A book signing is a public event; you don’t know who might show up. My favorite publicist, Mary Marinelli, was returning to work after what she called a “record-setting short maternity leave.” Mary only meant she’d come back to work too soon. “I’m breastfeeding—pumping my breasts is a messy business, and not the best use of my time on an author’s book tour,” she said. She was a marvelous publicist, and I’m confident that Mary was also a marvel as a breastfeeding and breast-pumping mom. I don’t remember how many children Mary had, but she was on maternity leave a lot—always for a record-setting short time. My impression of Mary is that she never stopped breastfeeding, although I didn’t see her breastfeed anyone, and I never met Mr. Marinelli or any of their kids. I was, however, a witness to what a marvel Mary was at finding opportune moments to pump her breasts, considering the multiple obstacles that an author’s book tour presented.

Mary was a compact person, small and well-proportioned, notwithstanding the size of her breasts. What was also overlarge about Mary was her shoulder bag. The other things in the shoulder bag, besides copies of my novel, had a breastfeeding and breast-pumping connection. There was more than one kind of breast pump in the big bag. There were ice packs to keep the mother’s milk cold. Mary had a low opinion of nursing moms who let their breast milk spoil.

Backstage, in the greenroom at the 92nd Street Y in New York, Mary Marinelli had taken charge of the audience Q and A in what was then a new way—at least to me. I was going to give a reading from my novel, followed by the Q and A; then there would be a book signing. But Mary had insisted that the audience be given notecards, where they could write their questions; then the cards were collected and brought to the greenroom before I went onstage.

“This eliminates the idiots who have no questions—they just want to tell you what they think,” Mary now said. She was reading through the questions on the notecards and sorting them. “This also identifies the dolts who always ask, ‘Where do you get your ideas?’ They get their own pile, too—the never-to-be-answered pile,” Mary said. Before I went onstage, Mary told me, I would get to pick the questions I liked, and I could put them in the order I wanted to answer them. “I’m weeding out the whack jobs,” Mary Marinelli said.