—Josh Plaza, 32, film sales/p.r. rep
Three years ago, Josh Plaza came to New York to find Liorah Singerman, a girl he'd known since high school.
"It was after I'd graduated from film school in Boston. A friend rented me half of the living room of his Inwood apartment for $515 a month, and I was happy with the arrangement," says Plaza. "It'd been seven years since I'd seen Liorah. At that time, I'd been involved with another woman, but that relationship didn't last, and I found myself dreaming about getting together with Liorah. I couldn't get her out of my mind. I'd heard she was working as a waitress in Manhattan, and I was determined to find her."
No such luck. Liorah wasn't listed, and she no longer worked at the several restaurants mentioned by Plaza's friends. Nobody had her forwarding address.
"I was busy working, and time was passing quickly. I hadn't exactly given up on finding Liorah, but figured that if I couldn't—if it wasn't meant to be—New York was filled with fascinating women, and I'd eventually meet someone who measured up to her."
But it was meant to be.
"A year and a half later, I was at the 59th St. subway station, standing on the downtown 1/9 train platform. It was morning rush hour, and a sea of people wearing dark colors was whirling around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed someone wearing a bright yellow coat and turned to look at her. It was Liorah! She turned to face me, and our eyes met. My heart started pounding and I was breathless, speechless—but I managed to say 'hello,'" says Plaza. "We were both heading for 28th St. We talked all the way, catching up. I tried to find out whether she was married or engaged—but I was too afraid to ask directly. We agreed to meet for lunch later that week, and before we parted she gave me a quick, nervous kiss on the cheek—which I interpreted as a signal that she was free and interested."
Two months later, they were living together in Liorah's studio coop on W. 57th Street.
"I couldn't bear to leave her to go back to Inwood. So, I moved in with Liorah and her English sheep dog, Bilbo Baggins, and her cat, Vashti. We're in one room, 250 square feet in size. There's our bed, then the kitchen's one wall, the loveseat's the living room and a bedside computer is our office. Everything's in one room, but that's okay, because we love each other," says Plaza. "At first, we thought we'd like more space. Liorah found a one-bedroom on the East Side, and we moved.
"But we found it too big. When we were in different rooms from each other, we each had a feeling of emptiness. We missed being able to reach out and touch each other."
After three months, they decided to move back to Liorah's coop, which hadn't yet been sublet.
"We were in financial panic. We had to find someone to take over the apartment lease, or would've had to cover the $1600 monthly rent, as well as studio maintenance fees. Someone rented the one-bedroom a week before we moved back home," says Plaza. "We joke about the one-bedroom—when Liorah goes to the other side of the studio, she'll call out, "Honey, I'm in the kitchen."
Closeness isn't all they like about the studio.
"The location is great, and it's affordable. Liorah got a great deal. She paid $65,000 for the coop that's quadrupled in value. We split the $600 maintenance and other expenses. We're saving for our future," says Plaza. "I'd say we're investing in our careers, rather than in our living situation. Liorah's waitressing, but studies guitar. I'm putting my resources into developing my film career. As long as Bilbo and Vashti can coexist in the studio, Liorah and I are ecstatically happy here."
