I had only two or three questions for Jon Hamm. I wanted to know if fame had rattled him. I wanted to know if, more than two years after the “Mad Men” finale, he had plotted out a second act worthy of his talent. I wanted to know if he still wanted to be a star.

We were supposed to meet at the edge of Central Park at 11 a.m. and take a walk. Then came the rain. So we switched the location to Pearl Studios, a suite of rehearsal rooms in Midtown where actors and dancers audition for Broadway shows, touring companies and cruise-ship work.

I texted to say I would pick up coffee. How did he like his?

“Black!” he texted back.

At Cafe Grumpy on West 39th Street I picked up two black coffees, extra-large. They were nearly lawsuit-hot. The walk in the rain to Pearl Studios seemed long. A few minutes past 11 came another text from Mr. Hamm, whose politeness may owe something to his Missouri upbringing: “I’m one very congested crosstown block away. Sorry!!”

If you still picture Don Draper when you think of Mr. Hamm, it may strike you as odd to see him emerge from a Nissan NV200 yellow cab, which has a boxy look very much at odds with the elegant midcentury universe of “Mad Men.”