Matty is notoriously not susceptible to actors' charms, but at least you'll bask in other people's attention.
The city streets are bustling already. A good part of the city wakes up before the theater does. You dodge fruitsellers and servants with baskets and a few curtained litters bearing the gentry of the city to early appointments. The gates of the theater stand open, but the courtyard is cool and quiet, the flagstones damp where someone has already swept and scrubbed them.
You find Matty inside in her office. She looks up from her ledger and fixes you with a skeptical expression. "You can't have written the new piece yet. Or if you have, take it back and write some more, I'm not paying you for some thrown-together doggerel you dashed off during rehearsals."
"It's not about the new play," you assure her. You clear your throat, hoping she'll divine the reason for your presence and volunteer to provide you with funds to see you through. No such luck. "I was hoping you could advance me some of the play's proceeds," you say.