Suzanne Krauss - To Vegas and Back

A Memoir By

Suzanne R. Krauss

Changing Lives Press

50 Public Square #1600

Cleveland, OH 44113

www.changinglivespress.com

Cover design by Asami Designs.

2013 Suzanne R. Krauss. All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9894529-5-3

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the copyright owner.

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To my family.

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Contents

In an effort to write this book as honestly and factually as possible, in addition to my own memories I relied on the memories of my mother, sister, and select family members. I have recreated the dialogue from my mothers showgirl days to bring those fascinating experiences to life. I used my personal journal for recapping and consolidating dialogue with my therapist. To ensure confidentiality, some names have been changed. If you see your likeness in a character and my mother, sister, or I dont know you, rest assured it is not you.

Our story is graphicthere was no way to sugarcoat it and retain the integrity. My hope is that by the time you finish this this book, you will see the silver lining. If your story is like ours, or worse, I hope you will be encouraged to get the help you need to sort it out and leave it behind youdont let the years that robbed you of your past, rob you of your future.

I was quietly playing in my bedroom with my rescue dog, Daisy, when the vicious screaming began. I picked her up and ran to the corner that was farthest from the door. I sat there and hugged my boney knees to my chest. My long, dark, straggly hair covered my face to protect me from whatever was happening outside my room. Daisy licked my hands, comforting me as I tightened into a human ball.

At church that Sunday I had learned that God was always listening. I called on every holy name I could remember, Jesus, Lord, God, Holy One. Then I called on the names I remembered from my Jewish summer camp, Adonai, Elohim, HaShemwhoever is listening, please make him stop. I rocked back and forth, wondering if I had confused the Gods by calling on them all at once. I listened to the hateful words echo off the hallway walls and make their way into my room. You bitch! Whore! Bastard kike! I am going to kill you, Olivia!

Each word felt like an assault. I had to see what was going on. I hesitantly got up and walked toward my doorway. Daisy followed, but I told her to sit and stay. I walked down the long cream-carpeted hallway that led to my older sister Ranis room. It was empty.

She slept at a friends house most nights, so it was wishful thinking that she would be home. I hesitated for a moment to look at the mess of her favorite albums scattered on the floor: Ted Nugent, Elton John, Tommy. I then tiptoed toward the screaming and entered the spacious terra-cotta tiled front hall.

Thankfully, Rani was there. She was standing with her back to me, her six-foot-tall frame obstructing my view. I carefully came around to her side, staying as close to her as possible. I saw Paul sitting on top of Mom, straddling her long, thin torsoand then I saw a gun on the floor. I gasped, but no one heard me or even turned to look. I could see Moms long, athletic legs kicking to break loose from his holdher white stilettos kicking on the red tile floor. I moved to the other side of my sister to get a better look, my hands never leaving her waist as I crept around her. Paul had his large hands around Moms neck.

You Mother-fucking whore! I am going to kill you!

I looked down at my beautiful mom. Her always-stylish red hair was damp from tears and sweat. Her impeccably tailored white suit was now wrinkled and pulled open, exposing her large, braless bosom. Her flawless face was barely recognizable with blotchy red spots and tearstains. My breath hitched as our hazel eyes metmine wide with fear, hers bulging and red. I saw the resignation etched in her faceshe had finally been defeated. After six long years, our final fate would be to witness her death by this heinous monster.

I glanced at the large window adjacent from us and caught the reflection of my sister and me. It was the first time I had ever seen us side by side; I was less than half her sizea five-years-younger miniature. I tried to gain her attention with my eyes. I desperately willed her to look at me, but she was frozen erect with her fists clenched at her sides. My face contorted at the thought of the newspaper headline: Vegas Showgirl Strangled to DeathChildren by Her Side.

New York CityOctober 1996

Suzanne

The ringing was intolerable. My heart raced in time with the relentless noise as I bolted upward in bed. I looked to the far bedside table and the angry-looking red numbers read 2:25. I nudged Bradley, my boyfriend, who was fast asleep.

Bradley, get up. Turn off the alarm. I cant stand it!

He groggily opened his eyes and said he didnt hear anything. He looked at the clock and reminded me that it was 2:25 in the morning. He was asleep seconds later. I put my hands over my ears. The ringing was excruciatingly loudand only in my head?

I got out of bed and then froze as I felt my blood slowly drain from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers. I cautiously looked at my feet, confirming that I wasnt standing in a pool of my own blood. I felt cold and prickly, as though every nerve ending were exposed. I walked over to my half-open bedroom window and peered down. I opened the window a bit farther and stuck my head out to see fourteen floors down to the city street. I placed both of my hands on the windowsill and grasped it so tightly my knuckles turned white. I wanted to jumpI felt I had to jump, but instead stumbled backward, eyeing my window as if it were a mortal enemy. When I bumped into my bed, I quickly spun around, ran out of my room and headed for the bathroom. My legs were trembling, and I grasped the walls to keep my balance. Something was terribly wrong with me.

In my six-by-six-foot bathroom, I splashed water on my face and looked up at my reflection in the mirror. My tired eyes looked back at me, revealing nothing other than the traces of black kohl eyeliner I had worn for my brothers wedding in Vegas just thirty hours earlier. I couldnt tolerate the irritation of my long hair brushing against my back and arms. I grabbed a black elastic band and hastily threw the thick mass up on top of my head. I thought maybe I was simply dehydrated from the daylong Sunday flight. But then I pensively took another look at myself and watched as my face lost color and perspiration broke out on my forehead. I was not dehydrated. I was pretty certain that I was going mad.

I felt that the walls of my small bathroom were closing in on me. I was cold, but sweating; heart racing, but I wasnt moving. I collapsed on the closed toilet seat. I had to focus on a happy place. Happy place, happy place the past weekend in Vegas, Todds wedding, happy place