Tracy Fulton has a respectable enough job. He’s a private banker in a very tony part of town. If he were to divulge his client list, you might see names most of us are used to seeing only on TV or maybe a building. He sees them as contacts in his cell phone. But every third Thursday of the month, he swaps out his grey three-piece suit for a tuxedo. He puts down his smartphone for a microphone. And that’s when this buttoned-up banker-by-day turns into Mr. Cabaret at night.