driver

Race Queen hung on his arm and people thrust champagne bottles at him, “You made it!”
Paul grinned, shyly. Dora felt pleased for him, as he shoved the pass and a pen at Jimmy. “Listen, I know it’s awful being asked—”
“Awful? Hell no!” Jimmy grabbed the pen and pass. “Have you made up your mind about what you want to do yet? Acting, or whatever?”
Paul shook his head, and Dora noticed then what she should have noticed earlier—that his bright blue eyes and Jimmy’s were very similar. And if he isn’t a heartbreaker yet, she thought wryly, he will be.
“I still don’t know,” he said.
“Tell you what,” Jimmy said, pausing a moment to kiss another beauty queen for the camera, “you make a pile of money in the movies, then go into racing. Get a good mentor like Dora.”
And then he finished the autograph with a flourish—and handed it back to the young man.
To Paul Newman, who can be my driver when I take over the chief mechanic slot from Dora, best of luck.
And the familiar autograph, James Dean.

NOTE:
Just as a postscript—yes, Paul