Anonymity by Janna McMahan

together by adhesive slogans. There were vegans and soccer moms and alternative bands. Plenty of people wanted peace and many had strong opinions about the former president from Texas. Austin gave new meaning to the term information superhighway.
    The city gleamed in the distance. It didn't look in need of a polish. Barbara suspected that Austin's litter problem came from tourists and transplants and the homeless, but that would be a very un-PC thing to express. Truly, she should be thanking whoever was mucking up the city because it meant she had a job.
    Since being downsized from a corporate public relations position, Barbara had struck out on her own. Businesses of all types were scrambling for attention in a tight market. Newspapers and television stations had cut nearly half of their reporters. Those who were left were overwhelmed with work, so getting them to appreciate a story was harder than ever. Oddly, being a small, reasonably priced PR firm seemed to be a growth opportunity in a bad economy.
    She parked in front of Group Therapy. Inside smelled of sour beer, but the hardwood floors were clean and the tables tidy and ready for the lunch crowd. Emily waved a giant knife in Barbara's direction. Fruit wobbled on a scarred cutting board in front of her daughter.
    “Hi, sweetheart,” Barbara said as she wiggled onto a barstool.
    “Hi.”
    “I don't have long. My assistant's taking care of things for me this morning.”
    “Can you eat?”
    “I'd love some of Angel's beef brisket if he's got any made this early.”
    “I'll check.” Emily opened the swinging door to the kitchen, spoke to someone and then came back. “No problem. So what's up? What are you doing downtown today?”
    “Working for the big cleanup, you know, Keep Austin Cleared? I did all the media and branding this year. We're handling the closing ceremonies and the party after. Why don't you come on down and help with the clean up efforts?”
    Emily gathered her hair behind her, twisted it up and stuck a pencil through the mass of curls. This was her way of thinking before speaking.
    “I'd like to, but I can't. One of my bartenders called in sick. I have to pull a double today.”
    She was probably lying, but Barbara couldn't blame her. Over the years, Barbara had made her family volunteer to do everything from handing out water at marathons to pretending to be happy customers for commercials. Why would Emily be eager to pick up trash?
    “So this is your new client?” Emily asked. “How's it going?”
    “Great so far. I did the volunteer media release and we got tons of people. I was surprised. Community organizations, business and social clubs, churches, bowling leagues and softball teams. Lots of UT students. Apparently, sororities and fraternities use Keep Austin Cleared as part of their social service requirements.”
    Emily set a Diet Coke in front of her mother and Barbara took a sip.
    “Thank you. So, I spent last week shooting b-roll of litter-packed areas of the city. I had that delivered with the media release a couple of days ago to all the TV stations. I'm hoping they'll use it as before and after shots.”
    “Smart.”
    “Hey, I'd like to hire you to help me. Can you go to the dump with me in the morning and take some shots? I made these bright-green branded garbage bags for the event and I found out where the city is taking them all. I'm hoping to get shots of a mountain of those bags. There will be literally thousands. Pictures like that will help me get the job again next year.”
    Emily pondered the offer, then she said, “Sure. Why not?”
    “I'll pay.”
    “Even better.”
    The kitchen door swung open, and Angel came out with a basket of food.
    “Hola, Senora Barbara.”
    “How you doing, Angel?”
    “Can't complain, but I still do.”
    Barbara had always liked Angel. She could felt his protectiveness toward Emily, which gave her some comfort about her daughter working in a bar.
    Barbara's iPhone chirped.
    “My