Some Enchanted Girlfriend by Donna Lamb 15. Call Over It’s rather a shock to discover that you’ve had a career as a pornstar that you didn’t know about. The Wendy Splendid movies ran the gamut from bondage with ropes and scarves to bondage with chains and science fictiony devices.

I particularly liked the cover of “To The Moon, Windy!” where I wore one arm and one leg of what looked like a spacesuit, suitably held in clamps, while a fat guy and a skinny guy gloat over me. Yes, “my” name was misspelled in the title. Most of the covers did have a sense of humor and frequently had some travel tie-in with planes, trains, cars, trucks, spaceships, boats, motorbikes and amusement park rides on the cover. No golf carts.

“Wow,” I said. “I’ve got a ouevre.”

Other than restraints, I didn’t seem to wear much in my movies. Corsets, bustiers, high heels and jewelry seemed to be all that were required of the plots. If they had plots. I had a cravat and a set of bunny ears and nothing else I could see on the cover of “Wendy Spendit Goes to Sidneyland!” The name changed more than once.

I noticed something else. The jewel cases, about forty of them, sat in an order on the shelves. The order seemed to be chronological, as my stardom developed from, “Certain Blondage, Introducing Brenda Splendid” on the left end through the name change to Wendy with the second movie, to “Wendy Splendid Stars in Blondes on a Plane” at the right end. My name and my tits on the covers seemed to get bigger from left to right.

Well, no, they’re both the same size. I checked.

“Making porno movies makes your tits get bigger?” I asked no one. It might, I supposed, if your boss insisted you get plastic surgery. I felt of my boobs experimentally but they seemed like big bags of fat, muscle and breast tissue with no hard insides. And I couldn’t find any scarring either.

“Maybe I magicked them bigger,” I half-joked. If I’m a sorceress or a witch, maybe I’m not joking at all.

I debated putting one of the discs in and watching at least part of it but decided not. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what sort of scenes I would see and the thought of seeing myself, my current self, tied up and presumably, well, fucked, did strange things to me already. Better not find out just how much that might turn me on.

“Turn me loose, blubber,” I said aloud, the punchline of some old parody song I once heard. I put the discs back and rubbed my sore tits but stopped that because I liked it too damn much. “If today is any measure of my, uh, tendencies...um, I may be in the right business?”

Holding the last disk, “Blondes on a Plane,” I cocked my head and chirped in a suggestively succulent baby-doll squeak, “I’m sure if you don’t have a ticket we can work something out, Mr. Harden Traveller!” And I winked.

I knew without having to play the disk, that was an actual line from the movie. Shivering as if someone had taxied a jumbo airliner over my grave, I put the disk back and started to turn away from the corner.

Something else caught my eye, though. Pushed into a narrow vertical space beside the oak cabinet supporting the big screen TV was a contraption that looked a lot like a folded-up wheelchair. I wondered if the wheelchair had leg and arm restraints built in, like the one I seemed to remember from a dream I’d had.

I decided I didn’t want to find out since just seeing the device made my already aching legs and back tremble with weakness and fatigue. I knew something about that chair that I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t turn my back on that corner but instead scuttled backward to the middle of the room before turning around.

I gave up trying to puzzle out what the pattern of my new life meant and went looking for my kitten. I found Muffins in the dressing room, struggling with pulling a necklace free from a pile of tangled up jewelry hanging out of one of the drawers near the wall of bondage toys. She tugged it loose just as I came in.

“You need to put this on. Quick,” she said. Odd how she could talk clearly with a mouthful of metal.

I picked up the ropy and surprisingly heavy chain. Nine smaller chains dangled from it, each a different length and ending in a setting for a shiny but rough-edged stone. “What?” I started to ask.

“Just put it on!” snapped the cat, bouncing on her front paws and waving her kitten-stiff little tail behind her like a flag pole.

“Okay, okay,” I said. Long enough to go over my head, I had no trouble putting it on, though some of my hair did get tangled in the links for a moment. The dark stones with their glittery bits lay in a rough semi-circle against my boobs when I had them arranged. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“That fucking light show you gave earlier finally attracted something,” said the cat. It nodded in the general direction of the window wall in the bedroom/living room. “I can rell it out there but it hasn’t found you down here yet. Good thing you didn’t boff the giant on the kitchen counter earlier.”

Rell? Somehow I knew it was a way of recognizing an aura, and that it felt a little like reading a smell. The seventh sense? “Uh?” I said, intelligently.

So the cat explained. “It’s probably an atavistic revenant of an ancient sacrificial fertility cult, native or alien. Either that or the lingering spirit of some burned-out sixties hippie freak. They get pretty hungry for sex after a few decades.”

“Well, I wasn’t inviting either of them to drop in for free samples!” I squeaked. The fucking cat was so matter of fact and the DVDs and wheelchair already had me slightly freaked. I tugged on the chain. “This will help?”

Muffins rolled her eyes. “The chain is forged from a piece of ChimẠtumbago stolen from an Incan treasure by a reprobate priest in sixteenth century Spain. The stones are Australian fire opals dug up a hundred years ago by brujos in Mexico from the ruins of a Toltec city. The necklace was assembled in New York by a death camp survivor named Cohen using only the tools available to a jeweler in pre-Roman Palestine.”

“Sure,” I said.

“It’s big juju against spirits breaking and entering a home with intent to maul.” Muffins sighed. “Just wear it.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. I fingered the stones with one hand while idly dipping the other into a bowl of rings and earrings. Ooo, sparkly things. “What do....” I don’t remember what I started to ask because a noise from the outer room caused me to turn suddenly, spilling the bowl across the countertop.

It sounded like a bird flying against the plate glass window. A bird the size of a condor, maybe.

At almost the same time, something played a melody I sort of recognized. “What’s that? Is the monster ringing the doorbell? I didn’t know we had a doorbell!”

The kitten cocked her head listening. “Sounds like ‘Just a Girl’ by No Doubt. That’s the ringtone on your cellphone.”

I tried to scoop the spilled jewelry back into the bowl I was holding near the edge of the table. “I didn’t know I had a cellphone, either. Where the fuck is it? Do I have to go into the other room to answer it? Is that bird thing gone?”

“Bird thing? Your cell is on your bed where you left it last night,” said the cat. “Before you vanished yourself and blew me to Hollywood with the backlash from that spell you tried to work.”

“I did?” The phone rang again. “Which bed?”

“Your bed,” said the kitten, keeping it simple. “The bed with the curtains around it in the outer room.”

“Oh.” Whatever was outside hit the window again, shaking my nerves with a booming shudder. The phone rang again, too, cheerful, snarky tune. “Go get the phone for me,” I said.

“Hell’s Neverfail Charcoal Lighter Fluid! Do I look like a dog?” hissed my little fuzzy companion. Annoyed she whapped a loose earring with a paw and sent it over the rim of the bowl back to safety.

“Maybe they’ll call back,” I suggested. The phone kept ringing. The beaky monster I imagined kept banging on the window. The necklace and stones resting on my breasts seemed to be getting warm. I put the bowl down.

“It can’t get in,” said Muffins. “Answer the phone.”

I peeped through the door to the bedroom. The windows, like the bed, were covered in curtains and I could see nothing. The kitten hopped down from the dressing table and followed me.

I rushed across the six feet or so to the bed, feeling like a scout advancing under enemy fire. The necklace bounced on my boobs and my boobs bounced on my chest. I grabbed the curtains and pushed them open.

Inside the curtains, the king-size bed was big enough to be another room. Someone had discarded an odd collection of clothing and jewelry across the pink and white coverlet. What looked like a partially mummified body, all brown and gnarly, lay with its head on the pillows, a ringing cellphone in its claw-like hand held against a shrivelled ear.

“I think that’s for me,” I said.