Milli Vanilli, Cinelli

First, the tree fell down.

I was inside getting ready to attend the Milli Vanilli press conference at 10 a.m. when I heard the voice of my wife, Cinelli, calling from outside.

“Martinez, come quickly!”

I could tell it was her because we always use our own voices in the family. They are never lip-synced.

I was already late and didn’t want to take extra time fooling around, but I knew by her tone this was more than just a spider in the sink.

The last time she called that way, an owl was carrying off a neighbor’s cat. That happens in Topanga occasionally, but I had never actually witnessed the occurrence before.

I remember watching them disappear in the distance and saying, “That’s how they founded Mexico City. An Aztec chief witnessed just such an event, felt it was good luck and said ‘We build village here.’ ”

“You have all the sensitivities of an aardvark,” she said.

“It’s not a bad way to go, soaring toward the sunset.”

“Poor Muffy.” She shook her head. “Anyhow, it was an eagle and a snake in Mexico City, not an owl and a cat.”

I didn’t know what to expect on Milli Vanilli Day when I stepped out the door. Now that I think about it, however, I did not expect to see a 40-foot oak tree lying across the yard. It had fallen during the night.

“Wet roots,” Cinelli said, studying it.

I nodded wisely. “I’ve had the same thing.”

“We’re just lucky the tree fell outward and not inward. What do we do about it?”

“My God,” I said, “it’s 9:15. I’ll be late for Milli Vanilli, Cinelli.” I stopped. “That has a nice ring. Milli Vanilli, Cinelli. “

“Go,” she said.

The second thing was, the traffic stopped.

I’m not sure why, except it had rained for 22 minutes the night before, and that’s all it takes in L.A. for chaos to ensue.

I was on the Ventura, which a friend refers to as the freeway from hell. It is never in terrific shape but usually manages to creep along. This time traffic was stopped dead.

We get out of our cars when this happens and look up the road. Man seeks an explanation when his freeway stops. There is never one on the Ventura. Someone slows to avoid a leaf and the domino effect kicks in.

“Just once,” I say to the man standing outside his car in front of me, “I’d like to see a reason for the stoppage. Paratroopers falling from the sky or escaped circus elephants thundering up the off-ramp.”

“Is there a circus in town?” he says.

9:50 a.m. Traffic finally edges forward, but it’s too late for the Milli Vanilli press conference.

It was an editor’s idea for me to go. When the scandal first broke I wasn’t even sure who Milli Vanilli was. I thought it was a flavor.

“This will be great,” he said. “They’re going to sing in their own voices or something.”

I don’t really care that Milli Vanilli did a number on America. That’s show biz. In “Dressed to Kill,” they used Angie Dickinson’s face and someone else’s naked body and no one complained.

In “Flashdance,” it was Jennifer Beals’ face but someone else’s dancing feet. Well, actually, someone else’s dancing behind.

But I’m an accommodating man. I said to the editor, “Sure, I’ll go, that’s a swell idea.”

By the time I got there, everyone was leaving.

Entertainment reporters had gathered from everywhere. It was the Big Story of their lives. Bigger than the ghost of Elvis. Bigger even than Ronald Reagan mind-synching Nancy’s ideas.

And I’d missed it.

But I am a person of amazing facility. I’d heard of a 91-year-old man appearing on “Love Connection,” a television show that unites lonely couples.

His name is J.D. Basham and he lives in Hollywood, not far from where the Milli Vanilli press conference was held. He wasn’t Rob and Fab, but he was show biz, sort of.

J.D., it turned out, is a skinny old man with a terrific sense of humor. I asked how he managed to live to be 91. We always ask old people that, as though they plot their own longevity from birth.

“Three ounces of Scotch every day and sex three times a week,” he said, laughing loudly.

He mentioned that to a young nurse once, J.D. confided, and she slipped him her phone number.

“Never did call her,” he said a little wistfully.

J.D. is a terrific old guy, but no substitute for the press conference I’d missed. I tried one last shot: “Tell me, J.D., have you heard of the Milli Vanilli scandal?”

He thought about that for a moment and said, “Yep, but I never paid it no mind.” Me neither.