But only minutes later, his carefully crafted plot to scandalize his classmates begins unraveling fast when he's besieged by several "Chatty Cathys" from the night before, eager to get a closer look at his get-up. The ice broken, Bevins is soon holding court, joking about old times with several dozen reuniongoers who've come over to see him. Basking in the glow of disposable-camera flashes, Bevins congratulates one attendee on her good taste--the woman is wearing a dress nearly identical to his.
"I was surprised he showed up," reports classmate Deanna Leo. "That was very, very bold of him. And he looks damn good . . . better than all the girls here tonight. In school, everyone was so mean to him. Sure, he tried to be different, but Dennis is, well, Dennis."
Chalk it up to maturity or the media's recent mainstreaming of drag queens, but the unthinkable has happened. If a poll were taken tonight, it's a cinch that Dennis Bevins, former Junior Prom Reject, would be named Belle of the Ball.
Okay, so that vote might not be unanimous. Nearly half of the people here are spouses or dates of classmates and never even attended Sunnyslope High. And Bevins' elaborate persecution memories to the contrary, many attendees claim they have no recollection of him at all--not surprising upon learning the '87 graduating class numbered more than 300 students.
"I can't remember him from nothing," says Larry Wright, a former classmate who now operates a hair salon with his wife. "I'd need to see a yearbook. There's just too much hair, too much makeup, too much of everything."
"I'll be honest," says another alum with a shrug. "I smoked too much dope in high school and I don't remember anything."
But others who remember Bevins corroborate his stories of long-ago gay-bashing.
Matt Knowles, now a Southern California process engineer, still remembers that junior-prom fiasco. "There were some people there that night that wanted to beat him up, but luckily, it didn't happen. I guess everyone always knew he was [gay] and gave him a hard time."
Another classmate puts it more succinctly. "Some people were assholes," says Laki Tsaninos, an insurance broker who's known Bevins since grade school. "People can be mean in high school; I can sleep every night because I know I wasn't. But, yeah, it was bad for Dennis."
Tonight, meanwhile, couldn't be better. By the time awards are to be given out, Bevins has his own highly vocal cheering section and takes "Most Changed" kudos in a walk.
For a moment, it looks like he's also bagged "Most Unusual Occupation" (the crowd is audibly impressed that he's appeared on Roseanne), but Bevins ultimately loses to an Army sniper. The emcee jokingly apologizes for the upset, explaining that everyone was afraid to vote against Bevins' competitor for fear that they'd be shot.
Taking a pass on the "Most Eligible Bachelor" category, the mostly ineligible bachelor retires to the patio for a smoke and admits he's stunned at the turn the evening has taken.
"I'm really having a good time," says Bevins, preening in the reflective surface of a brass wall plaque. "I guess what's really amazing to me is how well everyone's dealing with this. I thought that there would be no room in their minds for anything fresh or new or exciting." Pause. "I find this very surprising," he says, almost sadly.
Gasp! Could it be that Bevins actually misses those hideous old days when he could still send shock waves through the Sunnyslope High seismograph?
Even his co-conspirator isn't exactly sure what's going on beneath that wig.
"Dennis has always liked attention," says Lisa Currie. "I think the whole point of coming back for the reunion was that he finally wanted acceptance--or one last piss-off."
Currie laughs. "When we were planning this, I told Dennis that if he really wanted to shake everyone up, he should show up in a suit, with someone like Traci Lords as his date," she says. "Now that would have shocked everyone.
