A/N Though this WIP fic pays (obvious) homage to Freaky Friday, it was actually inspired by one of WatchMojo's recent videos about TV's most hilarious body-swaps. While watching, I happened to also be thinking, What should my next Will & Grace fic be about? And naturally, those two thoughts procreated and this idea was born. I really look forward to writing this!
"Grace Adler designs," Grace says, holding the receiver and smiling through gritted teeth.
Karen's late again. Three hours late.
Sometimes, Grace really thinks about firing her.
Except not really.
"So, what exactly is it that you do?" says the male caller. He sounds young, and oddly familiar.
Grace is caught off guard by the question.
"Um...well, this is a design firm. I'm...an interior designer," she explains.
A stifled laugh comes from the other end of the line.
"More like - more like inferior designer," the voice says, cackling.
Grace furrows her brow, finally recognizing the voice.
"Elliot, is that you?"
There's an awkward pause.
"...I'm so sorry, Grace. Karen said if I crank called you, she'd buy me a new XBox," Elliot says hastily.
With a click, the line goes dead.
Grace purses her lips, then rubs her temples.
"Oy vey," she mumbles under her breath.
The door closes behind her, and she whips around, all ready to give Karen the "if-you're-late-one-more-time" routine. She stops in her tracks, a stiff finger frozen in the air, as she sees Will standing in the doorway instead, holding two coffees.
"Wow. I know you're mad when you actually break out the Yiddish," he comments coolly. Grace tightens her jaw, then moves to snatch her coffee from Will.
"I'm having a bad day," she says, hoisting herself up onto the table and tearing off the plastic lid. She sniffs. "Will, is this soy milk?" she says, her nose wrinkling.
"Yeah. We're off dairy this month, remember?" Will replies, before taking a sip.
"Great. Now I'm having a really bad day," Grace hisses, slamming the coffee cup down.
"What's up?" Will says, eyeing his friend with an expression more resembling amusement than genuine concern.
Grace knows that Will can be a great friend when he wants to be, but it always seemed to her that from Monday through Friday, nine through five, Will is perpetually in cocky-lawyer-businessman mode, looking down on her with an unspoken sense of superiority.
She tends to avoid venting about her problems during this window, but she has no-one else right now, so she relents.
"Well, besides the fact that my assistant is M-I-A, my coffee is made of plant water, and the fact that I have a date with Josh tonight…"
Will grimaces.
"I somehow got all my blueprints mixed up, and I accidentally delivered a box of eye bolts and a sex swing to my Aunt Honey's new condo."
"A sex...swing?" Will says slowly.
"A sex swing," Grace repeats for emphasis.
"What is that, exactly?" he asks.
"I don't know, you tell me. You're the gay one."
"For the last time, Grace, gay is not synonymous with kinky…"
"Oh, and did I mention I'm working for this total schlemiel who has absolutely no artistic vision?" she cuts in, angrily. "He's all like, Uh, Miss Adler, no offense, but for me, fish tanks and potted plants don't represent aesthetic betterment, they just represent unnecessary roommates."
"I don't know what you're complaining about, Grace," Will says airily. "I still think you've got the easiest job in the world."
Grace groans. "I knew you'd get all judge-y."
"I'm just saying…"
"Don't say it," she warns.
"I mean-"
"Don't you dare say it, so help me god-"
"A gay guy could do your job in his sleep."
"Aaaand you said it." Grace scowls. "You think my job is easy?"
Will shrugs. "I think your entire life is easy, Grace. You're self-employed, you've got an assistant who doesn't cash her checks, a friend who pays half your rent and your groceries, and a boyfriend who worships the ground you walk on-"
Grace cuts in indignantly.
"Let's review; being self-employed is super hard, actually, my assistant never shows up on time, my friend is an arrogant jerk who only buys fat-free products, and my boyfriend…" Grace trails off, and then pulls a face. "Makes me necklaces out of oysters and tracks my menstrual cycle so he knows when to give me herbal teas."
Will laughs. "Be honest, Grace, you're a Jewish American Princess. That's exactly the kind of relationship you've always wanted to be in."
"Okay, I'm going to ignore your anti-Semitic and vaguely misogynistic undertones," Grace snaps, "to argue that your life, is in fact, really easy."
"You think so?" Will challenges.
"Yeah, actually. Spoiled little rich kid from Connecticut, uses his boyish good looks and charisma to get ahead, not to mention the cushy lawyer job…"
Will reels back, offended.
"Cushy? You think my job is cushy?"
"Yeah! Cushy! Cushier than this hideous lavender chaise I'm about to deliver to the local retirement home!" Grace hits back. "I could do your job in my sleep."
Will folds his arms defensively.
"Contrary to your belief, Grace, having seen every episode of Ally McBeal doesn't actually qualify you as a lawyer."
Grace scoffs. "Oh, you wish you were Ally McBeal. You're not even a litigator. You just sit around in your office, with your fancy books, gazing out at that huge Calvin Klein underwear billboard, before sauntering out every lunchtime to show up at my workplace to bring me pretentious coffee and make condescending remarks." She exhales, before shrugging. "I don't know, I just think it would be really easy to be Will Truman."
Will tosses his empty coffee cup into the trash can and turns to give her a judgemental once-over.
"Really, 'cause I'm willing to wager that being Grace Adler is one big dance around the maypole."
"I'd like to see you try to be me," Grace says, eyes narrowed.
"Well, first of all, this," Will saunters over to her desk, picks up an apricot lampshade and twists it languidly in his hands, "most definitely does not go with this." He gestures to the chaise, and turns to give Grace a incriminating pout.
She shifts uncomfortably.
"Oh, you think you're so much more qualified than me just because you're gay?" she argues.
"No, this isn't me being gay. This is me having eyes. And being among the ninety-two percent of the public who aren't color-blind." He throws the lampshade back to her, and she catches it clumsily. "I have to go."
"Sure, go back to your overpaid job, Perry Gayson. Back to kissing Doucette's ass and organizing Christmas potlucks!"
Will leaves wordlessly, and Grace folds her arms. Why does Will Truman always seem to win the fight just by making a silent yet sassy exit? It must be a gay thing.
God, I would rock at being a gay man, Grace thinks. Why was I lumped with the cruel fate of being a straight woman? She stalks back to her desk and sets about aggressively organizing her fabrics. I'd love to be him, just for a day.
Almost instantaneously, the floor begins to shake violently. Grace springs back in alarm, dropping several of her swatches. As the metal table rattles against the floor, she squeals and dives for cover, hands over her head and fingers interlaced protectively.
Over the noise, she hears the door open and shut and she glances up cautiously.
"Sweetie, what's going on here? What's this?" Karen says, gesturing at Grace's ridiculous position.
"I'm...taking cover. From the earthquake." Grace replies, her voice shaking. She sits up slowly, realizing that everything is once again, completely still.
"What earthquake, honey?"
"I swear...there was a huge earthquake right now. Everything was...moving!"
She looks down at her fabrics, splayed around her, then stares at her hands.
"Lord," Karen observes. "Whatever drug you're high on, I'll take four of them." She cackles as she takes a seat at her desk. "Come on, sweetie, get up. I don't pay you to sit on your ass all day."
On a normal day, Grace would remind Karen that she's the boss and then chastise her for being late, but she's too dazed to muster the words. Instead, she staggers to her feet, wondering what the hell just happened.
Thanks for reading and let me know if you want me to continue!