It's 3 am, I'm in a club and a friend of mine is having a text message marathon with none other than Ashley Alexandra Dupre' our ex-Governor's special friend. "You know her, " I was told a couple dozen times, but I really can't remember. Earlier in the day, my gal and I visited Ashley's MySpace page, apparently along with 4 million other people (literally). At first I was struck by her motto: "What destroys me, strengthens me," and then I became curious who the strongest person I've ever heard of had in the way of friends. As it turned out I knew many of her MySpace friends. There was Scott and Reggie and Chance and so on and so on...she's one of us and "friends" of my blog were determined to explain to me how I know her...I'm as blank as that look on Silda Spitzer's face during that press conference. Everybody was talking Ashley last night. What is true and what is false, I cannot say for sure, but here's what I heard...

Michael James, 3 Pink Vodka and Sodas in to my conversation with him made me swear to keep his name out of this , so I will. A shortish, always tanned girl with a killer body, she was always rolling with ballers and always talking about her career in music. Indeed one doorman said the last couple times he had seen her she was rolling with P Diddy's crew. Friends who had "been" there said it all makes sense now, that apartment at the Landmark on 6th Ave., the trip to St. Tropez this summer, the vacations by private jet. She was shacked up with someone else famous this past summer. Two different people chuckled, but wouldn't give me more. There was that someone else in St. Tropez on a boat, I guess the one in the photo.

When around, she would be texting endlessly, looking to hang, then she'd be gone, "Off to Philly, to work on my music." Bubbly, not too bright, but lots of fun, with a million get rich ideas...a book, a concierge service, at 22 she has ambitions. She was always meeting up with her "partner," whom no one ever met. There was talk of a boyfriend seriously into meth and her stint in a rehab program and words tattooed on her body to keep her straight. Odd for a high end call girl, tattoos. The photos I've seen don't show them, but the club crawlers swear they're there. She'd greet everyone with a, "Hi honey," and as far as I could tell everyone loves her and wishes her well.

So my friend who was texting her showed me a message or three. They spoke of finding out what she would be charged with this week and how worried and scared she was. She was in disbelief over this mess she was in, and she knows she's in a mess. I was allowed one question, so I asked it. "Does she have a good lawyer?"

"Yes," she answered.

With CNN interns, along with every other News Corp calling the 1800 friends on her MySpace page for a tidbit of info to be blown into a headline, with numbers like 200 Grand being offered around for a "scoop," with all those reporters going nuts camped in front of her Chelsea luxury high-rise...here I was, just a few blocks away in clubland with a treasure trove of info (100 people wanting to talk). An old pirate like me, I was ready to dig in, but I didn't. Everyone loves Ashley and everyone just shook their head with a genuine smile, repeating the mantra, "I didn't know!, I didn't know!"

What does this all have to do with my blog...nothing really, except that there's a lot going on in these clubs, and that a bubbly little girl with an innocent smile running around the club might blow down the walls of Jericho someday. I remember an old song by Tuxedomoon, a Dutch punk group that had them lined up around the block one night, back in the day. The song "No Tears For The Creatures of The Night" echoes in my head as I go to sleep. It's 430 am, and I'm hoping Ash will sleep as soundly as I will...No tears.