I smiled. She was probably right.

There was nothing my mother could do about all this. Rules, lectures, and pouty faces were useless. It was simply my destiny to draw the admiration and desire, most assuredly the lust, of every man who stepped within the radius of my beauty. I had the power, the glow. To pretend I could stop it or even moderate it was as silly as pretending I could prevent the sun from rising.

“My father would certainly agree when it comes to my attracting the interest of men. I wish it wasn’t indelicate for a father to have a conversation with his daughter about a man’s sexual needs and all that we must know to be successful at romance. Men know more than women when it comes to the art of lovemaking anyway.”

“The art?” Edna said, nearly laughing. I didn’t smile.

“Of course it’s an art, Edna. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Haven’t you listened to anything?”

“You could probably get your father to talk about it,” Daisy said, half joking. “He dotes on you.”

“Yes,” I said proudly. “He does. If I grimace at something my mother says about me, he comes to my defense, and a tear trickling down my cheek would rush along a gift or a promise of one to compensate for my bruised feelings. I know when that will work and when it won’t.”

“Do you mean to say you do that deliberately? I mean, start to cry?” Agnes asked.

I shrugged. “Whatever works, Agnes. It’s called a woman’s wiles, a chapter in that book I asked you to imagine. It’s part of what you have to learn to do when it comes to men.”

“But your father isn’t . . .”

“What? A man? Of course he is, and it’s good practice. There’ll be many other men.”

“My father doesn’t dote on me like that,” Agnes said. “My crying wouldn’t matter.”

I could practically see the jealousy dripping from the corners of her mouth. She was the youngest of four, and all three older than her were boys.

“Yes,” I said. “Men do favor their sons.”

“You’re an only child,” Agnes whined.

“But my being an only child is not the only reason he treats me special.”

“What other reason is there?” Edna asked. I could see her mind swirling with sinful and forbidden possibilities now that I had said he was a man.

“Pride,” I said. “And not simply because I’m his daughter, Edna. My father is quite experienced and objective when it comes to attractive women. His work and his important responsibilities require him to be a connoisseur of beauty, especially when it comes to the wives of his clients and business associates.”