No One's A Fool (Revised & Complete)

Chapter 1

"What's your name?" Joe asks, as he's done a dozen times already this afternoon. He doesn't look up, already penning his signature onto the paper.

"It's Wrenna. W-r-e-n-n-a." Upon hearing that name, he looks up immediately.

"Wrenna Nicks." He says, quietly, nodding.

"Yeah. Nicks-Fleetwood, but - how did you know?" She smiles, looking confused.

"You're Stevie Nicks' daughter. I met you once, when you were a baby. You couldn't remember that, though. You were way too young." He shakes his head dismissively.

"Oh cool!" She flashes him a smile. "Was it at a show or something?"

"Uh, yeah, something like that. A benefit, I think." Joe says, once again looking down. Focus, he thinks, just sign the damn autograph and move on!

"Yeah, my mom's been friends with Don Henley for years, but she's never really talked about the Eagles as a band. I always kind of thought she just did stuff with Don solo. I guess it would make sense for her to come to the band's shows, though." She shrugs, as if she's never considered it. And really, she hasn't. When your mother is a rock star, rock star friends aren't that impressive. Though she has always loved Don as a friend, she's never listened to much of The Eagles past what she's heard on the radio. In truth, she's only come here by chance. She explains to Joe that she was in the same building, for a work meeting, and someone mentioned to her that Joe Walsh was downstairs.

"I thought it was funny that I'd never met you, and you're in the same band as Don. So I thought I'd come introduce myself." She explains to him.

"I'm glad you did." He smiles, forcing himself to look at her. She has her mother's mouth, those trademark lips that pucker out so naturally. She has a lot of Stevie's features, in fact, from the tiny frame to the long wavy blonde hair.

"Did you know Fleetwood Mac toured with The Eagles in the late 70's?" He offers.

"I think I..." She bites her lip, looking as though she's trying to recall something. "Yeah, I think I remember my mom telling me that!" She nods.

"That's where I first met your mom – where Don met her, too." He explains. "And I did a few shows with her in the mid-80's as well. Just a few."

"Oh really? I didn't know that! I wasn't born until '87 though, so it was before I was born."

"Just a little." He smiled. "So you're a Fleetwood - Mick is your dad?" As he asks, he tries hard to look genuine. He knows exactly who her father is.

"Yes, Mick is my dad. You know him too?"

"Everyone knows Mick. He's one of the best drummers in the business." He tells her. "So why the hyphenated last name?"

"Oh, because my parents weren't married when I was born. So my mom just gave me her name, and then later I decided to add Fleetwood to it. I really like it that way, though. I'm my mom's only child, and she kept her name. So it ties me to both of my parents." She explains.

Mick Fleetwood, namesake of Stevie's band, is raising a child who could have been his. If he had not been so stupid, if he had not left Stevie the way he did, they could have made it. Wrenna could have been his, he knows. It was Mick who swooped in, like a hero, and saved the day. He fathered this child with Stevie, giving her what she had so desperately wanted – and asked – out of Joe all those years ago. It was a point that Mick had made to him when they had seen each other years later in passing.

"Nothing wrong with that." He shrugs, trying not to let his thoughts wander too far. "So with all that music in your blood, I bet you inherited a lot of musical talent."

"Well, I dance." She says. "That's my thing. I mean, I do sing too, but not professionally."

"Do you play any instruments?" He inquires.

"I can strum a guitar. And I can play piano some."

"I bet you're better than you say. People are always really good when they say they're not." He tells her, walking over to the corner of the room.

"No, I'm really just okay. I mean, I can carry a tune, but like I said – not in front of 10,000 people." She insists. He turns and grabs his own guitar, holding it out to her.

"How about in front of just one or two?" He hands her the guitar.

"This is a really nice Gibson." She says, taking it in her hands.

"Custom made." He smirks.

"That's real rock star status." She shakes her head.

"You know something about guitars. Now I know you can play." He remarks. She hesitates, but he nods. "Go ahead." He tells her, and she sighs, putting the strap around her neck. She begins to play, and he knows the song immediately: Wonderwall, by Oasis. She sings along as she plays, and Joe is entranced by her voice. It reminds him so much of Stevie in the early days, before cocaine got a hold of her.

And all the roads that lead you there were winding

And all the lights that light the way are blinding

There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't know how

"That was great." He says quietly, when she's finished. She stares at the ground, shyly. "You've got a great voice. And you can play the guitar."

"Well, I guess when you grow up with a band, you learn a few things." She shrugs. "My dad taught me drums when I was little. I picked up the other instruments after that." His heart sinks. Her dad taught her – that could have been you, he thinks.

"He did a good job teaching you." He nods.

"Thanks."

"Well Miss Wrenna Nicks-Fleetwood, I tell you what. You've never been to see the Eagles in concert?"

"Not that I can remember, no." She shakes her head.

"How long are you in town for?"

"The next week." She answers. "I'm teaching at a dance convention."

"Think you can make it up to Bethel Woods on Wednesday night?"

"Wednesday is the only night I'm free, actually."

"I've got four tickets for you, if you want them. You can bring some friends." He offers.

"Seriously?!" Her eyes go wide. He can tell that although she's lived the life of a celebrity's child, she hasn't become jaded. Someone has instilled gratefulness and manners in her.

"Absolutely." He smiles.

"Oh my gosh, that's so cool! Yes, I would love to come!" Her grin is so genuine that it causes him to smile too. He tells her the time and that she's welcome to come backstage when she gets there, and then she catches him by surprise asking if she can hug him. Evenly, he says yes, and he catches the scent of essential oils as she puts her arms around him. Just like her mother.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Walsh. I'll see you Wednesday!" She calls, and she's already halfway out of sight.