Stough was deeply tanned and dressed in a black blazer with brass buttons and a pocket kerchief, as if he’d just flown in on a Concorde from Monte Carlo. He started off by inviting a tenor named Timothy Jones to lie on the table and proceeded to jiggle Jones’s jaw, dig his hands into his waist, and rock him back and forth. “You see, I have to keep tapping right on the chest,” said Stough, his yellow polka-dot tie dangling in Jones’s hair.
