My agent Gloria calls at eight A.M. on a Sunday and says, “Be at 230 West 42 at noon. Audition.”

I roll my legs off the bed and ask her, “What’s the job?”

“Can’t say. Total secrecy. You gotta sign a non-disclosure before they even talk to you. I’ll text you the details. Bring your guitar.”

I brush my teeth and put on my clothes and ponder what this one could be. Another jukebox musical. But why the secrecy? Why the N.D.A.? You know who would require an N.D.A.? Lin-Manuel Miranda would require an N.D.A. I put new strings on my guitar and head to 42nd Street.

Outside the audition room are six guys who look like me. Thirties, fit, a little ethnic—Jewish, Italian, Greek. Four of them have guitars. I take a seat. A girl comes around with the non-disclosures on a clipboard. I sign. Actors go in. Actors come out. Finally I get called.

Two old guys and two young women are sitting behind a long table like a team of prosecutors. I smile and tell them my name. One of the old guys asks about my experience. I reel it off. Understudied Carl Perkins in Memphis. Chorus in Rock of Ages. Touring company of Jersey Boys.

They ask me to get out my guitar and sing something. Do I know some Dylan? I decide not to tackle any song with too many words. I sing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.”

The old guy on the left says, “That’s very good. Can you do it again but sing it like Jimmy Durante?”

That stops me. “Jimmy Durante?”

“Not over the top. Just moderate Durante.”

I give it a try. “Knock knock knocking on heaven’s door” with schnozzola. They like it.

Now the other old guy chimes in. “You got some Johnny Cash?”

I go into “A Boy Named Sue.” Half way through Gatlinburg in mid-July they wave me to stop.

“That’s great—can you start again and sing it like Van Morrison?”

I have to think about that for a minute but I’m a pro. I go into “Boy Named Sue” like Van Morrison, repeating “Bottle of booze, bottle of booze, bottle of booze” twelve times.

When I finish, the two old guys jump up and clap and when they see the old guys doing it, the girls do, too.

“He sign the non-disclosure?”

“Got it right here, Donald.”

Now they are talking to me like we all made our first communion together.

“You can’t tell anybody what we’re about to tell you. Whether we hire you or not.”

I say, “Sure.”

“Okay.” The two old guys look at each other like, here we go.

“The role you are being considered for is to understudy Bruce Springsteen for the duration of his Springsteen on Broadway show. You think you can handle that?”

“Wait. Slow down. Understudy for Bruce Springsteen?”

They watch it sink in.

“Isn’t he doing a one-man show?”

“You up for that kind of responsibility?”

“But – it’s not an actor. It’s Bruce Springsteen. I mean, he’s the real Bruce Springsteen.”

“He better be.”

“At these prices.”

“If you don’t want to be considered…”

“No, no. It’s just… I mean, aren’t people paying like two thousand dollars for these tickets?”

“Two thousand? Try five.”

“If Springsteen doesn’t show up, won’t they be pissed?”

“Of course we would make an announcement. ‘At this performance Bruce Springsteen will be played by… ‘Maybe you. You up for it?”

“Well, yeah. I guess so.”