; her boyfriend and bandmate, Alexis Arkus-Duntov, 27, D.J.'s at Sway and Magnum. But at the end of the night, as he says, they both end up back behind the curtain on St. Marks. "It's very typical New York."

Such juxtapositions remind the poverty Elite that they haven't earned a place in the privileged class -- only rented it. When Miramax throws a premiere party, low-level staff are always there -- to help. "You're invited," says an employee, "but you're standing there with headsets on, going, 'Sharon Stone is approaching! Sharon Stone is approaching!' " Before he gave it up for a job in advertising, Jankowski's much-envied $18,000 public-relations gig with the New England Patriots found him relaxing on the team's private plane and palling around with quarterback Drew Bledsoe. During the games, it was a different story. "In Miami, I had to take photos of the field from our corner and bring them to the coaches," he recalls. It was 107 degrees that day -- even the cheerleaders were passing out!"