Made Marian, Volume One by Lucy Lennox
Teddy
How do you trap a wildlife veterinarian? I was one of National Geographic’s most well-known wildlife photographers, and Dr. James Marian was the most elusive animal I’d ever tried to capture.
I’d sent Dr. Marian at least six emails requesting permission to photograph him, and he hadn’t responded to a single one. I wasn’t the kind of guy to give up easily, so I just needed to get creative.
The man was known as a wildlife whisperer, someone who attracted animals and made them feel like he was one of them. Wild animals flocked to Jamie Marian as though he was fucking Noah with the ark or Cinderella trying on her damned dress. I’d come across a photo of him cradling a grizzly bear cub and I couldn’t get past the visceral connection between the man and animal that was apparent even in an amateur photograph.
Plus, the man was a motherfucking masterpiece of masculine beauty. Not that his looks had anything to do with… whatever, never mind. I just knew for damned sure I needed to capture that man and his animals with my camera.
The good doctor was currently living in Denali National Park near Fairbanks, Alaska. Since I lived in Manhattan, it wasn’t as though I could pop in for a quick visit to convince him in person. The emails had started off polite and professional, but my patience was wearing thin.
The last email fell more into the begging category. I told him Alaska was one of my favorite places to shoot and that despite my impending assignment in Australia, I was free to talk anytime on the international calling plan I had.
Finally, I got a response. At least now we could have a discussion instead of my continued soliloquy.
* * *
From: James Marian
To: Theodore Kodiak
Subject: No thank you
In my field of work, I prefer to avoid media exposure. Sorry for the inconvenience. You are welcome to come to Denali and snap pics of the wildlife without me, anytime. Just contact the main ranger station.
Enjoy your time in Melbourne. Don’t overreact to the rumor about the snakes. It’s not as bad as people think.
Regards,
Jamie Marian
* * *
From: Theodore Kodiak
To: James Marian
Subject: What rumor?!
Shit, I hate snakes. WTF? What rumor? And what do you mean “it’s not as bad as people think”?
Theodore Kodiak
* * *
From: James Marian
To: Theodore Kodiak
Subject: Wear Tall Boots
Australia boasts the largest population of poisonous snakes but there are very few actual fatalities due to easy access to antivenom. Just make sure you’re not out in the wild when you get bitten.
You’re at significantly higher risk of death or injury on an airplane than around snakes anyway. Have a safe flight.
Jamie Marian
* * *
From: Theodore Kodiak
To: James Marian
Subject: Boarding Death Trap Now
Gee, thanks. You’re certainly the calming voice of reason. As a wildlife photographer on location in the wild, I probably won’t be in the wild when I get bitten by a wild snake.
Theodore Kodiak
* * *
I couldn’t tellwhether Jamie was joking or an asshole or perhaps both. Clearly he didn’t understand the lure of an artistic vision. Regardless of his dry personality, I needed to get through to him somehow. Email wasn’t working.
I had an idea and sent another email after I reached Melbourne.
* * *
From: Theodore Kodiak
To: James Marian
Subject: Wounded Peregrine Falcon
While on location near a breeding nest, our crew came across a wounded peregrine. I was hoping you would have some advice on what to do. Sorry to bother you.
Please give me a call at your earliest convenience. Don’t worry about the time difference. This poor little guy is in rough shape.
Theodore Kodiak
* * *
My phone rangwhile I was taking a sip of water and sitting at a picnic table with my sandwich. It was a gorgeous spring day in Australia, and I was relaxing in a small park two hours outside Melbourne. Kids played on swings and dog walkers enjoyed the warm weather.
“Theodore Kodiak,” I answered.
“Hi, Theodore,” a brisk male voice replied. “This is Jamie Marian in Alaska.”
Well, hot damn.My evil plan worked.
“I understand you have an injured falcon? Can you tell me about it?”
“Hi, Jamie. Yes, thanks for calling me so quickly. This poor guy—” I took the phone away from my ear and crinkled my sandwich wrapper over the microphone while I mumbled intelligibly near it.
“What?” Jamie asked. “I can’t hear you. What’s that sound?”
“Oh no! I’ll have to call you back. We think he stopped brea—”
Before disconnecting the phone I heard him yelling, “Wait, wait!”
Immediately a text from him flashed on my screen:
Jamie: Your phone cut off. I’m emailing you the contact info for a nearby wildlife vet. Glad you were there to help the poor bird.
I chuckled. Now I had Jamie Marian’s phone number, and it was his turn to sit and wait.
After my weeklong shoot outside Melbourne, I received the third pissed-off email from Jamie Marian asking if we’d taken the bird for professional help. The first email asked if I’d gotten in touch with the wildlife vet he’d suggested. The second inquired how the bird was doing, and the third accused me of being rude and implied it was probably my own “bumbling around the park” that had caused the injury in the first place.
A part of me wanted to let him in on the ruse that there was no injured bird, but I didn’t think that would go over well. Especially since I was still trying to get him to agree to work with me. I finally texted him back.
Teddy: Sorry for the delayed response about the falcon. I have been on airplanes for almost two days and asleep for two more. My days and nights are messed up and I can hardly think straight. Thank you for the vet recommendation. You’ll be happy to know that the bird made a full recovery and has been adopted as a mascot by a local orphanage. They named her Princess Petunia Peregrinswaggle, I believe.
I cringed,wondering if I’d gone too far with the ruse. After several minutes, I received a response.
Jamie: There was no bird, was there?
Teddy: There was totally a bird. Here’s proof:
I flipped frantically through the photos on my phone until I found a shot of a peregrine I’d taken the year before. I texted it to Dr. Marian.
Jamie: That isn’t a falcon, it’s a tiercel. Also, that’s the top of the Yellowstone Roosevelt Arch in the background. Montana, not Australia.
I looked closer at the picture. Fuck, he was right. That’s what I got for trying to be too elaborate in my lie.
Teddy: Ok, you’re right. There may not have been a bird.
Jamie: Are you fucking kidding me? Who lies about an injured animal? Why would you do that? You’re an insensitive asshole. Good riddance. May you rot in hell.
Teddy: Sorry for the small deception. I wanted to get your number and now I have it. I’ll give you a call soon to discuss the photo shoot.
Jamie: You’re a cocky motherfucker if you think I’m answering your call.
The next day I tried, but, sure enough, he didn’t answer. That was fine. I had other tricks up my sleeve. In the meantime, I decided to use humor to soften his demeanor through texts. Over the next few days I texted Jamie periodically.
Teddy: Why are mountains so funny?
Jamie: Fuck you.
Teddy: Because they are hill areas.
Jamie: <rolls eyes>
Teddy: Why do we like volcanoes?
Jamie: Because they are a good place to dispose of photographers’ bodies?
Teddy: Because they are so lavable.
Jamie: That is the worst pun Everest.
Teddy: Why do mountains make good singers?
Jamie: Your joke telling may have already reached its peak.
Teddy: They have a lot of range.
Jamie: Now you’re on a plateau. Not that I can find fault with that.
Teddy: High praise indeed.
A few days later, I made a quick trip to New Orleans to go over some images with the folks at the wildlife reserve. After the meeting, I asked them if they had an empty office where I could make a phone call from a landline. Once alone, I closed the door and sat down at the desk.
I made the first call to my own cell phone to see what the caller ID would show. “Reserve Institute.” Even better than I hoped for. Next I dialed Jamie. It was nearing lunchtime in New Orleans so he should just be waking up in Denali.
“This is Jamie,” he answered in a warm, deep voice.
“Well, hello there, Dr. Marian,” I said with a smile. I knew he’d be pissed and tried to disarm him before he could go nuclear on me. “I’m sorry about the falcon. You’re right, it was an asshole move to make you worry like that.”
A beat of silence and then I heard him mutter, “Dammit.”
He took a breath before speaking. “What do you want? How many times do I need to say no, Mr. Kodiak?” He hit the “k” sound with a smack.
“Don’t get your binoculars in a twist. I’m just calling to talk. Why don’t I fly up there on Thursday and we can meet Friday morning? Does that work?”
He hung up on me with an audible huff and I barked out a laugh. Something about the guy energized me. Ever since I’d seen the picture of him with the bear cub, I’d been obsessed. I knew I needed to see more of Dr. James Marian.
It wasn’t that I was attracted to him. I didn’t even know him, and I was usually only attracted to people I thought would be an easy fuck. Wait, that sounded awful. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect the people I slept with, but my job took me all over the world, sometimes at a moment’s notice. I didn’t have time for a relationship, so I looked for quick connections that satisfied my lust in the moment. Plus, I had to assume the guy was straight.
As for companionship and long-term commitment, I had my friends from Pratt. When I went to art school, I was a kid in a candy store. More beautiful, artistic men and women than I knew what to do with. In addition to plenty of dates, I also found some wonderful friends. Jenna, Cat, and Brody were like family to me. Between my college friends and my best friend Mac, I had almost everything I needed.
There was one other thing I needed, however, and that was a top photography award on my résumé. I had won some decent awards, but there was a big elusive award called the Gramling Prize I was desperate to win. Call it a personal goal. To be the best in my field. To finally prove to myself and my father I wasn’t that skinny little kid from Dryden who dicked around at art school instead of becoming a big corporate success.
In order to win the Gramling, I had to submit something original, captivating. Something other photographers couldn’t capture the way I could. It could be anything, but something kept telling me the magic shot awaited me in Alaska. And to get that shot, I needed Jamie Marian.
