The Creation of Harriet Adams

As a young mother in the mid-sixties, I had plenty of adventure and work to keep me busy, but one day my fertile mind began to conceive an idea. Could I impersonate another individual, go to my husband’s real estate office, and present myself as an authentic client named Harriet Adams?  Could I fool my husband into thinking that I was a young, single mom with $2000 to put down on a house?

This fanciful idea began with my needing new glasses. Contact lenses were becoming popular back then, and my husband, Kennedy, had agreed that I could purchase contact lenses sometime in the future. I kept my purchase a secret, planning my public debut as a bonafide real estate client ready to do business with A. P. Brown Company, well-known Realtors of Tucson, Arizona.

The new contacts dramatically changed my appearance. I had worn glasses since I was in sixth grade, and no one ever saw me appear in public without my glasses.

My neighbor, Billie joined in the adventure by offering to let me wear her new blonde wig that further changed my looks. “Here, what do you think of this, Billie?” I asked, after tucking some absorbent cotton around under my lips and gums to give my jawline a different shape.

Harriet Adams

She approved of my alterations as well as my newly purchased dress for the occasion. I obviously couldn’t wear clothing my husband would recognize! A further alteration of my shape was created by stuffing two washcloths into my bra and a hand towel around my waist to make Harriet Adams a little chubbier than Janelle Brown.

I decided to arrive in a different vehicle to escape early detection, so I borrowed Billie’s car along with the wig. Rehearsing the performance from start to finish, I was ready for my grand entrance.

I walked in the front door of A. P. Brown Co and was greeted by my mother-in-law who was the receptionist. My husband’s mother looked at me very quizzically, but I kept up the facade, continuing to talk in a disguised voice.

Satisfied that she had been erroneous in suspecting my identity, my mother-in-law finally indicated that she would take me back to Kennedy Brown’s office.  In the meantime, the secretary on the other side of the reception area appeared to recognize me.  I had to decide whether to continue to embody Harriet or give up the scheme.  With my disguised voice, I convinced her that she too was mistaken. My mother-in-law took me back to see Mr. Brown who was seated behind a large desk in his office.

After his first greeting, I knew I had won the Academy Award. He treated me respectfully and professionally seeing me as a bonafide client with a  $2,000 down payment.

She has a check!

From his first “Hello!” he was personable and genuine and I recalled what was so attractive about him that caused me to marry him in the first place.

However, would he make the same choice again after the ruse was exposed? Of course, there was no time to consider that eventuality for the moment.

The show must go on.

I presented my interest in purchasing a three bedroom, two bath home and that I was prepared to put down $2,000 on the home.  I knew that was a good down payment during the current recessive real estate market.

I didn’t divulge a lot of personal details, but I did specify it was important to find a safe neighborhood since I was alone with my fictitious  eleven-year-old son.

The conversation took a turn when Mr. Brown mentioned he didn’t work directly with clients, and he would now introduce me to his salesman, Frank Bonneville. Frank came into the office and sat directly to my right in front of Kennedy’s desk—so far, so good.

However, after turning to my right to greet Mr. Bonneville and then turning back to Mr. Brown, I was confronted with a startled expression on Kennedy’s face. He was stifling a smile, I knew he was starting to suspect, but to eke the final drop of delight out of the production, I required that he be the one to blow the whistle.

Harriet’s profile

As Kennedy admitted later, he suspected nothing amiss until he saw my profile when I talked to Frank. My pug nose was the clue, but then when I turned back to personal conversation, it was no longer his wife, and he didn’t dare take the chance to declare it.

By the second profile turn to Frank, Mr Brown could no longer contain himself. When I insisted he explain his strange behavior, he erupted in raucous guffaws, “Oh, my word, it’s just that you look an awfully lot like my wife!”

Upon this development in the plot, I whooped uproariously, pulled out my absorbent cotton face changer, and confessed the ruse I had concocted.

“All’s well that ends well,” you might say since husband and wife are now mutually enjoying the charade, “but what about poor Frank Bonneville?” The action was too fast and too outrageous for him to comprehend, and he even feared for his boss’s sanity—kissing a $2,000 down payment goodbye.

When Frank at last tumbled to the riotous stage performance, he left the office amazed at how he had unknowingly happened upon a one-act comedy enacted in a real estate office in Tucson, Arizona.