DISCLAIMER 1: I do not own any of the characters or any portion of the script/score of My Fair Lady. My work is done as a tribute to Shaw, Lerner and Loewe. DISCLAIMER 2: Oh I never been to St. John's / but I kinda like the music... (i.e. Newfies rock!)

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"Yours sincerely..." A third letter typed for Professor Higgins to sign on his return. Eliza Doolittle was proud that she no longer really needed to ask Mrs Pearce to proofread her letters, but she asked her anyway, out of respect. She enjoyed diving into the multivolume Oxford Dictionary that Higgins owned. It gave her ammunition in her somewhat peppery discussions with the professor. She recalled that he once said that arguments could be "fun", which she did not believe at the time. But she now allowed that possibility since she had started winning a few of them.

Eliza had been Higgins' assistant for nearly a year. She gave all the books and the newspapers that crossed her desk a good looking over, and took as much as she could from them. She was also meeting a great number of fascinating people, from worlds she never knew existed, come to collaborate with and learn from Higgins. Between what Higgins and Pickering had taught her and what she realized was the resourcefulness she had had all along, she thought she could do anything. Some days she felt like the world was her plaything. And some days she felt like the only thing she truly wanted she could not have.

The bell rang. The postman, right on time. "Afternoon, Miss Doolittle, the governor here?"

"Off at a meeting, Mr. Floyd. How is your little family today?"

"Perfect, perfect! The missus and the baby are settling in, and little Ned hasn't decided to be jealous yet, so he's still a help."

"You're a lucky fellow, Mr. Floyd."

"Oh, don't worry, Miss Doolittle, a pretty and capable lady like yourself, your time will come. You have two from India and one from Portugal in this batch. Good day to you."

He's entirely too happy for a sleep-deprived dad with a squalling baby at home, thought Eliza, scowling. She willed up memories of caring for her neighbors' brats as she was growing up, but it didn't work. Higgins kept getting in the way. All the world out there beckoning her, and it was that acerbic, self-centered old scholar she couldn't be without. She deplored his rationalising, yet his clever talk and wordplay were almost like absinthe to her. So here she was, her own prisoner. But she had to be careful, because he could sack her at a moment's notice if things got too uncomfortable for him. She cursed herself for allowing Higgins the upper hand in this arrangement.

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Henry Higgins stormed round the corner onto Wimpole Street. Today he preferred walking to a cab, it wasn't that much slower, and he was still agitated about his Philologics Association meeting. He thought being asked to fill the vacant seat on the journal committee was an honor; now he wondered how many people had said no first and why he was not aware of that. He had envisioned seeing cutting-edge research in advance of publication, and instead he was inundated with politicking and petty territorialism.

He looked forward to returning home and unbottling his complaints on Eliza. No matter that she was frequently stubborn, or that her opinions often differed (sometimes strenuously) from his, she generally was a patient listener, even sympathetic at surprising moments.

Eliza. He recalled the conversation he overheard in the front hall before the meeting came to order.

"Higgins. I'd pity his wife. Is he married?"

"No. He should probably marry that assistant of his, though. They already bicker like an old married couple."

"No, I've seen her. She can do a lot better than him." General subdued merriment.

His sour mood returned. How long could this last? Certainly Eliza would move on eventually. She was bright and able, too spirited for an old academic like him, easily one good row away from giving notice, and then where would he be? Despite all he had achieved in his life, it would feel like starting from nothing again. He couldn't help feeling that Eliza had the upper hand in this arrangement.

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Higgins opened the front door and saw Eliza at her desk in the front hall. His mood lifted just a bit. She looked like she had some good news. Maybe his three o'clock cancelled. "Good afternoon, Professor." She cheerily handed him a small stack of letters. "How was the meeting?"

"Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful." Higgins sorted the stack. "If they aspire to being the premier society for the study of linguistics in the world, they need each one of them to stop being so blasted parochial. Hm. Delhi. By George, it's from Pickering!" He tore the letter open. "Excellent, excellent, he's come into some family property in Harrow. Says he'll be returning to England for good in about two months. Splendid!"

"So I've heard."

Did she know everything? "And how did you find out?"

"He sent me a postcard." She blithely waved a hand-tinted photo of the Taj Mahal under an impossibly blue sky.

"Yes, well, I imagine you'll be happy to see him back in town after dealing with me on your own for ten months."

"It's built my character." Eliza smiled defiantly. Higgins snorted. "And you'll be happy to see him as well, won't you, Professor?"

"He's certainly always good for a chuckle. Not always intentionally, poor fellow."

"You could do with a chuckle from him now. Your three o'clock is here."

"Lord give me strength."

"And Mr Parsons has a request. It seems that the meeting with his fiancee's parents has been moved ahead, and he wishes to ask if you would consider giving him a discount on the per-hour rate if he takes two hours of lessons a day instead of one."

"Discount? The man's from Newfoundland. I should be doubling the rate. Honestly, you might think that the letters T-H are forbidden there from appearing together in public"

"I think you should do it. You're bound to succeed with him, and the word of mouth will bring more business in the door."

"Business is good. I can afford to turn away a client if it is a question of my sanity."

"Your reputation, then. You've already given him two lessons, and it's only for a fortnight. Certainly getting a Newfoundlander to speak English is a significant achievement!" Eliza said wryly.

"Already done. Mulholland wrote a paper on it three years ago."

"Then your reputation as a gentleman of your word! You have already agreed to take him as a student."

"Yes, and he's trying to get me to agree to twice our agreed time!"

"It would be a valuable show of good will toward a student...!"

"I don't care about good will!" shouted Higgins.

"And that's why you hired me!" shouted Eliza. "To care FOR you!"

They stared at each other. It happened again. Certain phrases or words slipped out at odd times, phrases that threatened to open the door between them and let their real desires see the day. It happened twice yesterday. Eliza had offhandedly commented that the calendar indicated that Higgins belonged to the Philologics Association next Tuesday through Thursday, and he said he would write a request he had for Cambridge the next Friday "when I belong to you again." Then after tea Eliza, annoyed with his delay in writing the request, said he needed to "propose quickly while you have a chance." This of course was nothing compared to luncheon at Higgins' mother's home the day before. Mrs. Higgins was fond of Eliza and had chided her son for not bringing her along more often. Eliza graciously replied that she was often busy and not available to accompany him, and he countered with, "Nonsense, I can have her anytime I want." Mrs. Higgins coughed into her napkin for some time after that.

"...for you, in a manner of speaking," Eliza mumbled, red-faced.

"In a manner of speaking," acknowledged Higgins, red-faced.

More staring. They were both uncharacteristically silent.

Eliza set her jaw and stood up. "We need to talk. About everything. We can't keep letting... unsaid things... get in the way."

"Exactly!" Higgins broke eye contact and started to pace. "Air it all out. Put everything on the table and decide forward courses of action. It's the prudent and necessary thing to do."

"But not now, because Mr Parsons is in the next room."

"Oh, please!... Very well, you're the scheduler, let's schedule it. When are you- rather, when am I free?"

Eliza turned over a page in the calendar, then turned it back. "Today at five o'clock, assuming this lesson goes that long?"

Higgins growled and struggled with his control. "Yes! Yes!" he barked. "Five it is! Could have been four, but I seem to be busy!" He flopped into a chair, took a few deep breaths, and looked at Eliza. "I will endeavour to be calmer. I know this is important."

Eliza smiled a bit. "You can start at five by telling me all about the lesson."

The study door opened. An impeccably dressed and pathetically eager young man put his head out into the front hall. "Ah, Professor, you're back! She's settled, den?"

Higgins sighed, put his hand to his forehead and said carefully, "Who is settled, Mr Parsons?"

"She's settled dat you'll be teaching me anodder..." Higgins gave Parsons a withering glare over his shoulder. Parsons trembled a bit. "An... anottthhhher oar... OW-er."

Higgins looked at Eliza again, then slowly stood up to go into the study. "Another hour, yes, Mr Parsons, I will. We shall need it to discuss your pronoun use. As a rule, 'she' is ONLY to be used for people, pets, and occasionally boats, is that understood?" The door to the study closed.

Eliza took a slightly tremulous breath. Well, this is what she had been wanting for so long, and now it was imminent. Things would be settled one way or the other after this evening. She looked down at the calendar. She would write it in, just in case anyone called, and also to make it more real to her.

What to call it? "Appointment?" Too vague. "Planning meeting." She wrote it and immediately erased it. It assumed there was something to plan, and that seemed dangerously optimistic. "Discern future..." Oh no no no, that sounded like a solicitor. "Assignation..." What was she thinking! She scribbled that out and then erased it. Now think, she scolded herself, before you make a hole in the page. If not in content, why won't this be the same in form as any other discussion you have with him?

In the book she wrote, "Debate."