Duane's Depressed by Larry McMurtry

scene. Candy hailed from Las Vegas. Not long before, she had married a high-rolling Texas oilman named Joe Don Morris, on the assumption that he lived someplace glamorous and exciting. Thalia had been a big disappointment to Candy, but she hadn’t fled the marriage just yet. Joe Don, very rich, was building her a vast mansion that, he assured her, would combine many of the best aspects ofLas Vegas and New York City. Candy had her doubts about that but, so far, was sticking around to see how the house turned out. It was modeled on the Temple of Luxor, which, Candy understood, was not in America. She made the time pass by drinking a lot of vodka, or perhaps tequila, if she was in more of a tequila mood.
    “Candy, have you ever heard of male menopause?” Karla asked, cutting right to the chase when her new friend answered the phone.
    “No, but I’ve known a lot of men to pause just when you want ’em to . . ., if you know what I mean,” Candy said. “Joe Don’s bad about pausing just at the wrong time.”
    Though Joe Don was a full twelve years younger than Candy she had dropped more than one hint that his energies, in some respects, were not all she had hoped they would be.
    “Well, how is Joe Don?” Karla asked. She thought she ought to be polite and inquire before moving along to her own troubles.
    “Scared. I just had a fit over nothing,” Candy admitted. “I think the little chickenshit is hiding in the sauna.
    “That sauna just got finished yesterday,” she said. “Just in time for my little wimpy husband to hide in it.”
    “I guess I’ll have to ask a doctor about this male menopause,” Karla said. “I think Duane might have it.”
    “I heard he did something weird but I can’t remember what it was,” Candy said. “My brain don’t seem to work till I have my makeup on and I don’t have it on yet. You sound real stressed. Have you been crying, or what?”
    “Duane walked out at three-fifteen this morning—he left on foot,” Karla said, unable to hold back the dread truth any longer.
    “That’s right, he was seen walking down the road, that’s what it was,” Candy said. “One of our roughnecks offered him a ride and he wouldn’t take it. What’s got into that man?”
    Personally Candy felt that she could easily learn to overlook a harmless little flaw like a tendency to take walks if she could have a man as sweet and as good looking as Duane Moore. He looked better to her than her Temple of Luxor new house; it hadeven occurred to her that if he was really out walking around by himself she might want to get out and get a little fresh air herself. She might even join him on one of his little saunters if he didn’t mind.
    She didn’t say that to Karla, of course. Karla was in shock, which was only normal under the circumstances. In a hicky place like Thalia people just didn’t take walks at three-fifteen in the morning, though of course it was common practice in Las Vegas, particularly if you were walking around inside a casino.
    “I think Duane’s just real depressed right now,” Karla said. “He just seems to have lost his sense of motivation or something.”
    “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a man who’s down in the dumps and won’t do anything about it,” Candy said. “Oops, here’s my architect. What’s he doing here this early? I better go put on my face so my brain will work.”
    Actually, it wasn’t her architect, it was just a young carpenter with a real good bod that Candy had been hoping to get a little better acquainted with, and one good motto she had brought with her from Las Vegas was that there was no time like the present.
    Karla found herself holding a phone that had nobody to talk to on the other end. She felt like she had been hung out to dry, to some extent, and reminded herself that people from Las Vegas just probably weren’t brought up to have very good manners. The fact that Candy had married Joe Don Morris, a twitchy little nerd who