hitting the loo at the Lafayette Street Holiday Inn. The most convincing performers scored the respected roles. One time, during assignments, our manager told this guy Henry that she'd be helping with his disguise that morning. Authenticity was critical, as they needed him to case a location for four straight hours, to monitor who came and went. So Henry became a junkie. He passed the afternoon sitting or standing on the curb, intermittently nodding off. Back at the office, while demonstrating the smackhead lean, wherein the body reaches an angle nearly 45 degrees but somehow, Newton defyingly, does not fall, he explained that he'd delivered a depiction so convincing, it'd attracted the attention of both a cop, who told him he was disorderly and threatened to arrest him, and a born- again Christian, who told him about Jesus and threatened to save his soul. And then there was I, approaching the disguise closet each time with only this question: Which wig today, the brown one that resembles my actual hair? Or the brown one that's exactly like my actual hair? After the great Miss Bessom debacle, I knew better than to try to act like someone else. Also, I'm a terrible vocal mimic. I can't even ape midwestern, and that's the O- negative blood type of accents: It can flow through anyone. It's the Bill Cosby impression of accents. And I am also bad at those . . . unless what's been requested is "Bill Cosby doing a Japanese man."