Ah, the good old days. Remember when only bad girls wore animal print? And men connected with them through the 900 numbers advertised on late-night television?

I barely do either. The phone-sex comedy “For a Good Time, Call…” doesn’t really look like a period piece. But its world is one in which the Internet hasn’t happened. How else to explain why its attractive female protagonists looking for cash start a 900 line instead of an online webcam?