I can hear them in the office across the hall. Two women, talking and laughing. One's laugh sounds so fresh, like a nearly innocent teen, full-bellied and full-throated shoutbursts of pleasure and glee. She sounds so attractive, so lovable; someone I could be playful with, eyes wide open discovering pleasure together; someone I'd work so hard to make laugh just to hear that laugh of hers. The other one sounds like a phony: too loud, too breathy, too pleased with itself, reeking with self-absorption. I hate her, most of all for having this time, this laughing, with the other one, whoever she might be, the darling.