Podcast Summary:

This podcast blends tales (today about Post Malone and Rose wine), fiction, and real-world exploration. Here’s the rundown:

Epic Rippers: Stories that f*&k. Raw, adventure travel stories. These non-fiction audio journals offer life lessons and stirring thoughts.

Sips and Shorts: Stories and interviews about drinks from around the world that have shaped culture and society.

The Library: Dive into “The Coin Chronicles,” an exclusive fantasy audiobook series. Each episode reveals a chapter of this epic saga of Gods, humans, and the coin that rules them.

Episode 46 Notes: Post Malone and Rose Wine

Elliot found himself in dire straits and turning to the one thing, and the one woman, that he should have avoided at all costs. The harrowing tale of a man who walked into a gambling joint filled with forgotten memories and past love and changed his life forever. Along with him every step of the exciting journey, is rose wine.  

Transcript of Podcast:

*Note – This is the full episode and containers spoilers. You can always listen to the podcast above.

Stupidity brought Elliot here today. Stupidity might even get him killed. If he was unlucky he’d end up at the wrong end of an anchor, sitting on the sand at the bottom of the lake. This was Sunflower Cove, but there were no sunflowers here.

Sunflower Cove was a paper town and rotten, stinking smoke belched into the air 24/7 from the paper mill. The smell coated his skin with its stench that was a mix between rotten eggs and musty books. The mill employed 75% of the working age people in the town. A smattering of tiny shops employed the rest. The unemployables were drunks or fentanyl addicts.

Most of the business were on the main strip, a six block downtown with the following:

Two gift shops, a pet parlor with boarding services, and three gas stations. Three salons. Five restaurants. Eight bars. And a single tarot card shop.

Sunflower Cove was a two stoplight town. The first was when you entered town. You came around a sharp curve and hard braked in surprise at a sudden, appearing stoplight. The light sat at a four way intersection. There was a 7-11 on one corner, a wine shop opposite, and a strip club next to that.

That corner was the most lively corner in town.

It was also the corner where Eliot had been before he started the long, lonely walk home. He was getting some quality time in at the strip club. But, it isn’t what you think. Eliot was visiting his daughter, who worked there, as a bartender. Once more he had failed to convince her to get a new job that didn’t involve lusty gazes from drunks. She hurled insults at him, telling him to get out because she had work to do. After all, no one takes the man who pulled a nine of swords serious. He’s a marked man. A man to avoid at all costs.

In the basement of the strip club there is a gambling join. Pound three times on a steel door, show you have the money to gamble, and you’ll get into the room. All very illegal of course. Filled with people unlike Eliot. People that have money go there. People with pressed, collared shirts and cigars dangling from their mouths. People that spent their days under bright florescent lights manipulating spreadsheets or sending emails.

A man that went by the name of “The Dealer” runs this joint. The Dealer ran Sunflower Cove. He owned most of the real estate on the strip and his gang kept the town in line. No one ever saw him either. No one knows what he looks like or who he is.

He won the gambling joint in a card game many years ago, against the prior owner, who was a betting man. The prior owner vanished without a trace and was never seen again. The Dealer took over ownership. Within a few years, he’d purchased most of the town’s real estate and completed his stranglehold on this tiny community. That was twenty years ago, give or take a few months.

The Dealer’s henchman ran the gambling joint. A short, weasely guy in glasses with a tucked in collared, plaid patterned shirt did the books. He gave the loans. He set the terms. The muscle around him took care of the rest. This was not the sort of place Eliot should be. But, he was in a bad spot. And desperation causes mistakes in judgment.

His wife hated him. His daughter too. And he had pulled the nine of swords. He was a blight on this town and if his luck didn’t change immediately, he was in trouble. For that reason, Eliot thought he needed to change his luck. So, he paid for a seat at the table with the last of his money. He scanned the tables. He saw the drink. He saw the woman. He recognized her immediately. His eyes settled on her appearance as he approached the table. She looked the same even with all the years that had passed. Diamond pendants hung heavy from her ears and pulled them down. Her red dress hugged her body and glittered in the dim light when she moved. She smoked a cigarette and the smoke curled around her as she exhaled.

“Hi, Elliot.” She ashed her cigarette. He saw a lipstick stain on the paper.

“Scarlett.” Elliot set his stack of chips on the table. “$500.” His last $500. Elliot swallowed down his fear.

Scarlett’s long red hair came down past her shoulders. It moved when she inclined her head toward him in greeting. A smile flashed across her face. “Nervous, Elliot?”

“What…me…no way.” He pulled at his collar. He wasn’t nervous. He was terrified. He was down to his last $500 and he’d pulled a nine of swords.

She took another long puff of her cigarette and added the smoke to the cigar smoke in the room. “It’s been so long Eliot since we’ve seen each other. No need to be nervous.” Her long fingers and soft hands, which burned into his memory, stretched and wrapped around her drink. She sipped it.

“Still the same drink.” He nodded with his head toward her wine glass.

“Some things never change.” She winked.

Eliot smiled back, feeling more at ease now, than before. That worried him. It had been a long time. So long ago that he wasn’t married yet. He didn’t have a daughter. He was a single guy looking to have fun back then. That’s what made him nervous now.

The game was poker, 5 card stud. A classic game for a classic meeting. Eliot drummed his fingers on the poker table as Scarlett reached for her stack of chips. She flung two into the pot and started the ante. Elliot matched her.

The dealer laid two cards each in front of them, one face down and one face up.

Scarlett had a four. Elliot a king. His heart thundered in his chest. It was a promising start. He looked at Scarlett.

“How have you been, Elliot?” She asked, as she counted out some chips and tossed them in the pot.

How could he sum up all those years in a sentence? It felt like so long ago, and it felt like yesterday. The old feelings started flooding back and he pushed them aside, burying them, as he thought about his wife.

He matched her bet. He had to. The dealer dealt them each another face up card. Scarlett added a three to her four. Elliot added a seven. He was down now and it was her turn to bet again, which she did. Elliot matched.

The dealer laid more cards. More betting by Scarlett. This time, though, Elliot hesitated. The chances of winning this hand were low. He looked at her and met her gleaming, beautiful eyes. He smirked. He folded. She leaned across the table, keeping eye contact with him the entire time, and scoop up the chips.

“What have you been up to?” Elliot tried to talk about something that wouldn’t distract him.

“Father died a few years back. Mum is in a home. Losing her mind. How are you?”

Elliot gulped. “Doing great.”

“I want to know how your life has improved since we last talked. Tell me everything.” The way she said the word improve made him flinch.

How do you go from talking to someone every day and then never seeing them again? Elliot choked up. He didn’t know. The situation back then had been difficult. “I never knew. It wasn’t my choice.”

“That’s right.” She said sternly. “That’s why we didn’t stay together.”

Scarlett shifted in her seat and leaned forward, putting her elbow on the table. Her hand gripped one of the diamond earrings and played with it. “Neither of us chose it. But…maybe we can choose it now.”

The dealer saved him from responding. The game went on like this hand after hand. Playing and betting. Elliot winning some and losing others. Small talk between the hands.

Several hours later, Scarlett was asking for her third drink and Elliot felt worried. Scarlett was getting more bold. He had to get away. He needed a break. “I need a drink.” He mumbled, pushing himself away from the table and making his way to the bar.

“I’ll come with,” Scarlett chased after him.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” he said.

Her hand was on his back. Her eyes gleamed. “Good choice.”

He turned and stepped back, trying to put some distance between them. She stepped toward him though. “I lost my father this year. It’s hard and I’m sorry for your loss.” He hoped death would cool things off a bit, slow the pace.

Her hand was on his chest. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you doing okay?”

He could smell the lilac of her perfume. The heat from her body pressed against his skin. He gulped. His head swam. He gave a weak nod and willed his drink to arrive sooner.

His willpower was fading, but he needed to focus. He needed to stay strong. He needed to win the game. He knew what would happen if he lost.

The Dealer had a nasty reputation in town. Elliot did not work at the paper mill. Elliot had a small business in town, but it wasn’t doing well. He rented a tiny shop next to the Tarot Card Shop and paid rent to The Dealer. He could not afford next month’s rent. When debts were unpaid The Dealer sent in the muscle.

He’d heard the stories, although he’d never seen them work. The threats were mild at first, and they might smack you around a bit, leaving bruises in spots that didn’t show. They would come back the next week looking for their money.

If you still couldn’t pay, things got more serious. Most people didn’t need all their fingers to work. They would break a finger every day until you paid. And when they ran out of fingers they would start on your toes. After the toes they would break your arm. If you couldn’t pay after they broke your arm, they would tie you to an anchor and throw you into the water.

Elliot needed to win tonight. If he didn’t win…he shuddered at the thought of it. His drink came and he rushed away from Scarlett, trying desperately to put space between them. He was a married man after all, even if things were bad.

Back at the table, reality set in once more. The game. His stack of dwindling chips. His beautiful opponent and their history together.

“I never expected to see you here again.” He said to her.

She smiled. “Who did you expect?”

He shrugged. “No one.”

“Ahh,” she leaned in. Her lips glistened in the light. “That was silly. You should have known I’d always return for you.”

“I’ve thought of you often.” His heart thundered in his chest. He couldn’t do this. Not now. Not like this. It wouldn’t be right. The cards got dealt. One face down and then one face up. A seven of spades. He threw in chips.

“I’ve never stopped thinking of you.” Scarlett called his bet.

Another card dealt. A four. The possibility of a straight. But, it would be tough to make. While Scarlett had a pair of threes. She bet and he called.

Rose Wine and Tarot Cards

Then another card fell, as a rising chill crept through his spine. He knew what he was going to do. He knew it and he didn’t know how he felt about it. A six stared at him. So, he had a seven, a six and a four. He needed a five, and then either a three or an eight.

1 in 65,000 odds.

They were long odds. He took a drink from his wine glass. It was crisp and refreshing. He looked at it.

“Good, isn’t it?” Scarlett flicked her eyes at his drink.

“Yes, it is. You have good taste.”

“Always.” She smiled at him. “And I always get what I want to taste.”

Elliot gulped. Elliot took another drink. Elliot looked at the cards again. She was still up on him. They both threw more chips in the pot and the dealer laid down more cards.

It was an eight! Good Lord, an eight! The straight was in sight! He had a chance. He needed a five. A five. That was it.

Meanwhile, Scarlett still had her pair of threes. It was a weak hand, but it would be a winning hand unless something changed. Something was going to change. He looked at his hand. All he needed to win was a four, a five, a six, a seven, or an eight. The five would give him a straight and every other card would give him a pair larger than her pair of measly threes.

His 1 in 64,000 odds were much better than that. These were great odds. These were winning odds. These were odds to bet the house on. So, when she placed her bet, Elliot not only called but he also raised. He went all in. He could live with certainty, but the unknown killed him. He had to know the outcome. Did he win and survive. Or, lose and end up in the crosshairs of The Dealer.

Scarlett’s eyes widened when he pushed all his chips in. She let out a very soft and almost imperceptible, “Ohhh.” Then she took a sip of her own drink. She stood. Her hand lingered for a second behind her stack of chips and then she pushed them into the pot, matching his bet.

“My odds are better.” Elliot exclaimed in glee.

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed and a vicious smile cut across her lips. “But, I remembered something that you didn’t?”

Fear gripped Elliot. What had he forgotten?

“You drew the nine of swords.” She whispered, her voice carrying quiet through the smoke of the room and hitting Elliot like someone’s fist.

“The nine of swords.” He whispered, dejected, as the realization dawned on him. He’d forgotten all about that. The nine of swords. It’s no secret by this point that Elliot was a bit of a risk taker. It’s also no surprise that this was the first time in twenty years he’d ended up in this gambling joint.

His luck was running low, and that stark reality was emphasized all the more by his recent Tarot Card Shop visit. Since his office was right next door, it was easy on slow days to pop over and talk to Madame Plentia. But, his visit last week revealed an uneasy omen. He’d pulled the nine of swords – a figure kneeling on a bed with nine swords hanging on the wall behind him.

It represents a person overwhelmed by his or her own thoughts. Someone caught in the mental anguish of their own mind. It’s a call to seek mental help. To address one’s mental health. And to understand how many of one’s worries are internally, not externally, created. It’s a challenging card to pull, and on the eve of this card game, not a good card to pull.

He was already an emotional wreck. Twenty years ago the rules of the bet were clear, when his father had faced off against Scarlett’s father. The dispute between the two business men had ended in this. Sunflower Cove wasn’t big enough for them both. One would have to go elsewhere and start over. So, they made a bet.

The loser would get banished for two decades. Each year, the winner would deposit 5% of his or her wealth into an account controlled by the dealer at this table, the only other living person in on the deal, and a lawyer in town.

At the end of 20 years, the dealer has all the winner’s wealth. The challenger, if the loser or an heir of the loser chooses to show up, has a chance to win back what got lost years ago.

So that’s how Elliot, better known in town as “The Dealer,” ended up at a poker table across from his high school girlfriend and the daughter of his father’s vanquished opponent. Twenty years ago to the day, his father had won this gambling joint, and this town, in a bet. That victory had crushed poor Elliot, as Scarlett and her family got banished from town. He lost his first love. His true love. He married a woman whom he did not love.

Today will determine who won for the next twenty years and who disappears into poverty.

She raised her glass. “To the nine.” She gulped, her eyes lusting. “I’m going to own you.” Then her face saddened and tears formed in her eyes. “But, you’re married now, aren’t you.” She trailed off.

She sat and took the rest of her drink in a single gulp. She motioned to the dealer and he flipped a card face up in front of him.

He stared. He slumped back into his chair. A nine. The dreaded nine of swords come to haunt him in the worst of ways. He didn’t see the dealer flip Scarlett’s card, though when he looked up he saw that she’d gotten another three.

She had three of a kind. He had nothing but the nine staring up at him. Haunting him. Destroying him.

She rose without a word and walked to the bar. Elliot did not move. His life was over. Twenty years from now he’d be fifty eight. His wife hated him. His daughter was an adult. He’d likely be leaving town alone.

Post Malone and Rose Wine

Elliot looked up to see Scarlett standing over him. He smelled her perfume. He watched as she leaned in close. “Do you still love me?” She whispered. Her lips were getting closer. They were bright red and inviting.

“Yes,” he cried out. “Yes. I love you.” He pushed his head up toward her. He closed his eyes as she grabbed the back of his neck.

Then he was kissing her. Her lips were smooth as glass. They were colder than he expected. He reached for her but grabbed nothing. His eyes opened in surprise.

“Your love means nothing when you have nothing. It would have meant everything when you had everything.” She pressed the glass wine bottle she held into his hand, the bottle he had kissed instead of her lips. “Here, something to remember me by. See you in twenty years.”

Then she walked away, taking her trailing lilac scent with her, and leaving Elliot sitting there holding an empty bottle of Maison No 9. The rose wine, that Post Malone named after the nine of swords tarot card. His favorite card in the deck.